Chapter 420: The Crafty Veteran, the League's Worst Second Unit
Across NBA history, plenty of players have had soft touch. Plenty have had elite athleticism. Plenty have had polished skill.
Very few have all 3 at a top tier level.
Chen Yan did.
Whether it was a deep 3, a mid range pull up, or a finish at the rim through contact, his touch stayed reliable. That was why his scoring nights could look unreal. It was not just volume, it was the way the ball kept obeying him.
…
New Orleans had the ball.
Peja drifted up to the wing beyond the arc while Chris Paul and Tyson Chandler ran a pick and roll. After the screen, Paul pulled back toward the high post, drew the defense for a beat, then lifted the ball high into the middle.
Phoenix's paint was empty.
Chandler rose into open space.
The crowd stood early.
Bang.
A violent 2 hand alley oop slam.
11 to 9.
The building came alive. That was the version of the Hornets the home fans wanted to believe in, Paul controlling the game like a conductor, Chandler flying like a finishing machine. The 2 slapped hands, and the Hornets' defensive intensity climbed immediately.
Phoenix worked the ball, swung it side to side, and Hill settled into a high post jumper.
Miss.
Chandler grabbed the rebound and gave it back to Paul.
New Orleans had a chance to run and tie, but Paul pulled it out. He was calm enough to know the risk. If he missed early, Phoenix would turn it into a track meet the other way.
Paul crossed half court and slowed the tempo. West stepped up high, the screen came, and Phoenix switched.
Paul saw the switch and exploded for half a step. That half step was enough to put Diaw on his heels.
He did not rush into the paint. First he slowed, got Diaw on his back, then hit a second burst toward the restricted area.
Diaw chased. Stoudemire shaded over, ready to help.
And then Paul did not go to the rim at all.
He stopped short.
Diaw could not stop in time and bumped him from behind.
Paul tossed the ball up and fell to the floor in a messy heap.
Whistle.
Foul on Diaw.
Diaw spread his hands and gave the ref an innocent look, like he had barely touched him. Paul's listed at 6 feet, and his real height was probably closer to 5 foot 11, but anyone who thought he was fragile did not understand basketball. His core strength was elite for a guard.
Which was exactly why Chen Yan could tell what had happened.
That one had a little theater in it.
Chen Yan shook his head as Paul got up and slapped hands with teammates. Paul was only in his 3rd season, but he already played the angles like a ten year vet. Some things really were born, not taught.
Swish.
Swish.
Paul hit both free throws without a blink.
11 to 11.
…
Phoenix's turn.
Chen Yan curled up and caught at the left wing, near the 60 degree spot beyond the arc. He wanted a 3, but Butler was attached to him, chest to shoulder, denying every inch.
Chen Yan waved Diaw over.
David West immediately switched out, determined to take away the 3.
So Chen Yan took the matchup.
He isolated West on the perimeter, crossover into a behind the back, a pause, then a right hand drive straight down the middle lane line.
West was not quick, but he stayed disciplined for a moment and managed to hang on.
Near the free throw line, Chen Yan yanked it back with a reverse crossover. West lunged, and that single step was enough.
Chen Yan reset his feet and slipped past on the left side.
From the broadcast angle, the timing looked perfect, like the whole move had been edited in a studio.
West could only turn his head and watch Chen Yan glide into the paint for an easy 2.
13 to 11.
The skill work had fans at home buzzing. It was complicated, but it was not wasteful. Every motion had a purpose. Chen Yan always had a way to play small against big.
…
New Orleans went right back to the pick and roll. Paul was the engine, the only true creator on the floor.
Chandler screened again, and this time Paul ended up facing Stoudemire near the high post. He dribbled, crossed over, then snapped another crossover to shake the angle.
Stoudemire did not fall, but he lost half a step. Combined with Paul's exaggerated fadeaway, it was enough.
Swish.
Paul answered with his own small against big shot.
13 to 13.
…
The opening quarter turned into a tight rope walk.
Both teams scored in their preferred ways. Phoenix ran, New Orleans tried to control. The scoreboard kept snapping back to even. There were 5 ties in the first quarter alone.
For Phoenix, Chen Yan and Hill carried the scoring load. Stoudemire took only 2 shots. Nash took 1, but he had 4 assists, keeping the offense smooth and organized.
Chen Yan finished the quarter with 10 points, 2 rebounds, and 2 assists.
For New Orleans, Paul was the best player on the floor. He played the entire quarter, poured in 11 points, and added 4 assists. The Hornets were built differently from Phoenix. To win, Paul had to do more than Nash.
At the end of 12 minutes, Phoenix led 29 to 27.
…
The second quarter exposed the Hornets' problem immediately.
Both benches checked in, and Phoenix's second unit turned the game into a hurricane. Azubuike, Barea, Barnes, and Raja Bell pushed the pace so hard the Hornets' bench looked lost, like they were defending shadows.
The close game snapped.
Within a few minutes, the margin ballooned to double digits.
The Hornets' fans grew anxious, but it was not about effort. Their second unit simply did not have enough. Too many of their bench pieces were low usage guys who barely scored 5 points a night. Hilton Armstrong, Morris Peterson, and Daniels were all in the rotation, but none of them could change a game.
Even among playoff level teams, this was the kind of bench that made coaches lose sleep.
Byron Scott was not overplaying his starters because he enjoyed it. He was doing it because he had no choice. Paul and West were playing close to 40 minutes a night, and even in the starting group, Chandler and Butler could not create their own offense. West was the only other player besides Paul who could reliably get a shot on his own.
Peja was still a shooter. Even in his prime, his self creation was limited. Now, it was even more obvious.
Scott just had to survive these minutes and hope the second unit could hold the rope long enough for the starters to breathe.
Last season, Bonzi Wells had given them a real boost off the bench with his size and downhill pressure, but in the summer he demanded an 8 million per year deal. New Orleans needed bench help, not a bad contract. They let him walk, and the bench stayed thin.
Paul checked back in with 7 minutes left in the half. The game did not allow him a longer rest.
With Paul on the floor, the Hornets clawed back some points. Phoenix responded quickly, bringing starters back about 90 seconds later to keep control.
At halftime, the Suns led 64 to 53.
Byron Scott stared at the scoreboard and went quiet.
He could feel the weight of it.
If he did not solve the bench problem, they would keep bleeding every time Paul sat. And one idea kept circling in his head, uncomfortable but logical.
Maybe Peja needed to move to the bench.
Otherwise, the Hornets' second unit was going to lose to everybody.
.....
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