Second quarter: Wembanyama tried to slow down. He set a hard screen, forcing Curry into a turnover. Then he grabbed a rebound, took two deliberate dribbles, and hit a teammate for a layup. The crowd chanted, "Let's go, Spurs!"—but the Warriors answered with another three, Curry's shot arcing like a shooting star.
Lin Mo noticed it first: a strand of tinsel had fallen from the rafters, tangling in the net. It fluttered on every made basket, a silver distraction. When the Warriors' guard missed a free throw, he glared at it, muttering, "Stupid decoration."
Lin Mo smiled. He'd seen this before—Old Man Joe once sewed a sequin into a tear in Lin Mo's jersey, just to see if he'd notice. "Distractions are just threads," he'd said. "Use 'em to weave something."
He caught Wembanyama's eye, mimed plucking tinsel from the air, then threading it through his fingers. Wembanyama frowned, then nodded. On the next play, he drove to the hoop, and as the Warriors' defender lunged, Wembanyama faked a pass—toward the tinsel-tangled net. The defender spun, and Wembanyama laid it in.
"Atta knot," Lin Mo muttered.