The opening tip went to the Warriors, and Curry didn't waste time. He caught the ball, took one dribble, and launched a three-pointer from the logo—swish. The crowd roared; the Warriors' bench tossed mini candy canes into the air.
Wembanyama looked rattled. On the next possession, he fumbled a pass, the ball skittering into the stands. A kid in a Santa hat tossed it back, yelling, "Merry Christmas, big guy!"
Lin Mo leaned against the scorer's table, watching. The Warriors were playing like the snow outside—fast, flurrying, impossible to track. Their center set a screen, then popped for a three. Their forward stole a lazy pass, finished with a dunk, and hung on the rim long enough to yell, "Ho ho ho!"
By the end of the first quarter, the score was 32-18. Wembanyama sat on the bench, staring at his shoes. Lin Mo tossed him a water bottle. "You know what Old Man Joe did when his machine jammed?" he said.
Wembanyama shook his head.
"He didn't yank the thread. He let it sit. Then he found the knot—slow—and picked it apart." Lin Mo nodded at the court, where Curry was high-fiving a mascot in a snow globe costume. "Their knot's speed. Pick it apart."