LaVine received a sharp pass from Gay, positioning himself opposite Walker, who was keyed in on him with intense focus. The air was electric with anticipation, and the tension between the two players was palpable. LaVine took a deep breath, then exploded into action, bursting forward with speed and agility that took Walker off guard.
"So fast!" Walker thought, feeling a twinge of panic as he struggled to react to LaVine's unexpected quick start. In just one step, LaVine bypassed him entirely, and with a swift stop, he rose into the air, seamlessly executing a jump shot. The basketball sailed through the air with precision and swished through the net.
"Nice shot!" Gay shouted, clapping his hands in approval.
"Little Zach is playing well tonight!" LaVine flushed at the praise from his veteran teammate, the corners of his mouth curling into a modest smile as he brushed his fingers through his hair while returning to defense. The momentary recognition clearly encouraged him, and his posture radiated newfound confidence.
"Don't stop now—keep the shots coming!" Gay encouraged, eager to see LaVine's momentum grow. The other Kings players, sensing the magic of the moment, readily fell in line with Gay's suggestion. They shifted their focus, giving LaVine the stage to continue driving the offensive plays.
Thus began a distinct rhythm on the court—four Kings players focusing on creating openings for LaVine while he honed in on his duel with Walker. This sudden shift in focus did not sit well with Walker, who found himself increasingly flustered by the one-sided challenge.
"I'm a near All-Star, and you're treating me like some rookie?" Walker thought with annoyance. Determined to reassert himself, Walker took the ball again, signaling to his teammates with a quick gesture as he prepared to take LaVine one-on-one. He couldn't let this kid, in only his second season, steal his thunder.
But LaVine's youthful athleticism and taller frame made Walker's task harder than he anticipated. Even when Walker managed to use his skill and speed to evade LaVine's defense, Gay was right there behind him, consistently disrupting his lanes. Malone's foresight and instruction to support LaVine's defense left Walker frustrated and unable to break free from the tag-team defense.
"Dammit!" Walker muttered as his latest shot clanged off the rim, bouncing uselessly away.
"Kemba, don't let them shake you," Al Jefferson, the Hornets' reliable core player, called out to his younger teammate, sensing Walker's growing irritation. Jefferson's calm presence reminded Walker of the bigger picture, urging him to keep his composure. Walker wanted to respond, but the words caught in his throat. He simply nodded, barely able to suppress the urge to lash out in frustration.
In the arena stands, two middle-aged men, dressed in understated, casual attire, observed the unfolding battle with a knowing gaze.
"Malone's really turning Walker into a stepping stone for LaVine," one of them remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone.
"It's clear the Hornets are yielding here; not much more to see," the other replied, rising from his seat. "Let's inform the president—this Jake fellow is off-limits."
They moved up the stairs and exited quietly, leaving the arena, though the court below continued to buzz with energy and excitement.
…
Meanwhile, back in the NBA headquarters, in a dimly lit yet spacious office, Adam Silver set down his phone and sighed, the soft light of his desk lamp casting long shadows across the large room. In front of him lay a heavily marked-up list of names—some of them were scratched out, while others were prominently circled in red. These were not just any names; they represented prominent coaches and executives in the NBA, many of whom had learned under the mentorship of the esteemed Spurs coach, Gregg Popovich.
"David, David, you retired at the perfect time, leaving me to sort through the aftermath," Silver muttered under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he considered the magnitude of the task before him. David Stern, Silver's predecessor, had presided over an era that saw the rise of legendary NBA coaches. Figures like Phil Jackson, Pat Riley, and Jerry Sloan had emerged as iconic figures, each embodying a different approach to the game. Yet, the new millennium brought about an exodus of these legends, and in their wake, Popovich's influence had grown nearly unchallenged.
For Silver, this situation had escalated beyond control over the summer. Popovich had boldly freed up salary space by transferring the Spurs' starting center, Tiago Splitter, to one of his former apprentices' teams, a strategic move to make room for coveted free agent LaMarcus Aldridge. The blatant display of collaboration between mentor and protégé was a direct affront to Silver's office and had stirred significant unrest among other teams. The incident underscored how entrenched Popovich's influence had become, extending not only over the Spurs but also over several teams run by his former assistants.
Silver's gaze shifted to the bottom of the list, where three names stood out in particular: Mike Budenholzer, Sam Presti, and Jake. Each of these individuals had transitioned from Popovich's discipleship into powerful roles within their respective teams. Now, as seasoned professionals, they commanded substantial influence, effectively translating Popovich's principles into successful team-building strategies. For Silver, neutralizing their impact meant diminishing the Spurs' legacy.
"This Jake character," Silver mused, tracing his pen around the name, "won the Best General Manager Award just last year and expanded our footprint in the Chinese market. Vivek, with his calculated business acumen, won't be letting Jake go anytime soon." The frustration in his voice was evident; Jake represented a particularly challenging roadblock in Silver's path toward reformation.
"Presti poses similar issues," Silver continued to think aloud. "He's strategically acquired Durant, Westbrook, and Harden for the Thunder. Even if he leaves, there'll be no shortage of teams lining up for him." Silver rubbed his temples, resigning himself to the realization that Presti, like Jake, was too well-positioned to be easily displaced.
As Silver's eyes returned to the name Mike Budenholzer, a glimmer of opportunity flickered in his mind. Here, perhaps, was a vulnerability. Unlike Jake and Presti, who had embedded themselves into deeply supportive ownership structures, Budenholzer might be the easiest to unsettle. A foothold.
"Slowly," Silver whispered to himself, his resolve solidifying. He traced a finger across Budenholzer's name. "It's time to initiate some change—and you'll be the one to fire the opening shot of my reform."
Silver's strategy was now clear. Though he couldn't undermine the entire Spurs ecosystem in one sweep, chipping away at its foundations could still be effective. With Budenholzer as his first target, Silver would signal a new era, one where even the Spurs' most entrenched disciples wouldn't be safe from league scrutiny.
After a moment's pause, Silver picked up his phone and dialed a number, his expression hardening. "Let's make it happen," he said, ready to set the wheels of reform in motion.