That night, 21:00

Triangle Center Arena

"Die, Detroit bastards!"

A giant banner poster lies in the center of a striking stadium.

Logically speaking, the Pistons and the Jazz have no intersection except for the regular season.

Because one of these two teams is in the East and the other is in the West, they can only make a mortal enemy in the finals, but Jazz fans have extremely strong hostility towards the Pistons.

This incident is not surprising. Ma Long's elbow to the smiling assassin made both sides form a grudge.

At that time, the Pistons were the public enemy of the league. They had a simple life on weekdays. There were more Utah fans who were depressed. They were originally just an ordinary violent incident on the court. The conflicts between the players were escalating the matter and becoming difficult to resolve the deadly revenge.

"These gang of Mormons who are Japanese dogs!"

Alan Houston stood in the middle of the venue and looked at the dazzling poster. His position was so eye-catching - damn, it was rare to see such a poster on the road, why do you have such words on it?

"As far as I say, these Utah bitches are not even fucking dogs, what's the matter, inexplicably..." Terry Mills was also very depressed.

Because on that poster, his fat head actually stood out.

Tonight, some distinguished guests came to the scene, and several of them were not even afraid to neglect Larry Miller, the owner of the Jazz team.

Miller personally came to the VIP private room and served these rare guests with delicious food and drink.

"The fans on the scene are not very friendly." Dura was the only junior on the scene and the only person who was interested in the game. The others didn't care about the result.

Miller smiled faintly: "This is what Utah is. Fans are used to being bored. They can't wait to burst out with a little catharsis. Our football market is quite hot."

Well, in such a popular football market, jersey advertisements sold 1 million yuan each year.

Little Dula complained in her heart, but she was still smiling.

"But, although such a formation can motivate the home team, it is not good for the team's publicity."

Miller stared carefully at the blonde woman sitting in the right seat. The beautiful women all had thorns. Such a rich and beautiful woman, how sharp should her thorns be?

"You make sense, Mrs. Bosser," Miller smiled.

Mo Mengchen and his teammates, including their opponents, did not know what kind of honorable guests were sitting in the VIP box.

Stockton saw Mo Mengchen, and Sloan gave him a death order and would stare at the rookie tonight.

He felt that before he was staring at him, he would come over and say hello.

"Hello, hello."

Stockton reached out his hand.

No matter when, Mo Mengchen was very resistant to handshakes. Even if they were about to compete together, their bodies would constantly rub and exchange dirt on each other's bodies, but this did not mean that he could accept a hand of unknown origin.

"You'll be spared if you shake hands."

Mo Mengchen didn't give Stockton face.

Stockton was serious, even if the junior in front of him was despised by him, he never expressed his opinion: "It's very good."

As soon as his voice came out, a smelly breath came out from his mouth. Is it because I haven't brushed my teeth for hundreds of years?

"The game is about to begin, and I am looking forward to the match between John Stockton and Dor.Mo." said Keaton Wilton, the commentator at the scene.

His partner, Darrell Griffith, who played for the Jazz every year during his player days, looked unhappy: "It's actually very simple. John will use his experience to kill Detroit's Australian rookie."

"Oh? Why do you say that?" Wilton really wanted to hear the great opinions of the jazz legend.

"From the data, Detroit's Australian rookie is the same player as John, and he has better rebounding skills than John, and is at a disadvantage in other aspects."

A disadvantage? Are you sure?

Wilton was about to refute a little and get some show effect, but Griffith's face was too ugly, so I'd better forget it.

Momonchen entered the field with his teammates. Tonight, the other four Pistons starters were Hill, Houston, Thorpe and Ratliff, who temporarily replaced Terry Mills.

Recently, Ratliff has shown his future blocking potential during training and has very good protection for the penalty area. Collins wants him to try his feelings on the court.

The problem with Ratliff and Mills is the same, neither of them is tall enough.

Therefore, whenever they need to jump the ball for the team, their teammates do not expect them to get the ball.

This time, it's still the case.

Jazz starting center Felton Spencer jumped and called the ball to Stockton.

The pick-and-roll came quickly, and in the first round tonight, the Jazz played their classic pick-and-roll.

Momonchen followed, Ratlifs gave Spencer and chased Stockton. He didn't expect Spencer to have a range.

Stockton gave him a comfortable hit to the earth, Spencer jumped the free throw line and shot directly.

Mo Mengchen grabbed the rebound and sent it to Hill while he was marching. No one is more reliable than him in this moment of counterattack.

Hill is like a fierce horse running through the grassland, no one can tame it. He fights one and two in the frontcourt. The Jazz's wing marksman Horacek fouled him, but it was still useless. Devil Mountain had already jumped up, stretched out his wings like a bird, and turned into a god.

At this moment, he was the god in the air, grabbing the ball with his right hand and smashing it wildly at the basket.

“Wow~~~”

Little Dura stood up directly in the private room and shouted: "Grant Hill is just a stolen!"

This made Miller very embarrassed: "Joeune, don't be excited, the game has just begun, and our team has people who can deduct it."

"Haha, is that right? Who?" asked Little Dura.

"Darell Griffith, nicknamed the dunk monster!" Miller's proud look made his subordinates embarrassed.

Boss, Griffith retired in 1990 and is now a full-time commentator!

Stockton has severe bad breath, which is bad news.

The good news is that he doesn't keep squirting like Miller and others, otherwise he will be smoked before he finishes a game.

When it comes to Stockton, people will think of reasonableness, as well as the assists and steals he occupies.

He is a perfect traditional point guard, a favorite of all stereotypical academy coaches.

An old stubborn man like Sloan who likes to treat players as robots even more treats Stockton as their chosen son.

The Jazz's pick-and-roll system has been in UCLA. This is what Mo Mengchen has recently studied, but he is very strange. Until now, only Felton Spencer came up to block it. Not to mention pick-and-roll, there is no decent cover.

Suddenly, Malone dragged his unreal body and stuck Thorpe's back.

Stockton hung the ball over, and instantly, the cat cut in. Mo Mengchen was about to move when his position was stuck.

"Switch defense!" he shouted.

Ratliff's speed did not keep up, Stockton slipped to the basket, caught Malone's pass, and directly licked the basket and scored.

"The attention needs to be improved, novices." Stockton squirted a trash talk to Mo Mengchen.

"Oh, that's amazing," Houston said with a smile, "our doctor was actually educated."

Hill said: "Okay, don't irritate him."

Mo Mengchen was not angry either. It was Stockton's psychological battle. He would not be fooled. On the other hand, he would still pass the ball to his teammates.

Thorpe beat Malone at a low post.

This year, Ma Long has the best defensive ability at the level of the defensive lineup. Old Thorp is no longer as brave as young and it is difficult to score points on Ma Long. He has been trying hard to hit people with a hook for more than ten years, but now he has shown a stingy three-way stick.

"Beep!"

The offensive missed, Thorp was calm and stopped the Jazz's counterattack with a foul on the spot.

"Sorry." Thorpe said.

"Is it an accident, or is it really impossible to beat it?" Mo Mengchen asked.

Thorpe knew he wanted to listen to the truth, so he told the truth: "He is not sure if I play singles now."

"I understand." Mo Mengchen nodded.

Stockton came very quickly, he would never bother with him, nor would he stick the ball in his hands for a better chance.

Malone just passed the paint area and he passed the ball to his hand at a small angle and extremely fine short distance.

Compared to Thorpe's three-nothing, Malone's offense was much more relaxed. He opened the way and knocked Thorpe out of nowhere and sat at home. The referee had no sign of his attack. Then he turned over and jumped straight arm bar and made a steadily shot.

"Yes, John and Carl connected twice at the beginning, and they quickly found the feeling!"

"Like it was written on the poster," Griffith said, "Detroit is going to die here tonight."
Chapter completed!