036: The Law of Champions Requires Courage to Execute

Retire.

Hearing this word, Dejan Bodiroga’s fist slammed into the back of the bench like a heavy hammer.

This genius, who had looked down upon Europe with his fluid, effortless isolation skills, had tasted a humiliation in the first quarter he had never encountered in his entire life.

Meanwhile, the Real Madrid fans in the stands were roaring "MVP!" The giant screen played highlights of Lynch's performance in the opening quarter. Hearing these cheers, Lynch felt an unprecedented surge of adrenaline.

For Lynch, the first quarter was a perfect performance and a satisfying act of revenge. He had toppled the man who was always so full of himself. He felt as if he could hear the crisp sound of metal striking the floor—the crown that symbolized the hegemony of the European continent rolling into the dust, its gilded surface reflecting Dejan’s stunned expression.

The King of Europe felt gravely offended, and he knew the first quarter was just the beginning. The young man wanted more. He wanted to trample his pride and then drive his blood-stained boots over the ruins of the old dynasty.

These cheers and all the light shining upon Lynch filled Dejan Bodiroga with fury. When the buzzer for the start of the second quarter sounded, the legend who had won three European championships in the past four years clenched his shirt tightly.

"These are mine! All of mine!"

At this moment, a strong, primal desire for honor and status surged within Dejan Bodiroga—a man's desire that he would never allow another man to snatch away.

Yes, a man. At this moment, Bodiroga no longer dared to treat Lynch as just a kid.

Carlos Navarro glanced at the self-muttering Dejan Bodiroga and said coldly, "These honors are not yours; they are ours."

Dejan Bodiroga paid no attention to what Carlos Navarro said, but he would soon understand Navarro's meaning.

The game continued. Real Madrid’s offense followed the same pattern as the previous game, with Lynch acting as a tactical hub rather than just a finisher, helping others create opportunities.

However, Antonis Fotsis’s jump shot rattled out. He hadn’t had a good rhythm in the first quarter, and his first jumper of the second quarter clanked off the front rim with a dull thud. In the previous game against Maccabi, the Greek had hit 6 of 8 three-pointers. Clearly, he couldn't maintain that shooting form every night; even the hottest shooter struggles to escape the fluctuations of rhythm.

Barcelona’s counterattack storm was swift and fierce. Dejan Bodiroga charged across the half-court like a wounded lion, using a Euro-step and a mid-air adjustment to try and weave around Lynch’s massive wingspan. He did avoid the block, but Lynch remained suspended in the air, his raised arms blotting out the sky, compressing the angle for the layup to the limit.

The Serbian’s layup eventually rattled out. He had missed under Lynch’s defense once again!

"2 of 8! The throne of the King of Europe has been branded with the mark of shame!"

However, because Lynch had jumped to help defend Bodiroga, he couldn't fully commit to rebounding. A "sweeping" power forward often isn't elite at defensive rebounding; the reason Lynch’s rebounding numbers were so high was his exaggerated offensive rebounding—sometimes grabbing two or three in a single possession.

Taking advantage of the gap while Lynch was busy blocking Bodiroga, Anderson Varejão secured the rebound and passed it to Carlos Navarro. Dejan Bodiroga immediately flared out to the three-point line, hands raised, asking for the ball.

But Carlos Navarro only swept a cold gaze over him before waving his hand to call for a screen.

"Hey!" Bodiroga shouted, but Navarro ignored him.

As the youngest player in the Barcelona trident, Carlos Navarro had mostly played the role of the "little brother" to Dejan Bodiroga and Dejan Tomašević. He was their auxiliary, the last offensive option of the trio. But now, after Bodiroga turned this into a personal vendetta against Lynch, Carlos Navarro stepped out of that "little brother" role.

This son of Barcelona, who had been content to be the supporting cast, was now ready to defend a deeper faith. Unlike Bodiroga, who wandered like a mercenary building nomadic dynasties, Navarro was born in Barcelona and raised in its youth system. Barcelona was the root of his basketball life. For the glory of Barcelona, this Spanish phenom—who won the 1999 World Youth Championship MVP, was selected for the national team in 2000, and became a Spanish League All-Star in the 00-01 season—could settle for being behind two foreigners.

He valued the honor of Barcelona above all else. But for that same glory, he could choose to ignore Bodiroga. Carlos Navarro would never allow Bodiroga to lose everything due to his own impulsiveness.

After navigating the screen, Carlos Navarro drove directly and scored with a floater over Lynch’s help defense. He could toss the ball in from any angle, even while losing his balance. After the shot, Navarro stared stubbornly at Lynch; the glory of Barcelona would never be trampled by the "White Dogs"! Watching Real Madrid win the European championship? That was more disgusting than watching a cuckold movie!

Amid the roar erupting from the Catalan stands, Bodiroga stood dazed in the backcourt. He suddenly realized that this battlefield, which he had once dominated, was now being re-measured by two young men in completely different ways. He had completely lost his sovereignty; the young ones had become the protagonists of the day.

"Damn it!" Lynch gritted his teeth; he hated shots that grazed his fingertips.

Fortunately, Alberto Herreros's shooting acted like timely rain, helping Real Madrid stabilize their lead, though their perimeter shooting accuracy remained mediocre for the rest of the second quarter. Louis Bullock was completely lost under Navarro’s "death-grip" defense. The Greek wanted to slap himself; his sights couldn't find the rim all day. While Herreros’s ability to hit open shots was precise, his sluggish feet made it hard to break free from defensive shackles, meaning he rarely found true open looks.

Only Teodosić, who erupted from the bench, maintained their dignity. The genius who was once mentioned in the same breath as Lynch in Serbia was not troubled by moving from a starter to a reserve, still treating every game with the utmost seriousness. Tonight, it was his textbook jump shots that sustained their perimeter offense.

But relying solely on Teo’s perimeter shooting and Lynch’s charges was clearly not enough for Real Madrid to defeat their opponent as easily as they had the previous game. On the other side, Barcelona relied on Carlos Navarro to dominate the offensive end; the Spanish guard ignited the arena with one unbelievable floater after another. Had Lynch not locked down the former blades, Bodiroga and Tomašević, Barcelona would have likely taken a large lead long ago.

Everyone thought tonight was a duel between Lynch and Bodiroga, but the tidal wave of a new era had quietly washed over the court’s sidelines. Just handling Bodiroga wasn't enough; to wear the crown, Lynch needed to do more.

The scores seesawed back and forth, dragging into the fourth quarter. By then, Barcelona simply shrank their defense, playing a zone. They were willing to give Real Madrid mid-range and long-distance shots, but they would not let the "White Legion"—especially number 10—attack the paint easily.

The strategy worked. Real Madrid’s poor shooting touch repeatedly gave Barcelona counterattack opportunities. If not for Lynch’s terrifying offensive rebounding allowing him to score on second-chance opportunities, the gap would have widened long ago. Even the on-site commentator joked: "Real Madrid's current tactic is to give the ball to the person most likely to score. Why are you laughing? Just shoot, and let Lynch grab the offensive rebound—how is that not giving the ball to the best person? It’s just a slightly special way of doing it."

Julio Lamas truly had no other options; a player's shooting touch wasn't something a coach could control. Halfway through the fourth quarter, when Dejan Bodiroga, Varejão, and Tomašević combined to protect the rim and force a missed shot from a charging Lynch, Real Madrid was already trailing by 5 points.

Bodiroga had only scored 10 points tonight, far below his standard; he had been reduced to a supporting role. But compared to Lynch, he would rather see Carlos Navarro be the one to wear the crown. Therefore, he poured more energy into the defensive end, with fast and aggressive help defense.

The ball rattled out. As Lynch prepared for a second jump, Varejão’s arm intentionally entangled with Lynch’s, pretending to lose balance and bringing Lynch down with him. It wasn't a dirty, malicious foul, but like spitting on someone during a conflict—not lethal, but disgusting.

After defending the play and securing the rebound, Barcelona called a timeout.

With just over three minutes left in the game, this was a crucial timeout that would decide the fate of both teams. Lynch sat back on the bench, sweat dripping from his chin.

Antonis Fotsis, who had shot only 2 of 9 tonight, buried his face in a towel: "Sorry, Lynch, sorry... Damn it, I messed up!"

Louis Bullock stared at the floor without a word. Alberto Herreros was too exhausted to speak; he had given his all.

At this moment, the bold Julio Lamas had only one way out.

"Teo, you’re in for the clutch time. Sub out Louis. Run the pick-and-roll with Lynch, the basketball you played back in Serbia. Lynch, don't roll to the rim after the screen—pop out to catch the ball. Use the mid-range and long-distance space Barcelona is giving you! Those Catalan bastards want to test your jumper, so use it! Use those open looks! Shoot bravely, don't be afraid. As long as you are decisive, your shooting percentage will respond!"

It was common knowledge that Lynch’s jump shot wasn't stable, which was the fundamental reason Barcelona dared to shrink their defense. They didn't believe Real Madrid’s shooting could kill them, nor did they believe Lynch’s shot could kill them.

But Julio Lamas chose to trust his core: "This is your moment of greatness. Forget those assessments about your shaky jumper. Don't let anyone tell you what you can or cannot do!"

Lamas knew this was immense pressure for an 18-year-old. If Lynch missed repeatedly, the responsibility for losing the championship would fall on his shoulders. Compared to carrying the load at this moment, passing to teammates and disappearing from the offense was clearly the easier choice.

The law of champions requires courage to execute, and clearly, not everyone possesses it. But Lamas believed Lynch wouldn't back down. Throughout the season, as the core of Real Madrid, Lynch had lived under similar immense burdens, and he had never wavered for a single moment. Instead, he had become increasingly mature—transforming from a boy into a man, and from a man into a leader, leading the team all the way here.

Lynch nodded; only he could master the team's fate.

Antonis Fotsis clenched his fists: "This time, let me set the off-ball screen for you!"

Louis Bullock, benched at the critical moment, gripped Lynch’s wrist. The American had never shown such a serious expression: "Go, Lynch. Actually, I’ve always known that I had no chance of returning to the NBA. But you’re different. You can still let the world see you. Little Europe is not your ceiling; it’s just your starting point. Go, Lynch, go and give it your all! Go help me screw a few more big-assed Hollywood stars!"

Real Madrid captain Herreros also stared at Lynch: "When you came to Spain, you got the chance to change your life, and all you have to do is stop being a child. You’ve done that well, Lynch—better than I expected. Let them see what a Real Madrid leader is."

Finally, Teo extended his fist in mid-air: "Just another way to beat an opponent with a dated style."

Lynch bumped fists with Teo just as the buzzer sounded to end the timeout.

Real Madrid’s number 10 had gathered enough courage; he firmly believed that what followed would be a great moment. Stepping onto the court, listening to the cheers of over 30,000 people and facing the powerful Barcelona quintet, Lynch stood with his hands on his hips, side-by-side with his brother Teodosić, forming the final wall guarding Real Madrid’s glory.

Suddenly, Lynch said something nonsensical to Teo: "Actually, I lied to Coach Ivković."

"What?"

"Back in Serbia, when I told him I wanted to reduce shooting and dribbling practice to focus on my athleticism, I told him to convince him: 'The Godfather' said the world's greatest advantage is when others underestimate your strengths. Actually, that’s not what the line was. The original is: Besides the enemy underestimating your strengths, the world's greatest natural advantage is when the enemy overestimates your weaknesses."

He stared at the encirclement formed by the crimson jerseys, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily: "Just like now, everyone is betting that my mid-range and long-range shooting will misfire."

In the shadows of the high stands, Bulls General Manager John Paxson unconsciously gripped the hem of his suit, feeling something brewing in the air. During Game 5 of the 1991 Finals, when he scored 10 points in the final four minutes to seal the game, he had felt the same sensation, with the same fine sweat seeping from his palms.