Chapter 352: Mismatches and Big Players, The Free Throw Line Dunk in a Real Game!
Cleveland had the ball, and the US Airways Center responded with a single message, screamed from every section.
"Defense!"
The Finals had turned the volume up again. Phoenix had been waiting decades for a moment like this, and the crowd was acting like it knew the trophy was somewhere in the building, just out of reach.
Daniel Gibson brought it over half court and swung it to LeBron James.
Gibson might have been listed as the point guard, but everyone understood who was actually steering the ship. LeBron handled the organization, the tempo, and the decisions.
At this stage of his career, LeBron's mid range shot came and went, and he was not living in the post yet. His offense was built around power drives, downhill momentum, and forcing the defense to choose a poison.
But with Shaquille O'Neal and Zydrunas Ilgauskas on the floor together, the lane could get cramped fast. That was exactly why Mike Brown started Gibson.
Gibson had hit 44 percent from 3 in the regular season, then bumped it to 45 percent in the playoffs. His shooting was meant to unclog the paint, because if the defense never had to respect the corners, LeBron would be driving into traffic every trip.
LeBron palmed the ball in his left hand and pointed with his right like he was moving chess pieces. Gibson and Larry Hughes slid obediently into the 2 corners, spacing as wide as they could to clear a runway.
Ilgauskas stepped to the high post.
LeBron used the screen and exploded toward the paint.
Raja Bell tried to fight over the pick, but LeBron's burst was violent. If you could not get your chest in front of him before the first step landed, you were already late.
Inside the restricted area, Amar'e Stoudemire left Shaq and stepped up to help.
LeBron saw it instantly. The strength was obvious, but the vision was just as sharp. He floated the ball up softly toward the rim.
Shaq was waiting.
An alley oop.
In his younger days, that play was automatic. Throw it near the rim and let the most dominant big man on earth finish the rest.
But Shaq was 36 now. The body was not the same machine.
He caught it, hesitated, and chose to come down. He did not feel like he had the lift to hammer it clean in one motion, so he landed to reset.
In the NBA, opportunities vanish in the time it takes to blink.
The moment Shaq's feet hit the floor, Stoudemire recovered back to him. Shaq leaned in, backed him down with strength, and turned into a short hook under the basket.
It rimmed out.
Breen exhaled. "That's the difference right there. A few years ago, that's a dunk."
Mark Jackson nodded. "He still got power, but he doesn't have the same lift. Phoenix will live with that kind of finish."
Van Gundy added, almost cruelly honest, "It's not his era anymore. And the league has been moving away from traditional centers for a while. The best bigs right now run, switch, and cover ground."
Phoenix came back.
Nash called for a screen and drove left. This time Ilgauskas stepped up aggressively.
Nash read it, paused just long enough to freeze the angle, then dipped low and slipped around him.
Ilgauskas was 221 cm, and Nash's center of gravity was practically at waist level. There was nothing to contest.
Nash finished the layup clean.
2 to 9.
D'Antoni clapped on the sideline, urging him to keep hunting. Phoenix had clearly decided that Nash's individual pressure would be a priority early.
Cleveland answered with a cleaner possession.
This time the ball did not stick with LeBron. Ilgauskas initiated from the top, LeBron came off a screen to pull the defense, and then Ilgauskas fired it to Gibson on the other side.
Gibson rose into a mid range jumper and knocked it down.
4 to 9.
Mike Brown gave a thumbs up, satisfied. The read was sharp, the execution crisp.
But Phoenix was even more direct.
Chen Yan called for the ball at the top of the arc. The moment it touched his hands, he called for a screen, no hesitation.
Stoudemire set it hard on Hughes, and Chen Yan turned the corner into the lane.
Shaq never left the paint. That was his style, built over years, a habit reinforced by age.
Chen Yan did not bother with politeness. He rose into a moving pull up from mid range, taking the shot the defense was offering.
Breen caught it immediately. "Phoenix is doing it again. They're forcing the bigs into decisions."
Jackson agreed. "They're targeting the space. If your bigs can't get out, you're giving up that shot all night."
The only requirement was touch.
And tonight, Phoenix had it.
Swish.
4 to 11.
Chen Yan's offense was decisive, like a blade through water. No wasted motion, no extra drama, just a clean cut and a quiet net.
The crowd erupted again. The Suns looked looser than they had in the earlier rounds, and it showed. Phoenix's first 11 points belonged to Nash and Chen Yan, all built on mismatches and attacking the Cavaliers' size in space.
Cleveland started to feel it.
On the next possession, Larry Hughes tried a cross court pass. It sailed too high, and Chen Yan got a fingertip on it, changing the angle just enough.
The ball floated loose.
Nash beat Gibson to it, and Chen Yan was already gone, sprinting up the floor like he could smell a fast break before it existed.
Nash fired a long pass ahead, perfectly placed.
And then the camera caught something else.
A shadow closing fast.
LeBron.
He accelerated in a straight line, hunting from behind. Chase down blocks were his signature. The moment Chen Yan took off, LeBron had followed, building speed, waiting for the exact second to strike.
He did not gamble early. He tracked, measured, stalked, like a hunter watching for the first moment of weakness.
But what happened next made the entire building rise to its feet.
Chen Yan hit the free throw line and gathered the ball.
Van Gundy's voice lifted in disbelief. "Wait a minute. No. He's not…"
Chen Yan planted and launched.
One foot.
Straight up.
The air time looked wrong, like the film had been slowed.
He glided toward the rim, body tilted slightly, the distance shrinking in a way that did not look real.
LeBron was still closing, but even he hesitated for a fraction, processing what he was seeing.
And then Chen Yan finished it.
A thunderous one handed dunk.
Boom.
The arena exploded, a sound so loud it swallowed everything, even the broadcast.
Breen was shouting now. "Free throw line dunk, in a Finals game! Are you kidding me!"
Jackson sounded like he was laughing and yelling at the same time. "That is ridiculous. That is disrespectful, and I mean that as a compliment."
Van Gundy muttered, "Somebody check his shoes. That's not footwear, that's a flight plan."
LeBron landed and stared for a beat, stunned despite himself.
Chen Yan jogged back with the calm of a man who had just done something ordinary.
The crowd did not treat it as ordinary at all.
In a real Finals game, under real pressure, with LeBron chasing from behind, Chen Yan had just pulled a free throw line dunk out of the air.
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