The smoke of Finals Game 4 hadn't fully cleared from TD Garden when LeBron James was already plotting the next battle. Media praise for his "game-saving defense on Duncan" still buzzed—but to him, that clutch steal was just one piece of the plan. The real win, he knew, went far beyond what happened on the court.
The locker room's LCD screen replayed Game 4's final moments: LeBron's fingertips tapping Parker's pass to Duncan, Pierce's missed buzzer-beater, his overtime dominance… Teammates still wore tired grins. LeBron shut the video off.
"What scares the San Antonio guys right now?" He glanced around the room. His voice was calm, but carried unshakable authority. "It's not our offense—it's uncertainty. Game 5? We're gonna crank that fear up."
He pointed to Duncan's name on the whiteboard. "Popovich will adjust. They'll try to get Tim the ball earlier, deeper—let him tear us apart. Good. Let 'em."
His plan was bold, even cruel: deliberately leak to the media that he'd "guard Duncan one-on-one the entire game," hyping everyone's expectations to force the Spurs to commit to Duncan. But in reality, he'd mapped out a complex scheme of help defense and rotations—aimed at isolating Duncan, cutting off his passes to teammates, draining his energy, and finally framing him in the media as "the reason the Spurs' offense stalled."
"I'll stand in front of Tim," LeBron's gaze shifted to the big men, "but from the second he catches the ball to the shot? I won't be the only one fighting. You guys need to show up at the exact right moment—hit him with contact, mess with his rhythm, but don't foul easily. We need every point he scores to feel like a battle."
He turned to the perimeter players. "The second that ball leaves Tim's hands—pass or rebound—I want the fastest transition you've got. Their wings are more tired than we are."
An assistant coach hesitated. "LeBron, isn't this too risky? Guarding Tim the whole game will drain your energy. It could even get you hurt…"
LeBron cut him off, sharp and firm. "This is the Finals. Risk means reward. If we execute, every outlet will write 'LeBron James shut down Tim Duncan.' The Spurs' offense? They'll call it 'too dependent on Duncan.' That's bigger than winning one game." He wanted to shatter Duncan's psyche—and his public image—for good.
At the press conference, LeBron dropped his usual humility. His words carried a rare edge—sharp and certain.
"Tim's one of the greatest power forwards ever," he said, giving a nod first. Then he pivoted. "But Game 4's final minutes proved it: when he's under real defensive pressure, the Spurs' offense stalls. Game 5? I'm taking responsibility for guarding him. I know it'll be hard—but it's my job. I'll make him work for every shot, force him to pass, and test if the rest of the Spurs can finish."
Media jumped on it: "James Issues Challenge," "Declares One-on-One Battle with Duncan." Lisa Kruger's media network cranked into high gear, pushing the narrative "LeBron Looks to End Duncan's Era" and hyping it as an epic king-vs-king showdown.
In the locker room, Paul Pierce watched LeBron's declaration on TV,眉头 furrowed. A flicker of unease hit him—this loud挑衅 clashed with LeBron's usual calculated style. Big men like Antoine Walker and Mark Blount exchanged glances; the defense plan they'd been told didn't line up with what their leader was telling the media.
Game 5 tipped off to a thunderous roar at TD Garden. On the Spurs' first possession, Duncan posted up low—and sure enough, LeBron stepped right in front of him. The crunch of clashing muscles barely audible over the roar. Duncan's face stayed blank as he fought for position, caught the ball, and turned to post up.
LeBron dug in, hips locked against Duncan's. But raw strength and height gap weren't things willpower alone could fix. Duncan bulled a step toward the middle, then hit his signature bank shot.
Swish. Clean.
LeBron raised a hand—signaling he'd played it right. Next possession, the Spurs fed Duncan again. LeBron stayed on him. Duncan faked, spun baseline, and laid it in easy.
Popovich stood courtside, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He saw through LeBron's trick—but he trusted his guy. The Spurs' playbook shrank to one move: get the ball to Tim Duncan.
LeBron stuck to his one-on-one plan, but Duncan was on fire. Face-up moves, post moves—he showed why he was an all-time great. LeBron's defense was fierce, but Duncan always found a way: a bucket, or a quick pass to a cutting teammate.
End of the first quarter: Duncan had 12 points, Spurs up 7. LeBron panted, sweat soaking through his jersey.
Halftime break, Coach O'Brien looked at LeBron, urgent. "LeBron—do we need to adjust? Let Antoine or Mark take the primary defense on Tim?"
LeBron shook his head, jaw tight. "No. Stick to the plan. He can't stay this hot forever." He was betting Duncan would fade in the second half—and that the Spurs' perimeter would go cold.
But he'd underestimated Duncan's resolve—and the Spurs' execution. In the second quarter, while Duncan rested, the Spurs held off Boston's rally. When Duncan came back, he played even harder. He dominated inside, then started knocking down mid-range jumpers.
LeBron's energy tank hit empty. On one play, Duncan faked him up, shouldered through, scored, and drew a foul. The free throw dropped. For the first time, TD Garden's roar wavered.
Halftime: Duncan had 24 points. Spurs up 15. LeBron's stat line was anemic—few points, rebounds and assists way below his average. Chasing Duncan on defense had killed his all-around game.
The locker room was quiet. LeBron sat, towel over his head, silent. His plan had backfired—badly. Duncan wasn't isolated or drained; he'd torn through Boston's defense single-handedly, lifting his team.
The second half turned into a massacre. Duncan scored at will inside. Boston's help defense was always a step slow—their perimeter guys worn out chasing Spurs passes. LeBron's legs grew heavier; Duncan blew past him more than once, leaving him watching as the ball went in or a foul was called.
The gap widened. Late in the third quarter, Popovich even pulled Duncan—but the Spurs' bench kept rolling, extending the lead.
When the final buzzer sounded, the scoreboard screamed: 89-109. Boston had lost by 20 at home. Series tied 2-3. Tim Duncan finished with a monster line: 39 points, 17 rebounds, 5 assists. Plus-28. LeBron James? Just 19 points, no double-double on rebounds or assists, and 5 turnovers.
TD Garden went dead silent. Fans stared, stunned. LeBron walked straight for the tunnel, face stone-gray.
In the mixed zone, tension hung thick. Reporters swarmed Antoine Walker—Boston's starting power forward, who'd been forced to switch and补位 all night, exhausted. His face was pale, eyes darting.
"Antoine, can you explain tonight's interior defense?" A reporter's question was blunt. "You couldn't stop Tim Duncan—why?"
Walker opened his mouth, throat dry. His gaze flicked to where LeBron would arrive, then he spoke, voice low. "It's… it's on me. I didn't defend well enough. Rotations, help—all too slow. Gave Tim too many easy looks. I gotta be better… We'll watch film, fix it." He took the blame awkwardly, face tight.
Then LeBron walked over, expressionless. Reporters turned, microphones and cameras shoving forward.
"LeBron, you said you'd guard Duncan tonight—but he dropped 39. How do you rate your defense? Was this a strategic mistake?"
LeBron stopped. No trace of his pre-game fire—just deep, unreadable calm. Almost too calm.
"Tim Duncan is a great champion," he said first, lifting the opponent high. Then he shifted, subtle. "Our team defense didn't execute. On some plays, communication, rotations—we weren't sharp. They capitalized. This is a series. We'll learn, and Game 6? We'll be a different team."
He'd smoothly turned "personal defensive failure" into "team execution issues"—and shifted focus to the next game, like this blowout was just a fixable glitch.
But in the split second his eyes flickered cold—calculating—it hinted this loss might not be the end. Even in a brutal setback, the reborn king's first thought was always how to take back control. TD Garden's defeat was final. But his war? Was far from over.