Chapter 583 - 510: Phoenix
The clock ran out. Hamilton reached out symbolically, trying to grab Miller, but came up empty.
Miller stopped dribbling and listened to the thunderous roar from the stands and the home DJ screaming at the top of his lungs. A wave of overwhelming excitement washed over him.
He slowed his pace, looking at his excited teammates huddled together, then at Payton jumping for joy on the bench. In that instant, an uncontrollable emotion seemed to pierce right through him. He clutched the basketball tightly to his chest as tears he could no longer hold back began to flow freely.
Seventeen years!
He entered the league seventeen years ago.
In those seventeen years, he played 1,323 regular season games and 138 playoff games. He had almost perfect attendance, never missing significant time. He was a workhorse, diligently chasing a single goal for seventeen long years.
He didn’t want to calculate how many days were in seventeen years, nor did he want to think about how many seventeen-year spans a person gets in a lifetime. He only knew that these seventeen years had been incredibly long and arduous.
Last summer, countless Pacer fans had cursed him.
The media had also weighed in, saying he was tarnishing his legacy and that he should have stayed in Indiana to continue his "one man, one city" legend.
But in the end, he had come to Phoenix.
He just felt that his seventeen-year journey—being a child born with a physical disability, working so hard for his dream for so many years, putting in so much effort to maintain his conditioning—deserved a perfect ending.
He deserved an ending like this!
The live broadcast camera locked onto Miller, capturing him clutching the basketball, his face streaming with tears.
"Fuck, fuck!" In the TNT Studio, Kenny Smith kept muttering the word as he rubbed at his eyes.
His voice had changed. He spoke with a hoarse throat, "I’ve never seen Reggie cry this hard. He’s a fighter. You guys understand what a fighter is?"
He slammed his hand on the desk, his eyes red. "I’m crying too, dammit. I don’t even know why. People always say the Suns formed a superteam, that they collected a bunch of stars like trading cards and then won three championships in a row. They say it’s not fair."
"But right now, I just want to thank them. Because of them, veterans like Reggie can leave the league without any regrets."
"Folks, it’s not that these guys didn’t work hard enough. They were just a little short on luck."
The moment he finished speaking, Barkley, sitting across from him with equally red-rimmed eyes, grabbed the papers on the desk and threw them at him.
"Fuck you, Kenny! Anyone else can say that, but not you!"
Barkley roared, his eyes growing even redder.
In ’93, Jordan retired.
The year before, after leading his team and pushing the mighty Bulls to the brink, Barkley thought his time had finally come, that he finally had a chance at a championship. Then he ran headfirst into the Rockets.
Two years in a row, two Game 7s in a row. The Rockets’ back-to-back championships were won by walking over the Suns—by walking over Barkley’s dead body to reach the summit.
’You’re talking about luck now? Then what does that make me?’
Kenny Smith froze for a second, then got up, walked over, and pulled Barkley into a hug.
All that remained in the studio was the sound of congratulations for the Suns’ repeat championship and the sight of Ernie Johnson’s face, full of sighs and emotion.
At the post-game press conference, Skiles, wearing the Armani suit that was now, as he had wished, soaked in champagne, sat down looking as proud as a peacock. He remained there for a full thirty seconds, in stunned silence, without saying a single word.
He seemed not to hear the reporters’ questions, simply saying in an emotional voice, "We did it. A three-peat. It wasn’t easy. We gave so much over these three years, and I have so many people to thank. In fact, I shouldn’t even be the one saying it. It’s not my place to thank anyone, because this was the result of everyone working together."
"I’ve always thought the Suns is a great name for a team. Like this city, we are the Phoenix. It represents rebirth from the ashes. So please, remember the names, especially the veterans. They were truly like the phoenix, giving their all to be reborn here."
As he spoke, his eyes grew red and moist.
Hardaway, with his ruined knees, whose career was about to fade away like a shooting star.
Ewing, who was overshadowed for an entire era and had to find solace in the title of ’the uncrowned king’.
Sabonis, who entered the NBA at the ripe old age of thirty-three, practically a disabled man.
The old oak, Oakley, who helped make Jordan a legend, only to be defeated time and again by his dear friend.
The thief, Mookie Blaylock; the Divine Archer, Dale Curry; the NBA’s evergreen, Kevin Willis.
And the ever-combative Reggie Miller; Stockton, who had battled and scrapped in the NBA for a full twenty years...
In that moment, Skiles thought of all of them. Just as he’d said, here in Phoenix City, they had been reborn from the ashes, burning brightly one last time to realize their dreams.
"So, please, remember their names. They may be gone, but their stories will forever be remembered by this city."
Skiles took a deep breath, rose to his feet, and left the press conference with a proud stride.
Joy needs an outlet.
Over the next few days, the entire city of Phoenix erupted with incredible passion, celebrating the team’s three-peat.
But like fireworks, after the most brilliant display, all that remains is darkness.
The Suns’ glorious ’03-’04 season was over, but life had to go on.
The day after the championship parade, O’Neal wasted no time, taking his beautiful wife and son on a trip to start their European vacation.
Hardaway, too, returned to Memphis at the earliest opportunity to be with his family.
And then came the expected farewells.
Stockton retired.
After the championship parade, in a manner befitting his low-key twenty-year career, he announced his retirement via a short statement through the official NBA media, said a simple farewell to the team, and returned to Salt Lake City alone.
From that day on, their paths diverged.
Then there was Sabonis.
He held a small party at his house in Phoenix, inviting the teammates who were still in town.
When Chen Yu arrived, many things in the house were already covered with white dust cloths.
His wife and children had come to the United States after the playoffs started.
Their plan was to go on vacation together after the Finals before returning to their home country.
Just as he parked his car on the side of the road and waved to a few passersby, Chen Yu heard someone call out to him from behind.
He turned his head and saw a kid.
"Hey, do you remember me?" the kid asked.
It took Chen Yu a moment to remember who he was.
"Of course," Chen Yu said with a smile, walking over and ruffling the boy’s hair. "You’re Domantas, right?"
’The last time I saw him, he was only six years old,’ Chen Yu thought. ’Now he’s suddenly shot up. He must be about 5’3" already.’
’If he gets any taller, I won’t be able to ruffle his hair anymore.’
The party was simple. Sabonis’s lovely wife had prepared many dishes from their homeland.
There were no tearful goodbyes. Everyone simply shared a meal, made some pleasant small talk, and then parted ways.
With this farewell, their paths would diverge, and it was unlikely they would have many more chances to meet again.
During the meal, Chen Yu had asked Sabonis if he had considered staying in the United States.
For his children’s sake.
He had three sons, and they all seemed to have inherited his physical gifts, growing tall for their age.
Chen Yu recalled that even as a grown man, he couldn’t win a playful wrestling match against Domantas when he was just six.
Sabonis also wanted his sons to pursue basketball, and if so, staying in the United States would give them access to better training.
But he refused without a second thought, a look of longing on his face as he said he missed his homeland.
In response, Chen Yu could only offer his best wishes.
The season was over. The offseason had officially begun.
’The draft is on the 24th, still a few days away.’
Before that, Chen Yu’s most important task was to film the next stage of his TV show.