Chapter 919: Chapter 61 Man in Mirror_2
His average points per game and assist numbers surpassed Ah Gan’s—he was the best on the court.
There was never a game where the Bulls lost because of Jordan’s underperformance—it was always because the Bulls as a team couldn’t compete with the Trail Blazers.
Jordan wanted to single-handedly rescue his team, but Ah Gan’s impact on both offense and defense was enough to neutralize him.
The most disappointing aspect of the Bulls was their interior lineup. Cartwright, Grant, Williams—a lineup that should be premium—was torn apart single-handedly by Ah Gan.
In contrast, the Trail Blazers’ perimeter maintained its intensity, and Petrović delivered game-changing performances in critical matchups.
Other than Pippen, none of the Bulls players had those decisive, game-altering performances—they could only be described as mediocre.
The suppression of the interior was undoubtedly fatal, forcing the Bulls to limp on only one leg for both offense and defense.
Unless Jordan could put up 50 points every single game, this series was a lost cause for them.
Even if Jordan scored 50, Ah Gan had the ability to respond with his own 50.
At this point in the series, it was no longer just about tactics, form, or lineup matchups.
It was more about psychology, morale, willpower, and the clash of desires.
The Bulls still had a chance—if they could muster a do-or-die belief, winning two games in Portland would not be out of the question.
United together, there was still a possibility of working miracles.
Unfortunately, right before the game began, the Bulls’ locker room was eerily silent.
No one stepped forward to rally the team. No one stood up and said, "We’ve got to fight hard and bring home the win."
The loss in Game 4 had hit the team too hard—even Phil Jackson was at a loss for how to encourage the players to rise again.
What could he do? Have them read books? Perform some sort of ritual? Or... he didn’t know. Jackson really had no idea.
Jordan mentioned that in Game 4, Ah Gan had his teammates rough him up a bit, and it rekindled their fighting spirit.
Jackson joked, "Why don’t you let Pippen and Grant beat you up a little too?"
Jordan shook his head; he wouldn’t risk it, because he knew very well where he stood with his teammates.
He worried it might turn into an opportunity for them to vent their own personal grievances—what if they beat him so badly he ended up injured? That would be disastrous.
This was one of the key differences between Jordan and Ah Gan. Jordan’s teammates mostly feared him, respected his skills, but when it came to him as a person... well, not so much.
Among his current teammates, the ones who had been with Jordan the longest were Pippen and Grant, who entered the league in 1987 and played alongside Jordan for less than four seasons.
Ironically, these two "founding members" didn’t get along well with Jordan—one subtly opposed him in many ways, while the other outright clashed off the court, openly disliking each other.
Gan Guoyang was different. Kossie was a rookie the same year as Ah Gan, Porter joined shortly after, Thompson stayed with the Trail Blazers throughout, and Curry was there too.
They were Ah Gan’s closest allies—they admired him and loved him. The bond among them was unbreakable.
Before Game 6 started, Gan Guoyang did something rare—he gave a speech in the locker room, saying: "Seven years in, we’ve reached this point again—the moment we’re about to ascend to the top. In the past four opportunities, we’ve never failed. But I want to say: Forget them. Forget the achievements of the past, forget the successes before this. It’s not because those moments weren’t beautiful, but because we now have an even more glorious present and future! The Portland Trail Blazers will never falter! God, Allah, Buddha, Mazu, Eternal Heaven—they’re all with us! Win the championship and give Memorial Coliseum the perfect conclusion!"
Afterward, the Trail Blazers’ morale soared—the people of Portland had already won the battle by seventy percent.
Americans love their locker-room speeches to motivate players to secure victory.
But motivational talks aren’t a cure-all; they don’t magically turn things around in moments of adversity just because a coach or player speaks some stirring words.
A speech is essentially an amplifier of emotions; it doesn’t create emotions but directs and releases those already present.
If a team has inner fighting spirit, has hearts desperate to defy fate, and someone steps forward to rally them—to express what everyone wants to say, to channel their emotions—the group will respond, unite, and gain momentum.
But if a team’s spirit is already scattered, forcing motivational words upon them will only backfire, leaving no one to echo those feelings and worsening the atmosphere.
An excellent speaker’s strength doesn’t lie in their rhetoric, eloquence, or astonishing knowledge, but in their ability to perceive the audience’s emotions, guide them, and even stir them up.
Gan Guoyang unquestionably had this gift. Most of the time, he preferred action on the court to change the game rather than lengthy speeches.
But once he sensed morale and emotion reaching a critical point, he would decisively step forward and ignite an even greater spiritual force through his words.
Just like his knack for seizing opportunities during games, this sharp-sensed man would always grasp the perfect moment to deliver a fatal blow to his opponents.
Tonight was the perfect moment.
Just like last year, Memorial Coliseum was electrified, the atmosphere reaching a fever pitch. The sidelines were brimming with stars.
Pop icon Michael Jackson was once again present to watch the game live.
Also attending were the team owner Tang Jianguo and heavyweight boxing champion Mike Tyson.
Simply put, if you weren’t at the pinnacle of your own field, it was tough to be considered Gan Guoyang’s peer, let alone his opponent.
As Jordan stepped onto the court, his feelings were complex.
