Basketball Legend: When Pride Still Matters

The Wizards' cold win in Los Angeles didn't affect the casinos in Las Vegas at all.

Cards slid across a long green table. Aces, Kings, Diamonds, Spades—all losers. The man sitting at table 23 had been losing for over an hour now, shedding what for most people might be a lifetime of savings.

"Keep 'em coming, deal me in, deal me!" Michael Jordan commanded, pushing another $5,000 chip forward. He loved the game, but even more, he craved the intensely exhilarating brand of gambling. He reveled in moments of soaring adrenaline, an intense rush inaccessible to most mortals.

After being sidelined for the season, the thirst for thrills drove him to the blackjack table on the night the Wizards were challenging the Lakers in their own court, here in Las Vegas, where he sought to forget about the minutiae of life in the city that never sleeps.

"Deal me in," he continued to the attractive dealer.

His love for gambling had grown into a junkie-like habit over the past 18 years. Because much of real life was devoid of exciting risks, filled instead with tedium and joyless minutiae. To Jordan, that was like prison.

Nights of heavy gambling like tonight were "insane," the sort of madness that was the highest level of stimulation in Jordan's domain, representing both hair-raising thrills and extraordinary exhilarations.

Jordan played blackjack straight through until dawn, at one point down half a million dollars, but he refused to quit, sinking deeper, magnifying the gambler within, just like all those who lost big—raising the stakes and multiplying the bets all at once—in an attempt to claw back from his losses.

Around 3 a.m., he called over a cup of coffee and lit a cigar. Jordan's entourage—bodyguards, assistant, secretaries, and friends—had decided to gamble all night. But yawns spread among Jordan's companions. One confided to Jordan that it was late and his body needed rest more than his wallet: Maybe it was time to call it a night.

Jordan appeared not to hear. Maybe he should consider getting some rest, his companion added softly, given that he was still in recovery, given that the Wizards still had a flicker of playoff hope, he should follow the doctor's orders and get some sleep on time, shouldn't he? He knew that more than ever, he needed his rest right now, didn't he?

Jordan ignored the veiled advice. Ten years ago, all-night gambling was nothing to him. Back then, he could spend the postseason nights in Atlantic City, playing cards all night, then go to New York the next day, devastate the Knicks like a barracuda, mock their coach, exchange barbs with Spike Lee, score forty or fifty points, and then off the court talk about the hand of blackjack he'd doubled down on and lost 18 hours earlier. No one ever questioned his lifestyle back then; no one does even now. This signifies a longstanding agreement with basketball: coaches and executives agreed to shoulder the burden of his unhealthy lifestyle and desires. They knew the restless side of him was another facet of an incomparable iron will.

He'd often tire himself out training while his teammates were asleep. He would be the first at the training facility, doing extra stretches, alone at the Wizards' MCI Center practice gym after a long overnight flight, shooting alone for an hour, then another, as he tried to get the feel of his jump shot back, to return to the times past. In most things, he was the epitome of excess.

For him, any loss was an affront.

"Deal," he called out, as the dealer at table 23 dealt him three hands—three busts, each worth $10,000. He was now hemorrhaging cash and chips.

The assistant occasionally whispered something to him. But Jordan didn't utter a word, fixated on the new hand and his dwindling stack of chips. He upped the stakes, playing $15,000 a hand, drinking more coffee, and finally around 4 a.m., he turned the tide.

Was he satisfied? No.

He rejected yet another hint to go home and rest, continuing to gamble. He wanted to win breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next day, winning three hands at once, ultimately winning about 600,000 US dollars.

Jordan looked ecstatic, as if gripped by a frenzy, eagerly declaring his victory and joyfully talking trash, "Keep dealing, give me those damn cards, you bastards are going to have to rob a bank to pay me!"

He didn't stop at all, playing until about 8 o'clock the next morning. As he walked towards the casino's exit, he raised his arms high, as though he had won a decisive Game 7 in a playoff series.

"Michael, did you hear about Dennis?" Tim Grover, who had stayed up all night with Jordan, asked.

Jordan flashed a smile as if he remembered the nights he sat side by side with Rodman.

That eccentric Dennis, the misunderstood Dennis, the one who wore a wedding dress and gold wigs, ahead of political correctness experts by 25 years, no longer played basketball, but he was still a misfit, accompanied by a few strange legal @ issues.

"Did I hear Dennis is planning to spend 100,000 US dollars to settle this thing?" Jordan referred to an incident a few days ago when Rodman was accused of groping a female dealer at this casino.

"No, it's something else." Grover said, "He stuffed the dice up another dealer's **..."

Jordan let out his deep laugh and rolled his eyes. His companions—Grover, George Koehler, and bodyguard Larry Wooten—were by his side. They would be with His Airness over the next few years, understanding him in ways his teammates couldn't fathom.

Jordan probed, "Does Dennis really think that's going to help him?"

"That's Dennis, nobody knows what he's thinking." Grover said.

"Looks like it," Jordan said, though at the time he was unaware that Rodman, while placing the dice where they shouldn't be, also caressed another area of the dealer.

Jordan smiled and eventually gazed into the distance. He thought of the games, the struggles before his injury, the effort on the practice court, jumping and shooting time and again with a graceful arc and deadly accuracy.

"Sigh." He sighed, his thoughts returning to Rodman, still trying to imagine where the idea of putting dice up ** to change his luck came from. He wondered how desperate Rodman must have been to seek fortune in such a way.

"Hey!" Jordan suddenly called out to those around him. The Rodman story seemed to have a deeper meaning for him that applied to all gambling—blackjack, craps, basketball. "That kind of madness doesn't work," he said softly. "It's all about luck!" There was a touch of disdain in his voice. He thought Rodman had missed the point of how things worked. "You have to find that feeling," he continued, "and be smart about it. If you have the feeling, you can win. That's why I can lose 500,000 and still come back to win. I have that feeling."

People would forget the nights when Jordan lost money, and no one would be foolish enough to ask him why he didn't realize he was out of luck when he was losing.

That's something only a "Anti-Mike" like Yu Fei would do.

They were all believers of Mike.

Jordan looked around as if he was worried someone might be eavesdropping, and then he asked Grover, "Do you think I could make a comeback in the playoffs?"

"Of course," Grover replied, "provided that they can make it into the playoffs!"

Jordan was full of confidence, "I can make a comeback, I can make a comeback right now, I feel great. It's a feeling, that feeling when I know I will win. It's not luck, it has nothing to do with luck."

Then why don't you make a comeback?

Although no one asked, Jordan would answer himself.

"But I need to teach that kid a lesson, he needs to understand something, that is, this team without me..."

Before Jordan finished, the assistant came with a message.

The Wizards had beaten the full-strength Lakers last night on the road.

Yu Fei scored 30 points, 14 rebounds, 12 assists, and hit the buzzer-beating game-winner at the final moment.

Now the Wizards ranked eighth in the Eastern Conference, with the team's morale soaring.

Could the playoffs be within reach?

"This game should have been over a while ago!" Jordan lost the sense of everything being under control, "Why the hell didn't anyone tell me about this?!!"

No one would remind Jordan that the rule of not discussing the game on a "gambling night" was set by himself.
Discover hidden content at empire

Everyone just kept quiet, waiting for Jordan to calm down.

Meanwhile, in Los Angeles, Yu Fei's game-winning shot had thrust him into the limelight; his teammates recognized his leadership and eagerly invited him to join the "post-game celebration party."

In the past, Yu Fei had refused to mix with them in nightclubs, but now the situation seemed different.

They had defeated the mighty Lakers Team, and the whole team shared a unified goal and obeyed Yu Fei's leadership. On the night when he had fully proven himself, refusing the invitation of his mates would seem unsociable.

So, Yu Fei joined in.

As he expected, the "post-game celebration" did come with beer, junk food, and the company of some not-so-welcome flesh.

What's worse, someone figured out Yu Fei's "nature" and arranged for him a mixed-race girl who looked a lot like Junko Bihua. Her name was Rachel.

Yu Fei was actually about to leave, and then Tyronn Lue pulled him aside, "Frye, relax, she's a fan of yours. She likes your performance in the NBA; every Asian American is proud of you. She just is... willing to offer more than the other fans who like you."

Then, Cassidy White laughed and said, "What's the big deal about relaxing a little?"

Yu Fei was persuaded.

Yeah, what's the big deal about relaxing a bit after being tense for most of the year?

Besides, they really knew how to choose.

That night, Yu Fei lost his virginity for buzzer-beater game-winners and another unspeakable virginity.

However, joyful times always pass especially quickly.

The next day, as Yu Fei was having breakfast with Rachel, suddenly his assistant Alex Clark called him urgently, "There's news that MJ is thinking of coming back in the last week of the regular season..."

Thanks to the lord of "Heaven and Earth, Six Harmonies and Eight Desolations, Only I Reign Supreme" for their support, as well as to Tao Chenggong, Feather Blade, the Silent Lamb, Finding you ZY, Murasaki Human Returns, Burning Passionate Guest from the Town, Kan Youyou (couldn't type the third character), There You Are, Shark, Little John Khan, Collapse of Soy Sauce, A Peng, smake_明, Gundamtw44, Boiling Water for Tea, Little Bear Spread Hands 7777777, How to Say Mushroom, Wooden Sword Ranger y, Silent DE Left Hand, My Name is Chu Yuxuan, I am the Runner-Up, Book Friend 160316080548799, Taige, KG passerby GK, Dingding c_c, Trivial Matters 1, Inverted Willow Overlord Boy Runs, Taeyeonan's big launch, Little Boss so Slick, Flying Pirate, Insects Horse Insect Justice 2016, Zen Speech Cicada Intent, Not there or I Can't See Me, rx78, and Chen Qingzhi for their support. Thank you for your support.

PS: Lord's additional chapter at twelve o'clock.