Champion Creed
Chapter 414 - 414 162 I am the Mayor of New York!

414: 162: I am the Mayor of New York!

(Please vote monthly!) 414: 162: I am the Mayor of New York!

(Please vote monthly!) A few days ago,

Shaquille O’Neal, who took leave to rest at home, neither indulged in eating, drinking, and merrymaking nor ventured into the casinos to throw away fortunes.

Even those pitiful girls at the strip clubs, who needed to be saved, held no allure for him.

O’Neal didn’t know what was wrong with him; the only thing he did during those days was to sit alone at home and think.

Other than making excuses to go out to play in his childhood, he had never used his brain to think so hard.

He thought at home about his next move, about which team would be the best fit for him.

Are the Los Angeles Lakers really the best place for me?

Well, at the very least, Kobe Bryant, that kid, wouldn’t dare treat me the way Roger did.

Of course, most importantly, he also thought about his present.

After the “bloody vote” incident, Shaq could not sleep every night.

As soon as he closed his eyes, he would dream of his teammates stabbing him in the chest with knives, awakening him in the middle of the night, covered in cold sweat.

Sometimes he couldn’t even distinguish between dreams and reality; the pain in reality felt even more profoundly heartbreaking than in his dreams.

Facing a team where no one supported him, O’Neal didn’t know if he could commit himself to the games wholeheartedly.

If no one supports me, will they really accept me on the court?

Will I become a clown who can’t even catch the ball once I’m on the field?

Should I leave this season?

While pondering these issues, O’Neal’s gaze inadvertently fell on a special little decoration in the room.

In Shaq’s room was a very strange decoration—a delicate jewelry box with nothing inside.

Originally, O’Neal had bought this jewelry box specifically to display his championship rings, but both times, shortly after winning the championships, Shaq’s father “The Chief” Phillip Harrison would take the rings out of the jewelry box and confiscate them.

Of course, he wasn’t going to sell them off; not every professional player has a family member who loves to sell originals.

It was always the same with all the trophies Shaq had won from childhood; “The Chief” would allow him to revel in his achievements for a few days, then one day when Shaq came home, he would find the trophies gone, confiscated by his father.

Harrison’s intention was to tell Shaq: “The past glories are over, they’ve become history.

Go win me another trophy!”

This was his way of motivating Shaq.

Now, even though O’Neal was a professional player, a superstar, his stepfather still used the method of confiscating honors to keep Shaq focused and desirous.

But this time, when confiscating the ring, Phillip Harrison said something: “This may be the last time I confiscate your championship ring, Shaq.”

“Why?”

“Because even I can’t ignore the greatness of a three-peat.

To achieve a three-peat means you truly are invincible, it means your historical status has entered a completely different level.

The value of a three-peat won’t change even after another ten or twenty years.

By then, I can’t ask you to keep winning more.

So, this is the last time, give it your best, Shaq.”

Phillip Harrison’s words were enough to prove how extraordinary a three-peat was.

Before Michael Jordan, people generally believed a three-peat was an impossible feat.

Because in the long history of the NBA, only the Lakers of the 50s and the Celtics of the 60s had managed it.

Given that basketball back then was entirely different from now, and the competitive environment was worlds apart, essentially everyone thought a three-peat was unlikely to be replicated.

The Showtime Lakers achieved at most two peats, and the Detroit Bad Boys also only managed two at most.

So when Michael Jordan managed a three-peat in the so-called modern basketball era of the 90s, his status became unparalleled.

O’Neal remembered once again what Jerry West had told him: “Be a fool who messes up, or a champion-level player?

You’d better make a choice.”

He remembered Roger’s words: “Win victory, win everything.”

And besides, was he really going to run away like a coward?

Before the locker room vote, O’Neal and Roger had agreed, no matter the outcome, they would accept their place.

As a man, one can’t go back on his word; he had to accept the loss graciously.

All this made Shaq choose.

Thus, he took a trip to Newark, New Jersey.

To visit his grandmother Odessa, who was already in another world.

In front of Grandma Odessa’s tombstone, Shaq laid some white flowers.

Though he could no longer fall asleep on his grandmother’s knees, just being near Grandma Odessa’s tombstone made Shaq feel an unprecedented sense of peace.

He clarified what he most desired in his heart—nothing was more important than a three-peat.

And besides…

no one but Roger could bring him closer to a three-peat!

After laying the flowers, Shaq got into his Hummer.

Where to?

To kick Michael Jordan’s ass!

Now.

As George Karl watched the live broadcast of the game while holding a glass of red wine, he felt no mood to appreciate the wine.

On Christmas, he had deliberately opened a long-treasured bottle of red wine, planning to enjoy the liquor while watching Magic being thrashed.

And the result?

For him, it was like having fine wine paired with crap!

Why?

Why could those two guys still coordinate so seamlessly?