Champion Creed
Chapter 421 - 421 163 Zen Master's Warning and the Wonderful Destiny Request for Monthly Tickets!_2

421: 163: Zen Master’s Warning and the Wonderful Destiny (Request for Monthly Tickets!)_2 421: 163: Zen Master’s Warning and the Wonderful Destiny (Request for Monthly Tickets!)_2 In Chicago, no matter how Jordan lost, at least the local fans couldn’t possibly not support him; he was still the “Black God” in the hearts of Chicago fans.

But now?

Jordan couldn’t believe New York fans were actually clamoring to cut him!

He couldn’t believe this was what Patrick Ewing had been enduring all these years!

The game was just a warning; Jordan had only lost to Roger in the regular season and was already at the point of “cut him to trade for Duncan.”

What if he lost in the playoffs?

The cruelest part was that most of the players who could be called great in history were born in different times and couldn’t be directly compared to see who was stronger or weaker.

If someone could win four consecutive championships in the 21st century, the media still couldn’t say that person surpassed Jordan.

After all, that person never directly competed with Jordan.

But Michael Jordan had lost to Roger two years in a row, and their head-to-head record was very clear.

Jordan realized that if he were truly dominated by Roger, then his previous three-peat would seem more like something that existed to highlight Roger’s greatness.

After all, if he couldn’t even dominate Roger, how could he claim to have dominated an era?

This summer, when David Falk reminded Jordan that this might be his last dance, Jordan was furious.

Retired by a kid?

How could that happen?

That was the most absurd thing in the world.

Besides, teamed up with Patrick, how could I possibly lose?

I’ll play as long as I want!

But today, Jordan found that retirement might actually happen.

That’s just how competitive sports are.

Falling from grace happens in an instant, without giving you time to react.

Jordan looked at everything, silently turned off the TV, and drove to the practice court.

When Jordan arrived, Patrick Ewing was indeed there.

But Jordan actually didn’t want to see his good friend Ewing on the court; Ewing was probably the only teammate Jordan wished would be a little lazier.

“Your knees aren’t suited for any kind of intensive training.

We should have discussed this; you can’t train extra,” he said.

Ewing, drenched in sweat, slammed the ball to the floor: “I’m not training extra.

I just…

want to play basketball.”

He wanted to vent his frustration from losing the game last night.

The series of victories over the past two months had Ewing imagining himself hoisting the O’Brien Trophy every night.

He believed the championship ring and the O’Brien Trophy were within easy reach.

But last night’s battle shattered all of that.

Ewing deeply realized that the championship was not as secure as he had thought.

Now, he felt like an eagle that thought it was invincible but kept hitting barriers everywhere.

He didn’t know how to comfort himself, except to sweat it out on the basketball court to numb his feelings.

Afterward, Jordan and Ewing didn’t speak any more.

They simply silently started shooting hoops on the court.

Who knows how much time had passed when the rest of the teammates finally trickled in, drenched in sweat like Jordan.

Phil Jackson entered the practice court unhurriedly, without mentioning the failure of the day before, only asking everyone to proceed with their usual warm-up.

After standing on the sidelines and watching for a while, the Zen Master walked over to Jordan and asked him to come to his office.

Jordan didn’t ask why, and after following the Zen Master into the office, he casually took a seat: “What’s up, Phil?”

“I’m giving you this book.”

The Zen Master handed Jordan a book.

This was one of Phil Jackson’s habits: his favorite thing to do was to give players books.

He believed it would make the players’ spirits stronger.

Of course, he could just be trying to show off and maintain his mysterious image so that the players would be more willing to listen to him.

This wasn’t the first time Jordan had received a book from Phil Jackson, so he wasn’t surprised.

Phil Jackson gave Jordan the classic by German author Hermann Hesse, “Siddhartha,” subtitled “An Indian Poem.”

Jordan didn’t know who Hermann Hesse was, nor why such a mouthful of a title was necessary, and he certainly didn’t see the connection between basketball and India.

Would Indians even know the difference between basketball and a komodo dragon?

He had no interest in reading this book.

In fact, Jordan had never finished any of the books the Zen Master had given him.

At most, he had read half of one, and even that content he had largely forgotten.

That was normal.

If you had hundreds of millions of US dollars, you probably wouldn’t need to pass time reading books.

That’s why people like David West were so rare.

Of course, it’s not shameful for NBA players not to love reading.

Just don’t pretend you do.

Jordan wasn’t in the mood to look for damn peace and courage in a book right now.

He needed victory, he needed to crush the opponents to vent the anger in his heart.

But he was, after all, a polite man, and Jordan didn’t want to slight the Zen Master.

So he took the book, unlike the super emotionally intelligent Kobe Bryant, who would later throw the Zen Master’s gift straight into the trash can.

After practice, Michael Jordan threw the book the Zen Master gave him into the car and drove home.

If all goes as expected, the next time the book would be picked up would be when Jordan sold the car.

Jordan thought the Zen Master was trying to motivate him with the book, but that wasn’t it.