024: The Value of Lynch

"Illa! Illa! Illa! Juanito! Maravilla!"

The thunderous battle cry echoed throughout the Vistalegre Arena. Seventeen-year-old Lynch had ended the decadence of Madrid basketball.

At the Bernabeu, whenever a home match reached the seventh minute, the fans would chant this in unison as a tribute to the spirit of Juanito. At this moment, that legacy found a cross-sport resonance.

The on-site commentator’s voice trembled, "A perfect start! My God, this is the dream of so many young basketball players! Seventeen years old, wearing the Real Madrid jersey, blocking the opposing star forward in the first possession of his professional career, then completing a steal in the next... a robbery, followed by a thunderous dunk! Coach Julio Lamas isn't crazy; Lynch is the sharpest weapon in his arsenal!"

Nocioni walked over and reached out to pull up Luis Scola, who had been knocked down. Though he had just been stripped and stepped over by Lynch, the "Diamond" wasn't angry. This is competitive sports; you are gambling with more than just a win or loss—you are gambling with your dignity. If you can’t beat them, you shut your mouth. Besides, it wasn't certain yet who would win.

"He's a damn animal, huh?" Nocioni shook his head. Lynch’s physique was in no way inferior to the monsters of the Dream Team.

Scola replied with a relaxed smile, "Everyone on the Dream Team is faster and stronger than us, too. But it doesn't matter; basketball isn't a track and field event."

Indeed, Nocioni and Scola didn't care about what Lynch had just done; it only proved that Lynch was immensely talented, nothing more. But basketball isn't won by talent alone.

As the game continued, Teodosic on the bench recalled a game from last year. The Serbian U18 genius center Blagota Sekulic had thought he could attack the rim at will, but after being blocked by Lynch, he lost his composure and spent the entire game charging around blindly. Today, Nocioni’s start was a carbon copy of Sekulic’s.

However, the two players took different paths from there. The seasoned Nocioni was no naive boy; he was a mature professional. After gauging Lynch’s strength in the first possession, he knew this young number 10 was not to be challenged lightly, and he didn't lose his head. For him, a victory was the glory of the whole team; he didn't necessarily have to be the one scoring.

Baskonia restarted their offensive gears. Prigioni passed the ball to Oberto, who had drifted to the high post; Oberto then fed Scola, who was cutting along the baseline. The timing of the pass and the trajectory of Scola’s cut overlapped perfectly. The Argentinians seemed to have brought the philosophy of the football pitch to the basketball court; their passing and cutting were always silky and fluid.

Lynch quickly returned to the paint to provide help defense, blocking Scola’s path, but he caught a glimpse of the ball slicing through his blind spot like a dagger. The Diamond calmly delivered a no-look pass to Nocioni, whom Lynch had momentarily left open. Nocioni’s shot wasn't always consistent, but it wasn't non-existent either. Facing such a wide-open opportunity, he didn't hesitate for a second.

But as he released the ball, he found himself smothered by a giant hand. Lynch had lunged out from the paint with incredible speed, extending his long arm to tip Nocioni’s shot at his very fingertips! Nocioni’s shot eventually clattered off the front rim; the passing and cutting magic of the "Pampas Army" had lost its effect in front of Lynch. This was more than just athleticism; the way Lynch stopped Scola and then smothered Nocioni proved just how outstanding his ability to read the game was.

"Bien ahí!" (Well done!) Julio Lamas jumped up with a fist-pumping gesture. He knew his choice was the right one!

Lynch was a player who could serve as both a defensive and offensive anchor; his age was never an obstacle to his leadership!

Greek player Antonios Fotsis battled with Luis Scola under the rim, struggling to grab a rebound. This was why he disliked playing the five; center was a position for dirty, exhausting work. But Lynch’s help-defense ability forced Fotsis to play the five—when Lynch was sprinting half the court, someone had to protect the glass in the paint. Fotsis still didn't like playing center, and he was still annoyed with Julio Lamas. Yet, he had to admit that Lynch played the four better than he did, and the team needed that level of help defense.

Nocioni missed for the second consecutive time and helplessly shrugged at Scola, who had delivered the good pass. This possession had been patient and beautiful, creating a great opportunity. But there was no helping it; Lynch had used his individual ability to stitch together a defense that had been torn apart.

The double-champion Baskonia still hadn't scored, and it was Real Madrid's turn to attack. As Louis Bullock brought the ball up, Real Madrid captain Alberto Herreros roared, "Don't be a damn fool! And don't throw your hands up at your teammates after you brick a shot!"

Louis Bullock ignored him. *So what if I throw my hands up? It’s a common habit of great players.* The American guard didn't care about the captain’s shout, but he didn't do anything stupid again.

He waved his hand from two steps behind the three-point line, and Lynch received the signal to come up for a screen. Prigioni, like most traditional point guards, had excellent defensive awareness and a pair of quick hands for steals. But limited by his physical attributes, his overall defensive ability was weak. He neither had the strength to squeeze through the screen from the front nor the speed to circle around from behind; switching was the only option for the South American army.

Nocioni switched onto Louis Bullock. He knew this bastard was a lethal offensive weapon in the ACB last season, so he couldn't give him any space to shoot. Meanwhile, Scola and Oberto instinctively sagged back, preparing to meet Lynch’s storm-like drive to the rim.

But Lynch didn't do that. After the pick-and-roll, he popped out to the arc beyond the three-point line. The tactical shift caused the South American army’s defensive formation to collapse instantly. Luis Scola realized what was happening and tried to rush out to interfere, but he was met by a timely screen from Alberto Herreros. The Real Madrid captain’s stats were always mediocre, and he was never the team’s primary scorer. But he was always everywhere, influencing the game in ways that stats couldn't reflect.

"Damn it!" Scola was blocked. Whether Lynch scored now depended entirely on his own touch. He knew Lynch hadn't shown a shooting ability before, but Real Madrid would never arrange a three-point tactic for him for no reason—Lynch definitely had the confidence to make it!

After Louis Bullock drew Nocioni away, he delivered a behind-the-back pass to the Real Madrid number 10, and there was only the 191cm Prigioni in front of Lynch.

In the stands, Lakers overseas scout Marcellas widened his eyes: "Wait, don't you dare tell me..."

Lynch released the ball calmly; his form wasn't exactly elegant, but it was smooth enough. Prigioni reached out desperately, but the gap in height and wingspan was simply too great. The greatest sorrow in this world is knowing you have the chance to hit someone hard, but even on your tiptoes, you can't reach them.

The orange and black ball slid off Lynch’s fingertips like a sharpened blade, slicing through the Madrid night, tearing apart the narrative that "professional basketball is terrifying" and "Lamas must be crazy to start a 17-year-old."

After the release, the number 10 in white stood expressionless under the arena lights, like a cool swordsman sheathing his blade. As the ball swished through the net, he simply pursed his lips and gave a small fist pump, then glanced at the South American army opposite him.

*Whatever your Golden Generation, whatever your professional status, whatever your double-crown reign—I’m coming for you!*

Louis Bullock, who had provided the assist, shrugged at his captain: "See, I didn't need your reminder."

Alberto Herreros shook his head. This was why he hated every bastard who threw his hands up at teammates.

Earlier, when Lynch used his raw talent to block Nocioni and rob Scola, the Argentine "Diamond" could still manage a smile. But this time, after Lynch hit the three-pointer, the usually composed Argentine superstar showed his first sign of anxiety, wiping cold sweat from his brow: "He’s not just a young idiot with explosive athleticism; he can jump-shoot, and he knows how to read the game. Damn, we're in big trouble tonight!"

Yes, you can't win on raw talent alone. But someone with powerful talent who also knows how to play the game can.

The Spanish commentator’s shout drowned out the Argentine’s nervousness. "It’s good! Lynch hits a three-pointer! The Serbian fairy tale continues to unfold in Spain! As far as I know, there was no record of Lynch hitting a three-pointer in the Serbian youth league last season. Just how much has this already outstanding kid improved!? Regardless, the shameful page of Madrid basketball has been completely turned over by this kid."

In that moment, Marcellas felt as if he had gone deaf. The commentator’s voice vanished, the fans' cheers disappeared, and there was nothing around him.

"Damn it..."

Marcellas finally couldn't help but break the oppressive silence with a curse. Soon, sound gradually returned. He realized that it wasn't his ears that were the problem, but his thoughts. His mind was trapped in that moment when Lynch calmly pulled up for the jumper and turned to leave. It was a terrifying moment. It meant that a name which had always had a blank space in the three-point column in the Serbian youth league was now declaring its evolution in the most lethal way possible.

Marcellas didn't believe it was a fluke or a flash-in-the-pan touch, because Real Madrid wouldn't specifically design a three-point play for someone who could only get lucky. Now, on the court was a forward with better athleticism than KG, rebounding ability as freakish as Moses Malone, maxed-out defensive skills, and an offensive explosion more lethal than Shawn Kemp, with range that covered the three-point line!

If that was the case, the Los Angeles Lakers might never be able to acquire Lynch in the summer of 2004. Because by then, no team with the first overall pick would easily trade him away. Just as the 1997 San Antonio Spurs would never have traded their first overall pick. Lynch had already become the most brilliant cornerstone for rebuilding glory. If the Los Angeles Lakers were determined to rebuild around Lynch, then... unless Mitch Kupchak was willing to trade Kobe Bryant or Shaquille O'Neal, who were already at odds!

Marcellas wasn't saying this would definitely happen. But this was Lynch’s value right now.