The No.1 Anti-Fans in Basketball-Chapter 31: Stepping Forward

The Summer League format consists of 4 regular games, after which teams are ranked based on wins and point differentials, and the top eight teams advance to the playoffs while the rest are eliminated.

The Cavaliers’ record stood at 2 wins and 2 losses, landing them in eighth place thanks to their low point differential.

They were set to face their old rivals, the Grizzlies, in two days.

The packed schedule took a toll on the players’ bodies, so Malone gave the team a day off.

Hansen and Conningham went to a nearby bar.

As a center, Conningham wasn’t very tall, but he had range and his pick-and-rolls with Hansen were lethal.

Moreover, Conningham had played four years of college before being drafted, which made him quite mature, and the two got along well.

"Coach Malone is really strict," Conningham complained.

Conningham had performed exceptionally during the Summer League, averaging 18 points per game, although he committed quite a few fouls, averaging 5.5 per game.

But the Summer League sets a 10-foul limit precisely to let rookies adjust to the game’s intensity.

Not everyone could adapt as smoothly as Hansen.

Whenever Conningham fouled, Malone would roar from the sidelines.

"He cares a lot about defense," Hansen observed astutely, noting that Malone, like Brown, was fundamentally a defensive coach.

Conningham just shook his head with a bitter smile.

Right then, a woman laughing sat next to Hansen.

She was Black, with large breasts and a full rear.

Hansen noticed her and thought that if James Harden were here, he’d certainly be interested.

But unfortunately, she wasn’t his type; he preferred Chinese women, or mixed race or white.

The woman tried to get Hansen’s attention several times but got ignored, eventually turning away in annoyance.

"We should get going," Conningham suddenly stood up not long after.

Visibly confused, Hansen followed Conningham’s gaze and saw the woman leading a group of Black men toward them.

It seemed he had encountered the Black version of a femme fatale.

He nodded and stood up; though they were taller and stronger, the other group had more people.

But as they tried to leave, it was clear the other side didn’t want to let them go.

And just as they were about to confront each other, something even more unfortunate happened.

"Robert, that’s the guy with the number 77! That LeBron hater!"

Damn!

Hansen suddenly sensed trouble.

It was quite normal to run into LeBron fans.

His hunch was quickly confirmed when someone among the Blacks pulled out a dagger.

These were freaking extremist fans!

People around them started screaming and scattered.

In that moment, Hansen thought of many things, with Pierce surfacing first in his mind.

Pierce’s story of being stabbed 11 times in a nightclub and making a triumphant NBA return was a classic.

It sounded tough, but no one wanted to be the protagonist in that story.

After all, this wasn’t a movie scene, and he might not be as lucky as Pierce.

His eyes and hands moved fast to grab a stool nearby.

But just then, Conningham stepped in front of him.

His posture was strange, as he kept his eyes on the opponents, his right hand made a motion to lift his jacket and reach behind.

The Black men seeing this gesture instinctively stepped back.

"Who wants a hole in their head tonight?" Conningham threatened menacingly.

"Robert, that guy doesn’t even have a gun!" someone shouted.

Robert glared at the man.

This is the United States, how can you be sure?

Conningham maintained his posture and took a step forward, causing the others to step back.

"Han, let’s go," Conningham called out without looking back.

Hansen followed him and they slowly left the bar.

Upon exiting the bar, seeing that the Black men did not follow, Hansen breathed a sigh of relief.

"You’re smarter."

If it hadn’t been for Conningham just then, he really wouldn’t have known how to escape the situation.

"This kind of thing is routine for us."

It was clear that by "us," Conningham meant Black people.

That was quite true, Hansen thought, recalling the autobiographies of NBA stars he had read, many of whom lived in chaotic Black neighborhoods.

"Do you really have a gun?" Hansen couldn’t help but be curious.

Conningham smiled, then gestured for Hansen to feel his lower back.

Hansen felt an icy chill as his hand touched down, grabbing onto the gun.

"This is the United States," Conningham stated.

After returning from the bar, Hansen was still shaken.

Though he had lived in the United States in his past life, that was mostly in a school environment.

Now, stepping into society, he definitely needed to consider personal safety.

Especially since he was focused on gaining Black haters, having many could easily result in real-life confrontations.

Of course, giving up on gaining Black haters wasn’t an option, but carrying a gun like Conningham was unrealistic.

He hadn’t grown up experiencing such things like Conningham, and guns were too risky; a misfire could be fatal, which would be tragic.

The best thing to do at this stage was to avoid crowded places and, if unavoidable, to hire bodyguards.

Two days later, the Cavaliers and Grizzlies elimination game officially started.

The Cavaliers played even harder than in their last encounter, but the gap between the two teams’ abilities was too large; the score kept widening.

As the score widened, the Cavaliers’ defense crumbled.

Frankly, the strength of this Cavaliers team was too weak; the games they had won before were thanks to a defensive system supported internally and externally by Hansen and Conningham.

But this system was ineffective against this Grizzlies team.

"Are you just going to let him score in front of you? Won’t you foul him to stop him? Are you sleepwalking on the court?!"

During a timeout, Malone yelled at Conningham, who had just watched Haddadi score before him.

Conningham lowered his head, not daring to speak.

Hansen, listening by the side, frowned.

This had become a "routine" since the Summer League began. Before, Hansen might have thought Malone was strict about defense or trying to improve the players, doing it for their good.

But perhaps because of the previous bar experience, Hansen now felt Conningham was somewhat wronged.

Conningham was just two meters tall, facing off against the 2.18-meter Haddadi. Conningham had been yelled at for fouling before; now, not fouling still earned him yells, Malone was being somewhat unreasonable.

"Coach, Dante has tried his best." Compared to how Conningham had stood up for him in the bar, Hansen speaking up now was minor.

The other players looked at Hansen in surprise.

Hansen was the best-performing player in this Summer League for the Cavaliers, playing very smartly; Malone rarely yelled at him.

It was even apparent that Malone valued and favored Hansen for his excellent defense.

But now, Hansen was openly defying him.

"He can’t stop the opponent from scoring from that position, and he’s managing his fouls..."

"Shut up!" roared Malone, his coaching authority challenged.

Hansen did not shut up, but instead stared directly at Malone, "If he were not Dante Conningham, but LeBron James, would you still behave like this?"

Malone froze.

The players were shocked.

Even Conningham incredulously looked up at Hansen.

Hansen, this bold?