Champion Creed
Chapter 39 - 39 027 Penny will be unhappy

39: 027: Penny will be unhappy?

Then make him even more unhappy!

39: 027: Penny will be unhappy?

Then make him even more unhappy!

“Who’s the next MJ?”

Looking at the cover of this issue of “Sports Illustrated,” Stackhouse wanted to cry but found no tears.

He had thought that, after Roger played in the NBA for a couple of years, he himself would be forgotten.

As it turned out, things hadn’t gotten that far yet.

Roger hadn’t even started playing in the NBA, and Stackhouse was already almost forgotten!

Now, Roger was being compared to Penny and Jordan.

Stackhouse?

Who the fuck is that?

Stackhouse was speechless.

What kind of fresh meat was Roger to be the next MJ?

He hadn’t even played a college game yet!

There was no helping it, the executive producer said you were the next MJ, and so you were.

However, the executive producer’s mood had plummeted recently.

Because the summer of 1993 had felt unusually cold to him.

The Nets’ star guard, Europe’s “Mozart of Basketball” at just 28 years old, Drazen Petrovic, died in a car accident.

Just one year earlier, he had scored 24 points in an Olympic final against the Dream Team.

And the season before that, he had led the Nets to the playoffs with a career-high average of 22.3 points.

When future fans would be abuzz about Paul dazzling Gobert into spinning in circles with his fake passes, Petrovic had already used that move in the ’90s to send the great Olajuwon sleepwalking.

People found it hard to accept the tragedy of such a basketball genius falling in such a way.

A few days later, another car accident took the lives of both parents of Heat guard Brian Shaw.

The nightmare had not ended; Reggie Lewis, seen by the Celtics as a sign of revival, collapsed while practicing shots at Brandeis University due to a heart attack.

In the first playoff game of the last season, he had already fainted due to an irregular heartbeat.

And this time, he never woke up again.

A few days went by, and the basketball world was struck by another tragedy.

James Jordan, father of Michael Jordan who had just completed a three-peat, was murdered.

Ironically, the two perpetrators were Jordan fans.

But the moment they pulled the trigger, they didn’t recognize that the man beneath their guns was the father of their idol.

The entire NBA seemed to be cursed, with one bad piece of news after another.

These tragedies changed many things.

If people wanted to see a European guard play freely on the NBA court again, they had to wait until 2001 when Popovich brought back that remarkably quick Frenchman.

The Celtics never recovered, until that world-shocking trade happened.

However, of all these, the last incident was the most impactful for the NBA.

Even Michael Jordan himself hadn’t decided whether to continue playing basketball.

But his father’s death became the last straw that crushed everything.

He made that decision.

Jordan wasn’t ready to announce his decision to the world, but he had sought out the Zen Master during the summer, “Phil, give me a reason to keep playing.”

Of course, the Zen Master tried his best to retain him, “When everything falls into chaos, seek refuge in your ‘sanctuary.’ It could be an image in your mind, a memory, or a place.

In short, something that brings you peace, joy, and tranquility.

Michael, where’s your ‘sanctuary?'”

The Zen Master thought Jordan’s “sanctuary” would be the basketball court, he thought Jordan would say, “I want to honor my father with victories and championships.”

Instead, after pondering for a while, Jordan calmly answered, “You’re right, Phil, I should seek my ‘sanctuary.’ It’s time for me to leave the basketball court.”

After hearing Jordan’s reply, even the old Zen Master was stunned.

His splendid attempt at reverse psychology led Jordan to give up basketball.

Of course, the whole world still had no clue about this.

Now, apart from the death of old Jordan, Chicagoans’ favorite topic of conversation over tea was Roger’s seven-year, $42 million rookie contract.

Scottie Pippen, looking at the news in the papers, was just incredulous.

So, a rookie who hasn’t even played a single college game gets paid twice as much as me?

Damn it, Jerry, you’re such a crumb!

Back then, he begrudged me a seven-year, $20 million deal, but now he’s giving a high school kid $40 million for seven years without even blinking.

Ha, men love to splurge on the latest tea!

Pippen was incensed, feeling that this contract had severely insulted him.

But what Pippen couldn’t imagine was that this was just one of Roger’s several massive contracts signed that summer.

At that moment, Roger was sitting in a luxury sedan, admiring the Miami coastline, soaking up the sun of Florida, utterly relaxed.

The beaches stretched endlessly like a meticulously laid out carpet of gold.

Palm trees swayed gracefully, their green leaves gleaming in the sunlight.

The breeze brought a refreshing chill and a faint smell of sea salt, clearing the mind and lifting the spirit.

But while admiring the view, Roger was also a bit nervous.

After all, Florida was no place for the idle; he was afraid an upstanding citizen in a dark blue palm tree-patterned shirt might suddenly make an appearance.

The luxury sedan pulled up to the well-known 1 Hotel South Beach.

A valet opened the door for Roger and took the luggage from the trunk.

A Nike representative immediately got out of the front passenger seat to assist Roger with checking in.

His uncle, wearing sunglasses and flip-flops, walked into the grand lobby of the luxury hotel: “Jie, this hotel isn’t cheap, is it?

Even though you’re making big money now, we can’t be wasteful.”

“This hotel is expensive,” Roger laughed, “but don’t worry, the guys from Nike will be paying for everything.”