Bruce Li was unaware that Coach McHani was staring blankly at a replay of his performance, muttering exclamations of surprise.
After Bruce’s interview with a Time Warner reporter, two other men in suits approached him, handed him business cards, and introduced themselves as NBA scouts.
However, they were not directly employed by specific teams; they were part of a broader scouting network, holding lower-ranking positions than specialized scouts—like Kevin George—who could email a club’s front office directly.
After every game, these men would approach and speak with players who had performed well—a wide-net approach.
What slightly surprised Bruce was that the number of scouts surrounding him was far smaller than the crowd surrounding Scott.
In the NBA’s evaluation system, greater value is placed on prospects with exceptional physical attributes; players with polished skills and a high basketball IQ receive less attention.
“You played exceptionally well tonight.
You dominated USC’s point guard position, which was the key to Stanford’s victory.” Kevin George approached Bruce and said earnestly, “Bruce, I’ve decided to send the video of your game and our scouting report to the Spurs.
It’s a risky move for me, as the club might question my professionalism.
So, I hope you keep working hard and perform well in the next two games.
San Antonio’s eyes will definitely be on your play.” Kevin George really liked this unfamiliar Asian guard, so he was willing to take the risk and give Bruce a chance; after all, before tonight, Bruce had been a backup point guard who was openly cut from the Stanford team.
Bruce nodded enthusiastically, deeply grateful to Kevin George.
Before today, he hadn’t even dared to dream of the NBA.
But now, Kevin George had given him a direct link to an NBA powerhouse.
He was filled with excitement, euphoria, and gratitude.
“Keep it up,” George said.
“I have to head to the airport right away.
I’m going to Louisiana to scout a player named Tyrus Thomas.” Kevin George and Bruce hugged as they said goodbye.
Although they had known each other for less than four hours, they had formed a deep bond of trust.
Human chemistry is truly important.
…
On the way back to the locker room, Bruce, Thompson, and Scott—the three heroes of the victory—received plenty of notes, with Bruce receiving the most.
And he…
as usual, crumpled them up and tossed them into the trash.
In American schools, athletes are highly popular.
Many open-minded girls even take pride in having had intimate relationships with star players on their teams, often turning these encounters into a topic of conversation.
This has led many female students to keep a tally of such conquests.
Bruce, raised in a traditional Chinese family, had no interest in these American values.
He did not indulge in such behavior.
Neither did Thompson, though Scott was more talkative about it.
Yet, everyone knew just how formidable Scott’s girlfriend was—a girl from the school’s discus team—formidable enough to shove Scott, a man over two meters tall and weighing nearly two hundred pounds, right into a trash can.
That was why the three of them were so close.
“What do you think of our school’s cheer captain?” Scott suddenly brought it up.
“You mean Joanna?
She’s absolutely stunning.
I’d even say she’s the prettiest cheerleader there is,” chimed in Thompson—Crimson’s resident gossip.
“I know her.
A lot of players are into her, including that disgusting rodent, Chris Pat.” “She’s really into *you*, you know?
She’s mentioned wanting to have lunch with you plenty of times.
She says your shyness is like a cruel hook tearing at her heart.” Scott went on, then suddenly turned and said affectionately, “Oh!
My dear Bruce, won’t you comfort this lovelorn Mexican beauty with your body?
Like an eighteen-year-old Kobe Bryant.
Trust me, Bruce—Joanna is way more alluring and sexy than Vanessa…” “Get lost!” Bruce Li shook his head in annoyance and strode forward.
Just then, Scott caught up from behind.
“Hey, Bruce.
Forget the women for a sec—let’s talk about your performance today.
It was absolutely brilliant.
I’ve never seen a point guard play the way you do.
Honestly, you should be heading to the NBA, not coming back to Harvard.” “When Coach McHani gets back, I’m definitely going to have a word with him.
If he doesn’t give you a spot on the team next season, I’m quitting.” “Believe me, with my talent and my irreplaceable role in this system, he definitely wouldn’t dare ignore my request,” Scott said confidently, following close behind Bruce.
Bruce Li paused, touched by Scott’s spirited attitude.
But he still chuckled and teased, “You’d better not do that, Scott.
I heard Coach McHani plans to recruit two five-star centers from Los Angeles.
Aren’t you afraid Coach McHani might use that opportunity to kick you off the team?” Uh…
Scott fell silent, a bit worried: if he got cut from the team, his discus-throwing sister certainly wouldn’t let him off the hook—she might even use him as a target for her discus practice.
Hahaha.
Bruce Li laughed heartily.
Then he patted Scott on the shoulder: “Alright, Scott, didn’t you realize I was joking?
You’re our Stoudemire; no one can replace you.
Let’s drop that subject.
What we need to do next is go back home and beat the University of Oregon in front of the home crowd.” “Yeah!
I want to show off in front of Ceanna Williams!!” Scott harbored ambitions akin to a slave singing a song of liberation.
As an athlete, he really didn’t have much to boast about in front of his girlfriend.
After all, his girlfriend—the discus thrower Ceanna Williams—came from a family of athletes; her cousins were the sisters who dominated the tennis courts.
(From this, you could see Scott’s aesthetic preferences: he wanted a firm backside, not alluring curves.) Just as the three of them were about to hurry to the locker room, shower, and head back to Northern California, an awkward young white man carrying a large camera rushed out from the side and bumped into Bruce, who was walking in front.
“Sorry, sorry, I’m in a rush, I’m in a rush…” the man stammered.
Bruce Li didn’t mind; he helped the man steady himself and continued walking toward the locker room.
Just then, the young white man suddenly grabbed Bruce: “Hello, are you a Stanford player?
Hi, I’m an intern reporter for the *Orange County Register*.
I missed the game because of traffic.
Could I interview you?
Please—if I don’t submit an interview today, I might get fired.” Uh…
okay.
Bruce Li was a good guy.