NBA, Yao Ming is back!

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"Hello, Mr. Stern, this is Donnie. I'd like to recommend a young player to you."

The moment the call connected, Nelson's fingers tightened instinctively around the receiver, and he even deliberately softened his breathing.

He could imagine that on the other end of the phone, David Stern was probably sitting in the league headquarters office on Fifth Avenue in New York, scrolling through the latest league financial report or looking at the performance reports of each team.

His tone likely carried the usual composure and scrutiny befitting a league president.

That's the kind of person who's used to seeing talented players.

Calmness after hearing too much praise from scouts.

There is no room for falsehood.

This is the NBA's hidden god.

We can't afford to offend them at all.

If you really think he's the kind old man he appears to be in private, then you don't understand this iron-fisted CEO at all.

Do you think that being kind and benevolent is enough to develop the NBA into what it is today, when it was on the verge of collapse?

Sure enough, Stern's voice came through the electricity, low and flat, revealing little emotion.

Yet it carries with it an invisible sense of oppression.

"Donnie, I remember you're either in Asia or Europe right now. Have you made any discoveries there?"

Nelson composed himself, not daring to beat around the bush, but also not daring to throw out Yao Ming's age. He presented the most solid facts first, afraid of any exaggeration. He knew that Stern hated it when people wasted his time, and since he had reported to him, he had to be reasonable and present something that would interest him.

"Yes, sir, I am currently on a research trip in Asia."

"Here's the thing, I've found a promising player and wanted to tell you about him."

"Um, what's the location? Describe it briefly."

David Stern spoke with remarkable composure and brevity, a stark contrast to his on-screen persona.

"He's a center, playing for the Shanghai Sharks in the CBA. I followed and observed him in sixteen starting games. His stats and performance on the court were at a level I've never seen before in all my years as a scout."

「他现在场均35分19篮板8盖帽6助攻，投篮命中率91%，罚球命中率90%。」

After these words were spoken, there was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, and even the faint sound of turning pages in the background stopped.

This indicates that Stern was drawn to the news.

This relieved Nelson.

However, Stern quickly gathered his thoughts and confirmed:

"Donnie, do you know what you're saying? 91% shooting percentage? Is that professional league stats? Or did you just grab high school league statistics?"

Don Nelson's heart skipped a beat. He knew Stern must think it was outrageous. Any league executive would be incredulous upon hearing such a number.

Sure enough, the next second Stern's voice became more skeptical, even carrying a hint of coldness, an instinctive wariness of "misinformation".

It seems he's heard quite a few outrageous things over the years.

I've also paid the price for things like this.

It's not easy to fool people easily.

"These are official CBA league data, sir. Every game is recorded live and officially released by the league. There's absolutely no exaggeration."

Don Nelson immediately chimed in, without a moment's hesitation: "I know this number sounds unbelievable. When I first saw it, I thought there was a statistical error. But I watched all his games, from offense to defense, from technique to basketball IQ, every detail supports this statistic."

"He didn't rely on luck; he truly achieved a league-wide victory."

"And I'm at the stadium for at least half of my matches."

"I can absolutely testify to that."

"Even his stats in the CBA are somewhat similar to..."

"In short, I vouch for it with my integrity; it is definitely real data."

As he spoke, Nelson paused, deliberately avoiding the word "Chamberlain," for fear that excessive praise would offend Stern.

To keep Stern listening, he only described the game's performance objectively, adopting the tone of a professional scout: "His height and wingspan are natural advantages, but it's not just about height. His footwork is so agile that he can easily shake off all the big men in the league; CBA big men simply can't keep up with his pace. From what I've observed, his timing is also incredible; he always finds the most comfortable shooting position. Plus, his touch is extremely soft. Not just dunks, his mid-range jump shot is also terrifyingly consistent, and his shot selection is extremely restrained. He almost never forces a shot; every shot is a 2% chance. What's even more remarkable is his basketball IQ. For a center, averaging 6 assists per game, he can initiate fast breaks with rebounds and passes, and he can accurately distribute the ball after attracting double teams in the low post, activating the entire team's offense. I think for a 26-meter tall player, this is pure talent."

"2.26 meters?" This figure made Stern sense something unusual.

He'd seen plenty of talented, physically gifted people, but none this tall.

Very few.

Such a high level of skill is impressive.

That would be even less.

As the NBA commissioner, having discovered so many stars and witnessed so many super performances over the years, he understands this very well.

Don't say they lack talent.

You can grow to 2.26 meters tall.

That's a talent.

"And then there's the free throw, sir. A 90% free throw percentage. For a center who's 2.20+, that means his fundamentals, touch, and stamina are all top-notch."

"At least in the CBA league, his hand movements don't get distorted at all after the high-intensity competition in the final quarter, and his stamina never holds him back. This is the key to his ability to maintain dominance throughout the game."

Little Nelson spoke so much in one breath, not giving Stern a chance to interrupt. He knew he had to speak before Stern completely dismissed it as "nonsense."

Showcase your core strengths.

So he blurted out everything he wanted to say in one breath.

He was afraid that people wouldn't give him time to finish speaking.

There was silence on the other end of the phone again, this time for even longer than before. Little Nelson could even hear Stern gently turning the pen cap in the receiver.

That was Stern's habit when he was thinking.

After a long while, Stern's voice rang out again, his skepticism lessened and replaced by a more serious inquiry: "Donnie, what you're saying sounds like a decent big man, but... the league is never short of talented players. I've also been following players from the Far East. They have talent, but their physicality, rhythm, and adaptability are still lacking."

"Just who is this player?"

"Is there any specific potential that warrants you calling me personally?"

This is Stern setting detailed exam questions.

They showed further interest.

Then I must answer this question well.

"Yes, yes, sir."

Donnie Nelson tried to keep his tone calm and not sound exaggerated.

After all, what was said was already quite exaggerated.

He was only sixteen years old.

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

He didn't make a sound for quite a while.

This made Donnie Nelson wonder if the phone line had been dropped; international long-distance calls aren't that reliable these days.

"Hello, Mr. Stern, are you still there?"

I asked twice in a row.

Stern's voice came through the phone.

Sixteen years old.

"But I remember they have a custom of changing one's age there. Have you checked that?"

Stern started planning to break into the Chinese market so early on, and even came over specifically to deliver videotapes.

It's impossible that they didn't do some local research.

He knew all of these things.

“Others might have it, but he definitely doesn’t,” Little Nelson replied quickly. “Because he was in the newspaper the day he was born; it was part of his birth record. It was quite an interesting story back then, but I never thought it would come in handy now.”

"Sir, I know sixteen years old sounds outrageous, which is why I hesitated for a long time before calling you. I know better than anyone that sixteen years old is too young in the NBA, and I also know the difference in intensity between the Far East League and the NBA, but Yao is different. He is not an ordinary sixteen-year-old player."

"His maturity is unlike that of a sixteen-year-old rookie. On the contrary, he is more composed and knows how to play the game better than many veterans who have played in the professional league for many years. Because of him, the Shanghai Sharks have won all sixteen games as starters and dominated the league. Even the Bayi Rockets lost two games, while they did not lose a single one. In the entire CBA, everyone now calls him the 'Eastern Chamberlain.' This nickname is not just hype from fans; it is something he earned with his solid performance. Even Hu, well, the Chinese shooting guard we followed before who was called the 'Chinese Jordan,' said that Yao Ming is more deserving of the word 'legend' than him."

Such statements contain elements of artistic embellishment.

But as a professional scout, he knows when to use artistic embellishment and when not to.

Which artistic interpretations will not cause offense, and which will?

For example, the one he's talking about now wouldn't be like that.

Little Nelson's voice carried a hint of excitement, the instinctive thrill of discovering unparalleled talent, yet he remained rational: "Sir, I'm not asking you to sign him right now, nor am I saying he can play in the NBA right now. I just want you to pay attention to him."

"His talent is once in a century. He has all the qualities a center needs: height, wingspan, footwork, touch, basketball IQ, and stamina. And he's only sixteen! All he needs now is time and some higher-level competitive experience, but at his rate of development, it won't take two or three years, or even until 2000, for him to be ready to play in the NBA."

Are you sure he can make it to the NBA?

This is what Stern cares about most.

Otherwise, even if these players talk a good game, it will be meaningless if they can't make it to the NBA in the end.

At this point, Nelson paused deliberately for a second, just to whet the appetite a little, before bringing up what Stern cared about most, and the core reason why he believed Stern would definitely value Yao Ming: "More importantly, sir, you have been laying out your plans for the Asian market all these years, and you have been looking for a local player who can leverage the entire Asian market, a player who can truly bring the NBA to the doorstep of 1.3 billion people."

"I believe Yao Ming is the player."

"I think we already have."

"Found it."

"His popularity in China has reached the point of national frenzy. Every stadium is packed to capacity, the media is giving him extensive coverage, and fans regard him as a national hero."

"If he can join the NBA, it's not just about signing a player; it's about unlocking the Chinese market and even the entire Asian market for the NBA. This might be more strategically significant than signing any European star."

The sound of pen caps turning on the other end of the phone was gone, and Stern's voice no longer carried the initial doubt and displeasure. Instead, it was more thoughtful, and one could even detect a hint of barely perceptible excitement: "I need to see evidence for what you're saying, Donnie."

"I need the most detailed information: the match video, the complete statistics, his physical measurements, and his background information."

"There can be no omissions whatsoever."

Send them all over.

Little Nelson breathed a huge sigh of relief; the weight that had been hanging in his throat finally lifted.

Stern relented.

He's willing to look at the evidence and is willing to pay attention to Yao.

That would be the greatest success.

He responded immediately, his tone filled with undisguised joy, yet still respectful: "Yes, sir, I'll organize it right away and send all the materials to your email today, including my on-site observation reports for these sixteen matches, with detailed records of every detail, every offensive and defensive play."

"Hmm." Stern responded, paused, and then added, his tone becoming serious again, carrying the instructions of the league president: "Donnie, this matter is classified as a top-secret secret of the league. Apart from you and me, and the core members of the draft committee, no one else can know about it."

"Continue to follow him, and observe him in person at every game."

"He needs to report to me on his situation and his growth at any time; I need to keep track of everything."

"If he really makes it to the NBA."

"I will remember you for a great service."

"Understood, Mr. Stern, I assure you."

Hearing this, hearing Stern make the promise to him personally, Nelson was thrilled, if he hadn't been on the phone.

He probably wouldn't be able to resist slamming his fist on the table.

After hanging up the phone, Nelson let out a long sigh of relief, leaned back in his office chair, and watched Yao Ming block an opponent on the screen.

My palms were already sweaty.

He knew that this phone call was not just about recommending a talented player to Stern, but also about opening a brand new door for the NBA and for himself.

On the other end of the phone, David Stern put down the receiver.

His fingers tapped lightly on the table, his gaze fixed on the Asian market layout map on the corner of the desk, his eyes deep.

"Sixteen years old?"

"Yao".

"I hope so."

"It can help me accomplish what I want to accomplish."

"Don't make me..."

"Disappointment is better."