Chapter 224: Seven Consecutive Triple-Doubles — Doesn't It Seem That Difficult?
The Suns had the ball.
Chen Yan dribbled past half court, his movements deliberate.
"Chen! Slow it down! Don't rush your shots—attack the paint when you can!" Coach Mike D'Antoni shouted from the sideline.
Normally, D'Antoni gave Chen full control of the offense, but tonight was different. Chen's shooting had gone ice cold, and the coach couldn't stay silent any longer. It wasn't criticism—it was responsibility. Chen might be the franchise's rising star, but he was still a rookie.
Chen nodded. Even without the reminder, he already knew what had to be done. The long-range game wasn't falling, so it was time to switch gears. He cared more about winning than chasing stats.
From two steps beyond the arc, Michael Redd was matched up on him. With Chen's shooting off, Redd felt no pressure.
Raja Bell and Azubuike tried to cross and create a mismatch, but the Bucks switched cleanly. Chen waved them off, spreading the floor.
It was time for isolation.
Bang… bang…
Chen began with a steady low dribble, then suddenly exploded—snapping the ball between his legs and accelerating hard to his right. Redd tensed, bracing for contact.
Chen stopped on a dime, pocket-dribbled left, then burst forward again, crossing with a lightning-quick step. One move, one fake, and he was gone.
He broke free with a one-step burst and drove into the paint.
Redd didn't even bother to chase—he knew it was pointless.
Inside, Villanueva and Voskuhl stepped up to contest. Chen didn't hesitate. He lowered his shoulder and powered through both defenders.
Beep!
The whistle blew. Shooting foul.
He walked calmly to the line.
"Swish."
"Swish."
Both free throws dropped cleanly.
57–64.
The Bucks came right back. Redd and Mo Williams played a tight two-man set, ending with Mo draining a corner three.
57–67.
Chen answered by repeatedly driving to the basket, drawing contact after contact.
He was relentless—attacking, absorbing hits, and earning trips to the line.
By the mid-third quarter, he had gone 7-for-8 from the stripe.
"Chen's ability to adjust mid-game is impressive," Barkley said on the TNT broadcast. "When the jumper's gone cold, he doesn't panic—he attacks. That's how stars think."
Kenny Smith laughed. "Yeah, tonight he's not raining threes—he's raining free throws."
The fans in the arena were buzzing. Normally, a flurry of free throws would draw boos, but Chen's determination had everyone on their feet. He was forcing the Bucks to foul or fold.
After a timeout, Milwaukee's coach adjusted their defense, collapsing the paint to cut off Chen's drives.
On the next possession, Chen read the defense instantly. When the double-team came, he pulled back and swung a perfect pass to Azubuike on the wing.
Wide open.
"Swish!"
Nothing but net.
The very next play, the Bucks tried the same trap. Chen baited them, drove halfway in, then kicked it back to Azubuike again.
"Swish!"
Two straight threes. Timeout, Milwaukee.
Azubuike jogged over, bumping chests with Chen in celebration.
The chemistry between them had become a highlight of Phoenix's season.
After Azubuike's injury earlier in the year, Chen had made it a point to feed him more touches. That trust paid off. Azubuike had grown into one of the Suns' most reliable scorers.
"Azubuike's been rock solid," Kenny Smith noted. "When he's open, he hits it."
Barkley chuckled, glancing at the stat sheet. "Thirteen point seven points, four rebounds, forty-six percent from the field, forty-two percent from deep—and he's making only eight hundred grand a year. The Suns hit the jackpot."
Kenny laughed. "And let's be real—if Chen hadn't recruited him during summer league, they probably wouldn't have even signed him."
Barkley grinned. "I've said it before and I'll say it again—the Suns should pay Chen two salaries: one for playing and one for scouting."
Both commentators laughed, unknowingly echoing what fans were already saying online.
---
By the end of the third quarter, the Suns had seized control, leading 74–68. Chen had already racked up 11 assists and 7 rebounds, putting another triple-double within reach.
But he wasn't thinking about stats—only the win.
The game was still close, and D'Antoni sat Chen to start the fourth, hoping for a short rest. It lasted barely two minutes. Without him, Phoenix's offense froze.
Chen checked back in with 8:40 left.
By the 6:50 mark, his line read 19 points, 13 assists, 9 rebounds.
Just one more board.
On the next possession, Villanueva missed a mid-range jumper. Stoudemire and Diaw boxed out, and Chen burst through like a sprinter, snatching the rebound with both hands.
Triple-double number seven.
Some critics grumbled online, calling it stat-padding. They claimed his teammates boxed out just to feed him rebounds.
But what they failed to see was the Suns' unity—how every player on that court trusted Chen to lead them.
He didn't slow down. With the rebound secured, he pushed the ball coast to coast, shifting gears like a blur.
Mo Williams tried to cut him off—no chance.
Redd stepped up at half court—gone in an instant.
Now it was open court. One-on-zero.
Chen launched off one foot and unleashed a hammering axe dunk that shook the rim.
"BOOM!"
The Bradley Center exploded in cheers. Even the home fans couldn't help it.
Not just for the dunk—but for the history they had just witnessed.
Seven consecutive triple-doubles.
A rookie tying Michael Jordan's legendary record.
Chen glanced up at the scoreboard, breathing steady, eyes sharp.
The crowd was still roaring, cameras flashing from every angle.
He smiled faintly.
Seven straight triple-doubles—
doesn't seem that difficult, does it?
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