CHAPTER 1057: CHAPTER 339: MICHAEL, ONE LAST BET

"I hope neither of these big braggers get in." Roger answered without hesitation.

But a few seconds later Roger added, "But if I have to choose one, I’d rather it be Michael."

"Why?"

"Just think a real player deserves to be in the playoffs more than an actor."

"Then tonight..."

"You expect me to slack off or suddenly have a groin discomfort and take a rest, giving Michael a chance to surpass LeBron in the standings?

Dikembe, many fans saved up for a year just to watch one of my games, I can’t just decide to rest. As long as I can play, as long as there’s no risk of injury, I’ll definitely play. Moreover, if I really throw a win away to let Michael make the playoffs, that would be the biggest insult to him."

He wants to get into the playoffs with his own ability, leave him be.

Also, I got tired of humiliating him in the ’90s, no need to insult him like this once more."

Having said that, Roger changed his clothes and went out of the locker room to warm up.

He would treat this game seriously and would take their last matchup seriously.

There’s nothing much to say about the course of the game, Roger could understand why Scottie Pippen and Michael Jordan are so popular this season. Fighting like they did in their 20s, despite dragging their old limbs, it’s hard not to respect them.

The only ones dissatisfied with them may be the foolish shareholders of the Hawks, who originally wanted to form an old-timers lineup to sell tickets while tanking for a lottery pick, but now the old-timers are almost getting the team into the playoffs.

Business mindset and athlete mindset can never merge.

Michael Jordan kept fighting, Scottie Pippen tried his best to defend Roger.

By the end of the third quarter, the Warriors were still leading the Hawks by 27 points. No matter how hard Michael Jordan and Pippen tried, the vast discrepancy in strength was still hard to bridge, and the cruelty of competitive sports was fully displayed at this moment.

At the end of the third quarter, Roger hit a buzzer-beating three-pointer despite interference from Pippen and Jordan.

As the three landed, Pippen shook his head helplessly, Michael Jordan tore off his elbow pad and threw it on the ground, "Damn it, fuck!"

If he had the same 28-year-old body, Michael Jordan guaranteed he could have blocked Roger, absolutely!

"Sorry Michael, sorry Scott, your journey of contending for a playoff spot won’t be smooth, especially facing me. Thank God, this is your last time meeting me, for the last time." Roger shrugged.

"Shut up, Roger, you indeed won, but don’t meddle in my affairs!" Jordan cursed, preparing to turn and leave the court.

But Roger called to him, "Michael, want to make a bet? Let’s have one final bet."

Roger himself didn’t even realize he had already said the word "last" several times in these few sentences.

"What? What bet?"

"Listen, if you make it to the playoffs, then our previous issue is settled. Honestly, I don’t want my name under such an ugly statue. You can tell the media about this to avoid anyone thinking you went back on your word."

Roger was referring to what Michael Jordan had said before, "If the Cavaliers don’t make it to the playoffs, I’ll add a line under the statue at the United Center: But forever subjugated to Roger!"

Now, for Jordan, it was a paradox. If the Cavaliers don’t make the playoffs, he’d have to add a line under the statue. If the Cavaliers do make the playoffs, it means the Hawks won’t. Either way, it was embarrassing for Jordan.

And Roger offered him a solution.

Michael Jordan seemed to understand something but soon regained an angry expression.

"You want to toy with me? Fine, then I’ll bet with you! Even at 40, I won’t fail to reach the playoffs! And I want to make another bet with you, if you win the championship, I’ll allow you to add a line under your future statue: Michael Jordan’s most respected, the most admired and the only great opponent he couldn’t defeat, I’ll personally unveil your statue!"

With that, Jordan turned and prepared to leave, but Roger called out to him once more, "Hey Old Dog, I’m not finished yet."

"What now!?"

"Just a reminder, you’re not 40, you’re already 41. Well... good luck with that." This time, it was Roger’s turn to walk away.

Michael Jordan stood there stunned, looking at his hands.

41?

Yes, he just had his birthday in February.

Damn time, really damn.

Roger walked back to the bench and sat down, Dikembe Mutombo grinned, "Wasn’t there an agreement of not slacking off? That was not a bet, it was clearly giving Michael Jordan a chance to avoid embarrassment, offering him an out."

"Shut up, Dikembe, it was just me having some fun with him, just a bet."

"Can’t really understand you guys, remembering those bloodshed battles in the ’90s, thinking of those conflicts, the trade Michael made involving you, the titanium alloy you left in his eye, and the championships carrying his blood... going through so much, you both still appreciate each other."

"I’m not, I didn’t, just shut it, Dikembe, and keep wagging your finger."