When Rice was receiving the award, Gan Guoyang had already returned to the locker room to change his clothes. Tonight, he could go out for a drink and some good food with old friends.
The locker room was full of people, reporters, NBA officials, bodyguards, and some miscellaneous others, along with the children of the star players, everyone gathered together, chatting and laughing.
Gan Wenshan mingled among them, darting around with a few good friends like Curry, Thompson, and Mike Stockton, greeting different star players—an experience not many kids have.
From a very young age, they were exposed to these things, which would have a significant impact on their future lives.
At this moment, Quentin walked in and whispered into Gan Guoyang’s ear, "Sonny, there’s a fan of yours who wants an autograph and a donation. He previously wrote to Avia, and you promised to meet him in Cleveland."
"Oh? Really? I almost forgot about that."
"You’ve got too much on your plate, it’s in your memo. That kid is outside."
"Alright, let him in, don’t give him a hard time."
A 13-year-old Black boy timidly walked into the Western Conference team’s locker room. Without Quentin’s lead, he wouldn’t have even made it through the passage.
His eyes glanced over at Gan Wenshan, Curry, and others playing around, and the kids were also looking at him, wondering whose kid this was.
He walked up to Gan Guoyang, took several white T-shirts out of his backpack, and said, "Ah Gan, I want some autographs to sell to fans and raise money for travel expenses to participate in the game."
"I remember, your coach wrote me a letter, and I also donated some shoes to you guys, right?"
"Yes, thank you."
The boy was a bit shy, and as Gan Guoyang signed the T-shirts, their value would multiply several times over.
While signing, Gan Guoyang asked, "Are you a fan of mine?"
The Black boy nodded, "Yes, yes, I am a loyal fan of yours."
"Really? Then do you wear my number 11 jersey?"
"Uh..."
The boy was at a loss for words as Gan Guoyang looked up at him, an expression difficult for a 13-year-old to endure.
"I...I wear number 23...and sometimes number 32."
Gan Guoyang chuckled, lowered his head, and continued signing the T-shirts.
After signing all the T-shirts, Gan Guoyang handed them back to the boy and said, "Lying is inevitable, but the power of lies is weak, authenticity is more powerful."
The boy nodded slightly, somewhat understanding, then said thank you, and left the locker room.
After the boy left, Gan Guoyang asked Quentin, "What’s that kid’s name?"
"Uh... seems like... I don’t quite remember, something... James, a common name."
[In 1997, without Willie, we participated in the twelve-and-under American Amateur League and aimed to make it to the national championship held in Salt Lake City.
Thinking about this journey, we would need quite a bit of money, so we went door to door seeking sponsorship, or simply stood on the street corners of Akron, like those homeless people with pleading signs, begging for money.
With the help and advice of a business partner, Coach Drew found two ways for us to raise funds.
First, selling tape, we got a few hundred boxes of tape free from a company. We went door to door selling rolls and rolls of tape to make money.
Second, Coach Drew wrote a letter to NBA star Gan Guoyang seeking part of the funds and some equipment.
We were too embarrassed to ask for too much money directly, so we planned to have him sign some All-Star cultural T-shirts at the Cleveland All-Star Game, which many people would pay a high price for, and selling them would be a considerable income.
That night, I had the chance to enter the Gund Sports Center and, led by bodyguards, entered the Western All-Stars’ locker room. I was a bit shy, and I saw Ah Gan’s son, Gan Wenshan, Dell Curry’s son, Stephen, Thompson’s son, and a group of star players’ children; they could freely enter and exit the locker room.
I felt a sense of distance.
I asked Ah Gan for an autograph; he sat there like a deity, with the strongest presence among anyone I had ever seen.
He signed those T-shirts, I was so close to him, my heart was pounding, he suddenly looked up and asked me, "Are you a fan of mine?"
I wanted to nod, but then I realized something, and shook my head, saying, "No, I’m a fan of Michael Jordan, I wear number 23."
Ah Gan smiled and said, "Authenticity will empower you."
That batch of T-shirts sold for enough money, and we finally hit the road.]
————Published in 2009, from LeBron James’ autobiography "My Brother, My Basketball," excerpt.