Big Ben inbounded to Billups, who quickly found Zhao Dong near half-court. Zhao caught the ball in stride and shot off toward the basket, slicing through the middle like a missile.
He was blazing fast.
Kidd scrambled to get in front of him but was forced into retreat step after step. He couldn't even get set before Zhao blew past him. Jordan, hustling back on defense, caught up at the top of the arc. He leaned into Zhao, trying to cut off the drive.
But Zhao Dong hit him like a freight train.
MJ got bounced off, stumbled back, and went crashing onto the free-throw line.
"Damn it!" Jordan cursed, looking up from the hardwood—just in time to see Zhao Dong take flight.
"BOOM!"
The entire arena erupted as Zhao Dong hammered down a vicious one-handed dunk, shattering the Bulls' paint. Rasheed Wallace tried to rotate back, but he was two steps too late.
"Zhao Dong with the fast break jam! He tore through that defense like a hurricane!" Marv Albert's voice boomed across the broadcast.
Matt Goukas followed up, chuckling. "You know, Zhao hasn't gone for many of these high-energy breaks during the regular season. Most of the time, he's been killing teams with those pull-up jumpers."
He continued, "And yet, even with all those heavy minutes and monster numbers, folks said he'd be gassed by the playoffs. But look—two straight sweeps and now this? Man's a straight-up physical anomaly."
Marv added, "And if he's bringing this kind of fast break heat into the conference finals? Chicago's in deep trouble. This is where Zhao is the scariest—when he gets a full head of steam, he's like a rampaging bull. Ain't nobody stopping that."
Goukas grinned. "When Rodman was still here, even he couldn't stay in front of Zhao. His defense might've been sticky like glue, but the speed mismatch was too much."
Marv shook his head, "It's not just speed. Zhao's got power and size too. Rodman could body up the likes of Karl Malone, but Zhao's a whole different beast. He's faster, stronger, more skilled on the drive—and he's a better passer. Mailman can't compare there."
Goukas agreed. "Exactly. Rodman sticking to him wouldn't be enough. Jordan and Pippen both tried teaming up on Zhao last year, and even they couldn't lock him down."
Score: 2–7. Bulls ball.
Jordan drew the defense and dished it to McGrady, who found just enough daylight to pull up for a mid-range jumper—but clanked it off the rim.
"Mine!"
Charles Oakley boxed out Ben Wallace and soared for the rebound. He gathered himself and went up strong for a second-chance layup.
"BANG!"
Out of nowhere, Zhao Dong flew in and swatted the ball against the glass with authority. Oakley got crushed mid-air and fell hard under the basket.
"Zhao Dong with the block! He sent that back as a tribute to Old Oak!" Marv roared, referencing Oakley's nickname.
"Ha ha…"
The crowd exploded in laughter. Fans were loving it.
"Tribute my ass," Oakley growled, scrambling to his feet. He spotted Zhao Dong already sprinting out and chased after him.
Zhao pushed the break again, but this time Rasheed and Jordan caught up, boxing him in from both sides. He read the play and kicked it out to Sprewell streaking down the left wing. Then, Zhao crashed the paint to battle for the board.
Sprewell caught it in rhythm and let it fly. Kidd contested late, but it didn't matter.
"Splash!"
The net barely moved. Two more for New York.
Score: 2–9. Knicks up by 7.
The Bulls quickly called a timeout.
Back on the bench, Phil Jackson paced with his arms crossed.
"Tracy, wake the hell up! This is the damn Eastern Conference Finals—you're playing like it's preseason!" he barked, staring down McGrady, who looked completely out of it.
McGrady's eyes flickered toward Jordan, who was already glaring at him.
"Yo, rookie," Jordan growled, "you sleepwalking or what? This is the conference finals. We have to win this series. Lock in!"
McGrady lowered his head, dodging the spit flying out of MJ's mouth.
Phil grabbed the clipboard. "Alright, listen up. Tracy, you're playing off-ball weak side to pull defenders. Mike's gonna initiate from the strong side—spread the floor, clear it out. Rasheed, Charles—you have to own that glass."
He flipped the board and pointed.
"On defense, Zhao hasn't gone to the post yet. He's scoring from the perimeter—pull-ups, quick-stops, and in transition. If we pressure him outside and ease off the paint, he's gonna start attacking the rim. And when he does that…"
Phil paused, his mind flashing back to last year's collapse.
"…we're toast."
He looked up, deadly serious.
"Remember what he did to Ewing and Rodman last playoffs? Took 'em both out with drive after drive. Once their front line was gone, he bodied Jordan in the low post and closed it out."
He slammed the clipboard shut.
"We can't let that happen again. Not this time."
He continued, voice firm: "So, we're not giving up the inside. We stay locked in on protecting the paint, shut down their low-post game, and secure the boards.
If Zhao Dong keeps launching from the outside, we stick to the plan—stick tight, send help, and cut him off. One stick, two help, three block. Don't let him anywhere near the paint. Force him to either shoot from deep or kick it out."
Timeout over. Game on. Bulls' possession.
Jordan sprinted up the left wing and lost his defender. Kidd zipped a no-look dime through traffic. The Knicks couldn't react in time. Jordan pulled up, smooth as ever, hit a stop-and-pop mid-range jumper from the left elbow.
Score: 9–4, Bulls. Knicks ball.
The Bulls stayed in their 2-1-2 setup, McGrady anchoring the middle again.
But this time, T-Mac shaded a little toward Zhao Dong's left wing.
Zhao Dong posted up, signaling for the ball. Jordan slid up on him immediately, trying to deny the pass.
Didn't matter.
Zhao Dong muscled Jordan out with one arm like brushing off a fly, extended his right hand, and called for it again.
Billups fed the ball in, but McGrady had already rotated early. He jumped the help.
"Screeech!" Sneakers scraped the hardwood as Zhao Dong spun off the catch and drove hard.
Jordan stuck on him like glue, clinging tight. His first step wasn't clean—Jordan's pressure slowed him just enough.
McGrady slid in front just as Zhao Dong came off the spin. Now he was
double-teamed—Jordan and McGrady trapping him on the wing.
Phil Jackson's outside coverage scheme—one stick, two help, three block—was live.
Stick tight to Zhao Dong, disrupt him, and stall his first step.
Send help fast—double-team the moment he turns.
Then block—cut off the path, wall up the free-throw line, and kill the drive before it starts.
They'd leave someone open at the top—middle help was sacrificed—but Zhao Dong was the priority. Don't let him break in. Don't let him pull up in rhythm.
But you can't hold him forever.
Zhao Dong didn't hesitate. As the trap closed in, he turned and rose for a fadeaway jumper.
The Bulls achieved part of their goal—they forced him into a long-range shot.
That wouldn't kill them. It just wasn't a high-efficiency look.
Jordan and McGrady both sprang up to contest, hands fully extended. But Zhao Dong's release point was still three feet above their reach.
His core strength was ridiculous. Dude looked like he was floating horizontally mid-air—there was no way to block it.
And with his height, wingspan, and vertical? Even without freaky balance, it was nearly unblockable.
Shots like that? Either they drop… or they don't. Comes down to feel and finesse.
"Splash!"
Net. Long two. Nothing but air and nylon.
"Oh! Zhao Dong with the fadeaway! That elevation—man, his body control in the air is art!" Matt Goukas called out.
Marv Albert chimed in, "Identical form to Jordan's, but Zhao Dong's lift might be even tougher to guard. That shot's unguardable."
Bulls possession.
Jordan wasn't having it. Next play down, he answered back. He spun into a fadeaway while getting doubled—and drained it.
11–6, Bulls. Knicks ball.
Zhao Dong came down and drew the double again. He went for the jumper—but missed this time.
"Nice!" Phil Jackson clenched his fist on the sideline. Jordan and McGrady had cut off the drive, stayed in his space, and forced the miss. The scheme was clicking.
Meanwhile, in San Antonio—Spurs HQ.
Tim Duncan sat watching film with Popovich.
"That coverage was tight, Coach," Duncan said, impressed.
Popovich nodded, eyes narrowed. "Watch McGrady's positioning. He pre-rotates to the left wing—anticipating Zhao Dong's move. Jordan trails from behind. Their help spots align with Zhao Dong's first step. That's not coincidence. But let's keep watching—it's only been one possession."
Back in Los Angeles—Lakers' war room.
Shaq leaned back in his chair and barked a laugh. "Man, when the Knicks play us, Zhao Dong's heading straight to the low block. We don't need to press him at the three-point line."
Coach Kurt Rambis agreed. "Yeah, we got Shaq. We don't have to worry about him bullying us down low. The Bulls fear his first step, but we don't. We want him inside—if not, he's gonna wreck us on the boards again."
The room went quiet.
No one forgot what happened the last time Zhao Dong went off on the glass. That night haunts them still—getting bullied and outworked. The kind of rebound domination that breaks team spirit.
General Manager Jerry West rubbed his temples, staring down Rambis.
"You just had to bring that game up again, huh?"
Madison Square Garden was electric. Eight minutes into the first quarter, the Bulls' defensive scheme had already made an impact.
With Zhao Dong as the Knicks' primary offensive weapon, Chicago applied a suffocating double-team every time he touched the ball above the free-throw line. Using a mix of sticky man coverage, strong-side help, and soft zone rotations, they effectively cut off his driving lanes and disrupted his rhythm.
Zhao Dong took four shots, including a three-pointer, and went a perfect 3-of-3 from the line. He dropped 12 points and dished out one assist. His 50% shooting wasn't bad—most players would kill for that—but it was a dip from his usual efficiency, especially compared to the dominance he showed in the low post.
Worse, he coughed up a turnover while being swarmed by the double-team.
With Zhao Dong slowed down, the game was tied 17-17. Timeout Knicks.
Matt Goukas analyzed from the booth, "Zhao Dong's being forced into tough positions out on the perimeter, especially around the free-throw line. Chicago's reading the scouting report and attacking the zones he's limited in—smart strategy."
Marv Albert chimed in, "And by limiting his ability to use that powerhouse frame to bully through defenders, they're neutralizing his strength advantage."
Goukas nodded. "Exactly. He made two solid kick-outs—one to Sprewell, who drilled it, and another to Billups, who bricked it. But those are low-percentage bailout plays. With the paint packed by four defenders, the drive-and-kick game isn't working unless those shots fall. Sometimes it's better for Zhao Dong to just take that shot himself."
Marv, asked, "So what adjustments do the Knicks need to make?"
"Simple," Goukas said. "Move Zhao Dong to the low block where he can feast, but watch out for Rasheed Wallace coming over on help. Rasheed might not be big, but he's got speed, and Oakley's no slouch down there either. He knows Zhao Dong's game inside and out."
After the timeout, the Knicks made a surprising move.
They subbed in Dazhi for Ben Wallace and took Billups out, bringing in Barkley instead. The Bulls countered by resting Jordan, bringing in Cuttino Mobley, and swapping Oakley for Kurt Thomas.
"Ohh... this move's interesting," Marv noted. "Is Coach Nelson going to keep Zhao Dong on the perimeter to stretch the floor?"
He was right.
Don Nelson was going bold again. Offensively, he was leaning into Zhao Dong's driving and passing game. Defensively, Zhao Dong would anchor the paint in Ben Wallace's absence.
Goukas quickly broke it down. "With the point guard off, it looks like Zhao Dong is gonna handle the ball. Barkley and Dazhi on the floor signals a shift—more spacing, more offensive firepower. They're banking on Zhao Dong's ability to break down defenders and create opportunities."
Marv added with a laugh, "Looks like Don Nelson's all-in on that drive-and-kick tactic tonight!"
Goukas said, "It makes sense. The Bulls' interior defense is stacked—Rasheed, Kurt Thomas, and then you've got defensive stoppers like McGrady and Kidd out on the wings. If Zhao Dong's posting up and they collapse, that tight paint becomes a trap. Better to give him space to cook out wide."
The game resumed.
The Knicks took possession, and Zhao Dong moved straight to the top of the arc, signaling the play. Two Knicks spread out on each wing. Zhao Dong stood at the top, isolated.
This forced Chicago's bigs to step out, leaving the lane wide open.
With all five Knicks spaced out beyond the arc and five Bulls now stretched defensively, Chicago's zone coverage fell apart.
Zhao Dong was flanked by Barkley, Dazhi, Fordson, and Sprewell. The Bulls chose to sag off Fordson, keeping Rasheed posted near the free-throw line to deter a drive.
McGrady picked up Zhao Dong at the top.
"Tracy," Zhao Dong said casually, dribbling in rhythm, "Jordan yell at you again?"
McGrady blinked, caught off-guard.
Zhao Dong didn't hesitate—he exploded left.
A slick spin move left McGrady chasing shadows, and Zhao Dong surged past him to the elbow.
Rasheed rotated to help, but Zhao Dong had already stepped past the free-throw line. No longer bound by the league's offensive contact restrictions, he dropped his shoulder and bulldozed Rasheed, blowing past him and elevating toward the rim.
"BOOM!"
He detonated at the basket, throwing down a monster dunk as defenders scrambled.
Two Bulls closed too late.
"Two's not enough," Zhao Dong barked, retreating on defense. "Next time, bring four. Let me in again, and I'll swap out your backboard!"
The trash talk hit home.
Several Bulls looked rattled, reminded of that infamous Knicks-Lakers game—where backboards were cracked and rebounds snatched like candy.
"See what I mean?" Zhang Heli said courtside. "All Coach Nelson wanted was to space the floor and let Zhao Dong do his thing."
Cook, another commentator on broadcast, added, "If Big Ben's in the paint with Fordson, there's no room to operate. It's too clogged. I've been saying it—trade Ben Wallace. He doesn't bring offense and takes up valuable paint space."
"Ben's younger," Hubie Brown chimed in. "He's still got years left. Oakley, not so much."
Cook shrugged, clearly standing by his take.
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