The game started with Zhao Dong and Mourning jumping for the ball.
Mourning, eyes bloodshot, locked onto Zhao Dong with a deadly stare.
"Kid, just wait for me," he gritted through his teeth.
Zhao Dong just smirked. "Man, I ain't scared of you."
The jump ball was up. Mourning, being the more experienced player, tipped it to his teammate, and the Heat took possession.
Down low on the right wing, Zhao Dong was battling with P.J. Brown. He had at least 20 pounds on Brown, and that size difference was obvious. Every time Brown tried to move inside, Zhao Dong shoved him back, keeping him right at the edge of the paint.
Tim Hardaway had the rock, facing off against Charlie Ward. He hit Ward with a couple of hard dribbles, shifting left, then right. His handles were so fast it looked like he split into two for a second—then he was just gone.
Ward, a solid defender and a veteran, couldn't keep up. His balance was off, and Hardaway left him in the dust.
Hardaway took two steps inside the three-point line, pulled up for a long two—
Brick.
The ball clanked off the rim.
In the paint, Ewing boxed out Mourning, and Zhao Dong snatched the rebound. Time for the Knicks to push.
Instead of passing, Zhao Dong took off down the court himself. Brown, lighter but slower, had no chance of catching up.
"Oh! Zhao Dong is pushing it in transition! Dan Majerle steps up—Zhao Dong with the behind-the-back dribble—oh, he blew by him!" Marv Albert's voice rang through the arena.
Majerle reached out, trying to slow him down, but Zhao Dong brushed past like he wasn't even there. Majerle hit the floor with a thud, watching helplessly as Zhao Dong took off.
The game was on national TV, and Doug Collins couldn't help but praise him. "Man, look at that speed! Zhao Dong's running like a damn guard!"
Mourning was busting his ass to get back on defense. He was barely keeping up, but Ewing set a perfect screen, leaving him just a step behind. That one step was all Zhao Dong needed.
With Hardaway locked up by Charlie Ward on the right wing, the Heat's paint was wide open.
Zhao Dong attacked from the free-throw line. He took two long strides, planted hard, and lifted off, both hands gripping the ball.
Madison Square Garden held its breath. Every Knicks fan in the arena knew what was coming.
Mourning, still chasing, knew he was beat—but he wasn't about to let it go. He took off, flying toward Zhao Dong with everything he had.
BOOM!
A thunderous two-handed slam.
The entire Garden erupted.
"YEEAAAHHHH!"
The moment the dunk went down, it was like a switch flipped. The crowd lost its damn mind.
WHAM!
Mourning crashed into Zhao Dong mid-air. The contact was heavy—dude came in with everything he had. But Zhao Dong was locked onto the rim, using it to absorb the hit. He hung on just long enough to steady himself.
Mourning wasn't so lucky. He bounced off Zhao Dong and hit the hardwood hard—flat on his back. His face twisted in pain, eyes damn near popping out of his head.
"OHHH!" The crowd and commentators screamed at the same time.
"Zhao Dong just baptized Mourning at the rim!" Marv Albert roared.
"Mourning is down! He landed straight on his back!" Doug Collins added.
The Heat's bench looked worried.
"Alonzo?!" Pat Riley shouted from the sideline.
Mourning gasped, trying to shake it off. "I'm good," he muttered, though he looked a little shaken.
Riley wasn't one for sympathy. If a player wasn't straight-up broken, he was staying in.
The Heat went back on offense.
Hardaway fed the ball to Mourning in the low post.
Mourning had a decent offensive game—mid-range, hook shot, and a power dunk. That was his arsenal.
He went for a quick hook shot—missed.
Zhao Dong boxed out Brown again, snagging his second rebound.
"Get back!" Riley yelled.
Too late.
Zhao Dong was already sprinting. This time, he made the smart play, dishing it to Ward, who pushed it up.
Ward drove toward the paint, but Hardaway was all over him. He veered right, clearing the lane.
Zhao Dong cut in from the left wing—Brown three steps behind.
At the same time, Mourning, desperate to redeem himself, sprinted toward the rim.
Ward lobbed it up.
Zhao Dong had already seen Mourning coming. He leaped anyway.
Right hand extended, blocking Mourning's path. Left hand catching the ball, fingers wrapping around it tight.
BOOM!
FLAT DUNK.
Mourning never stood a chance.
Zhao Dong's off-hand caught Mourning right in the face, slamming him to the floor again.
WHAM!
The Garden went insane.
Zhao Dong landed under the rim, momentum carrying him forward a few steps. He stopped, turned to the crowd, and yelled:
"HOW YOU LIKE THAT?!"
"THAT WAS SICK!" Thousands of fans roared back.
Zhao Dong threw his head back and laughed.
Riley lost it on the sideline. "FOUL! THAT'S A FOUL!" He was on the court, screaming at the refs.
Nobody cared.
Mourning had gone up on his own, and Zhao Dong had barely touched him. If he'd really wanted to, he could've thrown an elbow and made it worse. That was clean.
The Heat had given up two monster fast-break dunks in a row. Riley had seen enough. He called a timeout.
He was pissed.
"LOCK THAT ROOKIE DOWN!" he shouted, face red with frustration. "He's too damn fast! Cut him off inside! Don't let him get a step!"
Mourning, still catching his breath, wiped sweat off his face.
"Alonzo, you need a breather?" Riley asked.
Mourning's pride wouldn't let him sit. His face was pale, but his voice was steady. "I'm good, Coach."
He had just taken two nasty Ls from Zhao Dong. There was no way in hell he was leaving the court now.
Riley gave him a hard look. "Be smart out there. That kid is quick as hell, and he's got power. Don't let him get momentum."
Mourning nodded. "I got him."
Play resumed.
The Heat went straight to Mourning again in the low post.
He caught the ball, squared up against Ewing, and made his move.
Mourning had always been chasing dominance in the league. Drafted in the same year as Shaq, he was the second pick. Shaq got Rookie of the Year. Shaq became a superstar.
Mourning? Stuck in the shadow of the league's elite big men.
Now, he wanted to take Ewing down—prove he belonged with the best.
He went straight at him.
Game on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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