The timeout ends, and the game is back on. Knicks ball.
Zhao Dong moves out of the paint as the play calls for it, Oakley slides in, and Ewing gets the rock. He rises up for the shot.
Bang!
Mourning comes out of nowhere, swats that shit, and stands there stone-faced like he just did something crazy.
"OUUUU!" Mourning flexes and yells—at Zhao Dong—even though he didn't even contest the damn shot.
"Man, shut the hell up, dumbass!" Zhao Dong fires back. "You block Pat, not me. The hell you talking to me for?"
Mourning clenches his jaw, shuts his mouth, and walks off.
Knicks ball, sideline inbound.
Zhao Dong ain't getting a play called for him, so he drifts to the right wing, beyond the arc, and signals for the ball. Everyone else is locked up. Oakley, inbounding, sees the open look and slings it to him.
"Slow it down!" Van Gundy yells from the sideline.
"Ain't no time to slow down, coach," Zhao Dong mutters to himself.
He catches, barely hesitates, then launches a three right over Austin, who's just a step away.
The ball arcs high—money.
Swish!
Zhao Dong lets out a ferocious yell.
"92-87! Knicks down five! Zhao Dong heating up from deep!" Doug Collins shouts on commentary.
"Slow it up!" Pat Riley barks from the Heat sideline as Hardaway jogs the ball up the court.
"The Heat are burning clock. The Knicks gotta press here!" Marv Albert calls it.
Starks and Oakley don't even wait for Van Gundy—they immediately press up, forcing Miami to speed up.
Hardaway sees an opening—Ewing's a bit out of position, and Mourning cuts hard to the rim.
"Watch the lob!"
Hardaway lobs it perfectly over the defense, Mourning skywalks to meet it, and the crowd braces for impact.
Mourning cocks it back mid-air—
But Zhao Dong comes flying in from the weak side!
BANG!
Zhao spikes that shit back into orbit!
The Garden ERUPTS.
The ball's still live. Ewing reacts first, snags it, and Knicks are off to the races.
Zhao Dong turns on the jets—Austin is left in the dust, Mourning sprints full speed to chase him down, but—
BOOM!
Oakley clips Mourning with a textbook screen—a little dirty, but who's calling that at this point?
Zhao Dong catches a full-court dime from Chris Childs, takes off, and hammers a tomahawk jam!
92-89! Knicks cut it to three with 43 seconds left!
"FLIGHT MODE ACTIVATED!" Marv Albert shouts as the rim still rattles.
"One massive defensive stop, one huge dunk—Zhao Dong has been insane in this clutch sequence!" Doug Collins adds.
Timeout, Heat.
As the huddle breaks, Miami switches it up—Pat Riley puts Mourning on Zhao Dong.
"What the hell?!" Doug Collins blurts out. "Is Riley out of his mind? He's treating Zhao Dong like he's the Knicks' most dangerous big! Where's the respect for Ewing?"
"The Heat are gonna regret this," Marv agrees.
Van Gundy sticks to the script. "Get it to Patrick!" he barks from the bench.
Heat ball.
Hardaway controls the pace, letting the clock tick before making a move. Starks presses up, forcing Hardaway to shift gears and break into the frontcourt.
But he pulls back again—slowing it down, killing more clock.
Zhao Dong sees the stalling, ditches Austin, and rushes in to trap Hardaway.
Hardaway immediately dishes to Austin.
Austin catches—Zhao Dong is two steps away—and fires a mid-range jumper.
"FUCK!" Van Gundy explodes, slamming his clipboard. "What the hell is Zhao doing gambling like that?!"
But Zhao Dong isn't even looking at the shot.
He's already sprinting full-speed the other way.
He's gambling.
Bang!
It bricks.
Oakley and Ewing box out hard, Oak snags the board, looks up, and chucks it downcourt.
"Zhao Dong leaks out! Nobody within five meters!"
Zhao Dong catches at full speed, takes one dribble, and—
BOOM!
Two-handed reverse slam!
92-91! Knicks within one.
"HEAT STILL UP! 28 SECONDS TO GO! BALL IN MIAMI'S HANDS!"
Pat Riley doesn't call timeout.
"Settle it down, Tim!" Riley shouts at Hardaway.
"PRESS! PRESS!" Van Gundy yells, waving his arms.
Hardaway barely gets it past halfcourt under the pressure. He swings it to Mashburn on the left wing—Oakley smothers him.
Mashburn kicks it across the court to Mourning.
But Zhao Dong jumps the passing lane!
"STEAL! ZHAO DONG PICKS IT OFF!"
Zhao Dong takes off like a damn bullet.
Mourning turns and chases—full speed, step-for-step.
But as they cross halfcourt, Zhao Dong pulls up—
From deep.
Mourning realizes too late.
Zhao's already in the air.
The shot is up.
Swish.
BALL GAME.
The Garden loses its fucking mind.
"OH MY GOD! ZHAO DONG HITS A CLUTCH THREE!"
"ICE IN HIS VEINS!"
Knicks 94-92.
The crowd explodes in celebration.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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