92:94. Knicks up by 2. Just 21.8 seconds left on the clock. Heat got the ball.
Doug Collins was hyped on the mic. "Zhao Dong just put on a straight-up monster performance on both ends when it mattered the most. He took over, man. Now Miami's in deep trouble."
Pat Riley called his final timeout.
"Keep an eye on him! I said, keep an eye on him!" Riley barked at Alonzo Mourning.
"I know, coach. I got it," Mourning responded, steady as ever. Pressure was sky-high, but his face was a damn poker game.
Over on the Knicks bench, Jeff Van Gundy was thinking hard. Who gets the last shot?
He knew Ewing was the franchise guy, but damn, Zhao Dong had been going nuclear all night. Still, Ewing had that veteran clout, and there was no way Van Gundy was gonna piss off his big man over a regular-season game.
"…Give it to Ewing," he finally decided.
Nobody said a word. Not even Zhao Dong. He knew damn well that if he spoke up, Van Gundy might just bench his ass.
But deep down? He made a promise to himself right then and there—one day, this team was gonna be his. When that day came, he wasn't gonna be waiting for a coach to call his number. He was taking that shit himself. He wanted to be that guy—the one who could brick a hundred shots and still be the first option when the game was on the line.
Timeout over.
The Heat had one last shot to take the lead. Pat Riley had a plan—go for three, drain the clock, and ice this thing. No point trying to bang inside against Ewing and Zhao Dong's defense.
The Knicks turned up the pressure. Three quick passes later, the ball landed in Mourning's hands on the right wing, just outside the paint.
Zhao Dong was right in front of him.
"I'll let you take that," Zhao Dong smirked, stepping back half a step. "But you ain't makin' it."
Straight-up disrespect.
Mourning wasn't even supposed to shoot here—he wasn't a three-point guy. But man, Zhao Dong's trash talk got to him. He pulled up for a mid-range jumper.
And that was all Zhao Dong needed.
He baited Mourning, then pounced—one quick step forward, then he exploded up.
SWAT.
Zhao Dong sent that ball packing.
"BLOCKED! Zhao Dong with the monster rejection at crunch time!" Marv Albert's voice shook the arena.
Beep!
Whistle blew. Mourning, pissed off, straight-up tackled Zhao Dong before he could break out for a fast break. Both of them hit the floor hard.
"6.2 seconds left! Zhao Dong's got two free throws! Knicks in control! No timeouts left for either team!" Doug Collins yelled.
Marv added, "Zhao Dong has been playing like a damn superstar tonight. Over 40 points, man. That's putting him right up there."
Zhao Dong stepped up to the line. First shot—swish.
Crowd roared. Knicks up 3.
Second shot—bricked.
Rebound battle. Mourning and Ewing fought for it. The ball got tipped up—Oakley punched it out.
And guess who it landed with?
Zhao Dong.
Without hesitating, he took one giant step and took off.
BOOM!
One-handed slam. Right over Ewing and Mourning.
The basket was shaking.
The whole arena? Erupting.
"You bastard!" Ewing was heated.
Zhao Dong just laughed. "You got company down there, big fella," he said, nodding at Mourning, who was still standing under the hoop looking salty.
92:97. Knicks up 5. 4.6 seconds left.
Doug Collins shook his head. "That's it. Miami's out of timeouts. Not much left they can do."
The Heat inbounded, rushed up court. Dan Majerle pulled up from deep over Oakley.
Clank.
Game over.
Madison Square Garden exploded.
On the NBC broadcast, Doug Collins was hyped. "We just watched a damn star being born tonight. Zhao Dong was the best player on the court."
Marv Albert nodded. "The Golden Tyrant, man. He played like a damn superstar out there. Dominated the fourth quarter."
Doug Collins pulled up the numbers. "36 minutes. 16-of-22 shooting. 10-of-13 from the line. 2-of-2 from three. 44 points. 13 boards. 1 dime. 2 steals. 7 blocks. 3 turnovers. 4 fouls.
And in the fourth quarter? 9-of-12 shooting. 2-of-2 threes. 24 points.
This was the best game from any rookie in the 1996 class so far."
Marv smirked. "44 points. Highest by a rookie this year. Yo, Allen Iverson—hope you're watching, man. That Rookie of the Year race just got real."
Doug Collins laughed. "And yo, Michael Jordan—you might wanna take notes. This kid ain't backing down from anybody."
Marv chuckled, then turned serious. "But let's be real. Nobody messes with MJ. Every dude that's ever challenged him got crushed."
Doug nodded. "Facts. Zhao Dong put up crazy numbers tonight, but let's not forget—when Jordan drops 40, it's against double and triple-teams. Hell, he still goes for 50 under the Jordan Rules. That's different."
Marv agreed. "Zhao Dong wasn't getting double-teamed tonight. And let's keep it real—the guy guarding him most of the night was Isaac Austin, a backup big. That's a whole different thing from going at Scottie Pippen or Dennis Rodman."
Doug nodded. "Exactly. If Zhao Dong wants to be in the Jordan conversation, he's gotta get to the level where teams have to throw two or three guys at him every night. That's the difference."
Postgame interview.
Zhao Dong was straight-up exhausted, but man, his energy was still through the roof.
He knew.
This wasn't just a regular season win. This was a statement.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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