Knicks Offense
"Charles!"
On the right wing, Zhao Dong muscled Karl Malone toward the top of the arc and called for the ball.
Charles fed him the pass, and the Jazz collapsed inside, with Bryon Russell dropping back into the paint.
Feeling Malone's body on him and the crowded defense down low, Zhao Dong suddenly spun.
"Baseline drive?"
Malone instinctively took a step back.
Wrong read. Zhao Dong spun the other way and went straight into a quick jumper near the basket.
A 93-rated jumper was already damn elite, and with an 88 pull-up, this was automatic. He knew it the moment it left his hands. Before the ball even swished through the net, he was already throwing up the "OK" gesture.
"Swish!"
Cameras flashed like crazy.
"Why you flexin', rookie? Next time, I'm sendin' that shit back!" Malone barked.
Zhao Dong smirked. "Man, don't even bother tryin'. You ain't got a chance."
Malone's face darkened, chasing Zhao Dong down the court.
Jazz Possession
Stockton ran a high pick-and-roll with Malone.
Zhao Dong didn't switch—if he did, the ball was going straight back to Malone, and Charles sure as hell wasn't stopping his money mid-range.
He let Stockton drive instead, sagging under Malone to deny the pass.
Stockton got a clean lane and pulled up in the paint.
Bad choice.
Zhao Dong exploded from behind, Oakley rotated from the left, and Ewing crashed down from under the rim.
Three defenders, one shot.
"BANG!"
No one knew who got it, but the ball was swatted into the right wing. Stockton got bodied in the paint.
Clean block. No whistle. Play on.
Alan Houston scooped the ball and pushed the break.
Knicks Attack
Zhao Dong fought for position under the hoop, battling Malone for an offensive rebound. It was a straight-up hand-to-hand war, trading blows for leverage.
"Bang!"
Houston bricked the shot.
Malone, still in his prime but with busted knees, was a ground-bound bruiser at this point. Dude wasn't out-jumping Zhao Dong.
Zhao Dong snatched the board, but Malone walled him off, and Bryon Russell doubled.
Last time, he tried to escape the trap—didn't work. This time? Power through.
First jump—shook them both.
Second jump—soft touch under the double.
"Bang!"
Malone and Russell, caught off guard, scrambled but had no choice. Hard foul.
"Beep!"
Whistle. And-1.
Malone and Russell threw up their hands. Ref didn't care, called it on Malone.
"Good shit, Zhao Dong!" Oakley roared.
Zhao Dong exhaled. He just took a solid hit to the head, but he wasn't about to back down.
Meanwhile, across the league, the Bulls-Lakers game was on fire.
Kobe vs. Jordan
Kobe came off the bench. Facing Michael Jordan.
Since the season started, Kobe had a chip on his shoulder after that Knicks rookie called him out. Now, with Jordan in front of him, the fire was burning.
"If that dude had the balls to challenge MJ, so can I."
Looking at Jordan, Kobe made history.
"Michael, you know what? If we played one-on-one, I'd beat you."
Jordan blinked.
"What?"
The hell did this kid just say?
Jordan was losing it.
First that damn rookie in New York, now Kobe?
"Damn it, has the world lost its mind? When the hell did everyone start thinking they could take me?"
Back to MSG.
Free Throws
Zhao Dong hit both. Knicks up 6-2.
Jazz Attack
Malone posted up right wing, holding Zhao Dong with one arm, calling for the rock.
Zhao Dong wasn't an elite post defender, but he knew Malone's bag.
Only 25% of his game was post-ups.
Most of his points came off mid-range jumpers, pick-and-rolls, or face-ups.
Back-to-basket play? He'd just turn and shoot.
But here's the thing: Malone was rarely blocked.
Not because his shot was some unstoppable Jordan fadeaway.
Nope.
Dude played dirty.
Turn to shoot? Knees up.
Double-team? Elbows out.
Anyone dumb enough to contest him was getting wrecked.
That's how he kept defenders off him—fear.
Zhao Dong didn't give a damn.
"I got injury immunity today. Why the hell should I be scared of you, old man?"
As Malone turned into his jumper, Zhao Dong launched—straight into the shot.
"BOOM!"
Malone's knee drilled into Zhao Dong's gut.
Zhao Dong's hand slapped the ball clean.
"YEAHHHH!"
MSG erupted.
"OHHHHH!"
The arena announcer was losing his mind.
"ZHAO DONG JUST BLOCKED KARL MALONE! THAT WAS A VOLLEYBALL BLOCK! MALONE JUST GOT SENT—HE GOT SENT—"
CCTV's commentators were just as wild.
Doug Collins on NBC was stunned.
"Tough-ass defense, but does Zhao Dong have the guts to challenge Malone like that again?"
Oakley ran up, hyped. "Hell yeah, kid! But watch this dude, he's dirty."
Zhao Dong winced, rubbing his stomach. Pain was real, but he was built for this.
He swore, Nowitzki's one-legged fade had to come from Malone.
He got lit up hard just now. If it weren't for that injury immunity, he'd probably be laid out.
Malone stared at him.
"Why the hell isn't this kid down?"
Zhao Dong grinned.
"What you lookin' at? I got a body of steel. You think you can hurt me?"
Malone grunted and turned away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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