A bunch of NBA stars who had been elbowed by Karl Malone over the years came forward to talk to the media, but the biggest name among them was the Smiling Assassin, Isiah Thomas.
Dude was still fuming in his interview, even dropping some heat: "That scumbag, FK! Karl Malone is a damn murderer. He finally got what was coming to him last night. Gotta give props to the rookie, Zhao Dong—he's a real one…"
Charles Barkley also gave his two cents: "Look, I ain't a fan of that Knicks rookie, but I gotta admit, he did the right thing this time. Somebody had to step up and stop Malone's reckless bullshit, or one day, he's gonna put blades on his elbows and straight-up kill somebody on the court."
Even MJ spoke on it: "I think the league needs to hand out tougher penalties for this kind of dirty play. You can't have guys out here deliberately trying to hurt people."
Meanwhile, Karl Malone had just woken up after being knocked the hell out. He had been in a coma for ten hours.
The hospital's diagnosis? His right forearm had three fractures, his nose was busted, and his face looked like he went twelve rounds with Mike Tyson. But that wasn't even the worst part—Zhao Dong's final kick had done some real damage. In addition to external injuries, he had a skull fracture from blunt trauma, a moderate concussion, and temporary deafness in his left ear. Dude needed at least two months to recover.
Oh, and let's not forget the fractured rib from that flying elbow he took to the chest.
The Jazz, worried he might do something extreme, asked the doctors to give him a small dose of sedatives to calm him down.
Didn't work.
Malone was still raging.
"HE WANTED TO KILL ME! THAT BASTARD WANTED TO KILL ME! THIS AIN'T OVER!" he screamed at Jerry Sloan and the Jazz execs surrounding his bed.
"Karl, calm the hell down," Sloan said, trying to keep his star player from losing it even more. "The team is under a lot of heat right now, and honestly, your elbowing was outta pocket. We need to work with the league and the Knicks to smooth things over, and that means you gotta play ball with us."
"What do you want me to do, Jerry? Just let this slide?!" Malone snapped.
Sloan sighed and rubbed his temples. "Karl, man, don't you get it? You elbowed a dude in the back of the head, in midair, from behind. That shit ain't even legal in a damn street fight. The league is getting hammered for letting you get away with this stuff for years. This time, they have to act."
"Psh, what can they even do? Ban me? I'm already stuck in this damn hospital bed for two months. If they wanna suspend me, go ahead. That punk Zhao Dong could only sneak me—he don't want a real fight. I want him in the ring, one-on-one!" Malone growled.
Jerry Sloan just shook his head. This dude was not helping himself.
Sloan grabbed a thick stack of newspapers and dumped them on Malone's lap. "Read these. Maybe then you'll understand the kinda storm we're dealing with."
Malone flipped through a few pages, and his face twisted into something ugly. The media was torching him. Not just the sports media—everybody. The public was eating him alive, and his reputation was taking a massive hit.
"The Knicks front office must be behind this. It's New York versus Utah—we can't win that media war," Sloan muttered. "Karl, listen, if we don't handle this right, this could seriously mess up your career."
Hearing that, Malone finally shut up.
But it wasn't just the Jazz dealing with the pressure.
David Stern had gotten the report late last night, and it had ruined his sleep. He was in the NBA headquarters early in the morning, calling an emergency meeting to figure out how the hell to handle this mess.
"The tension started before the game," said league VP Russ Granik, summarizing the situation. "There was already a fight in the tunnel before they even stepped on the court. Then, during the game, both Zhao Dong and Karl Malone were going at it hard. That led to Malone's elbow to the back of the head, and then the whole thing spiraled out of control."
Stern leaned forward. "So, Russ, what's your recommendation?"
Russ Granik hesitated. Stern's tone made it clear—only one of the two was getting the real hammer. So, was it gonna be Malone or Zhao Dong?
There was no doubt—the media had already convicted Karl Malone. The answer was obvious.
One hour later, the NBA held a press conference at their New York headquarters, with David Stern himself stepping up to the mic.
"I deeply regret that we've seen such a blatant and dangerous act of elbowing in a game. This kind of reckless play will not be tolerated… At the same time, we will not allow any other forms of violent retaliation on the court either…"
Then, the punishments came down.
Karl Malone got hit with the biggest fine and suspension in NBA history—a $500,000 fine and a 30-game suspension.
The Utah Jazz were fined $1 million.
The Knicks got slapped with a $500,000 fine.
And Zhao Dong? He got his first-ever fine in the league—a five-game suspension and a $100,000 fine.
The moment Malone got the news, he flipped out in his hospital bed.
"ZHAO DONG, YOU BASTARD! THIS AIN'T OVER!" he roared, but all that yelling made his head throb like hell, and he had to call for a doctor.
This wasn't just about the money. Sure, losing $500K plus missing 30 games meant he was out $2.2 million total, but that wasn't what pissed him off the most.
It was his reputation.
For years, he had been feared in the league. Now, people saw him as a dirty player who finally got what he deserved. His name was getting dragged through the mud, and that made his blood boil.
And then, there was the team.
The Jazz were the #1 seed in the West right now. But with him out until mid-January, they'd be in bad shape. Even if they held on and made the playoffs, their seeding would suck. That meant they'd probably face powerhouses like the Mavericks, Sonics, or Lakers in the first round. Not ideal.
And even after two months of recovery, how the hell was he gonna be at his best when the playoffs started?
All because of that damn rookie from the Knicks.
Malone clenched his teeth, rage boiling inside him.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
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