Ewing was in the low post on the left wing, right at the edge of the paint, but he wasn't really aggressive about getting position.
During training earlier, he already felt off—his body wasn't at full strength. And honestly, the team wasn't as strong as the Rockets, so they were probably gonna take an L tonight. Oakley and Zhao Dong had just said if they couldn't win, they'd just start throwing hands, so he figured he'd save his energy for that instead of wasting it on offense.
Meanwhile, Zhao Dong was grinding in the low post on the right wing, muscling against Barkley, trying to get deep position. But Barkley's upper body strength was no joke, so he couldn't back him down and had to settle for calling for the ball near the paint's sideline.
Charles dumped it to Ewing, but the big man barely made an effort to ask for it.
Zhao Dong caught the ball one-handed with his back to the basket and immediately leaned into Barkley.
"The little bastard's about to drive," Barkley thought.
His defensive instincts kicked in, and he dropped back half a step, preparing for whatever move Zhao Dong was about to hit him with. He wasn't sure if he'd spin baseline or take it middle, so giving up a little space was the safest bet.
But he read it wrong.
Zhao Dong didn't try to drive—he spun and pulled up for a jumper instead.
By retreating, Barkley had just given up prime defensive position, and now he had to scramble to recover.
Zhao Dong's Level 90 Gold Medal footwork let him shake Barkley off with ease, but his turnaround jumper was only Level 60, meaning it wasn't exactly smooth. That slight hesitation gave Barkley just enough time to contest.
As Zhao Dong rose up, Barkley's hand flew in for the block.
But at the last second, Zhao Dong pulled his release back just slightly, avoiding the contest, then flicked his wrist forward, letting it fly.
The second the ball left his fingertips, he knew it was good.
Shooters get that instinct when they put in enough reps, and with Level 93 shooting, Zhao Dong's confidence was sky-high.
So before the ball even dropped, he turned and threw up an OK gesture with his right hand—an early celebration straight out of Arenas' playbook.
"Swish!"
The net snapped, sending ripples through the nylon.
"Ohhhhhh!"
The whole crowd erupted. Nobody had ever seen someone celebrate a bucket that early. It was wild.
Click, click, click!
Behind the baseline, cameras flashed like crazy, capturing Zhao Dong's back and his hand raised high.
"That's an all-time highlight!" Doug Collins yelled from the NBC broadcast booth.
"And Barkley's the one in the background!" Marv Albert laughed.
"Zhao Dong, you're a damn savage!"
"Bro, you really pulled that off?"
Oakley and the squad rushed over, hyped as hell.
Barkley? He was heated. His face went red as hell, steaming with rage. That premature celebration wasn't just disrespect—it was a straight-up slap in the face.
No doubt about it, this play was gonna be all over the Top 5 Plays of the Night, and Barkley would be the guy getting cooked in the clip.
"Holy shit, that was smooth! How much confidence does Zhao Dong have to celebrate early like that?!" Sun Zhenping shouted from the CCTV broadcast.
"That's a Top 5 play, easy!" Zhang Heli added.
Meanwhile, on the court…
"Hey Charles, I just fucked you up."
Zhao Dong turned and dropped some trash talk straight to Barkley's face.
"You little shit!"
Barkley clenched his fists, his blood boiling.
"I got no beef with Jordan, but you had to step in and talk shit? Why? Because you're a superstar? Man, I'll step on you and prove you ain't shit. I'm gonna keep cooking you. Just watch."
Zhao Dong barked at him while jogging back on defense.
By the time they got to the Knicks' backcourt, Barkley was done talking. He shoved Zhao Dong in the back and growled, "I'm about to teach you a lesson right now."
Barkley stomped into the low post on the right block, turned, and sealed Zhao Dong behind him.
"Ball."
He stretched out his massive hand, demanding the rock.
Zhao Dong was stuck behind him. The low block was Barkley's playground, and there was no way in hell he was letting Zhao Dong push him out.
But the second the ball came in, Zhao Dong made his move—he gave up positioning and lunged for a steal.
Barkley felt the elbow dig into his ribs—hard. His mouth twisted in pain, nearly fumbling the ball.
But he swallowed it down, turned, and spun baseline towards the basket.
Zhao Dong, now trailing behind, chased him hard.
That was the plan all along. He knew he couldn't stop Barkley's big ass in a head-on matchup. If Barkley got inside, his post moves were too polished. So instead of banging for position, Zhao Dong gambled—let him go, then chase him down from behind.
Barkley took two big steps into the paint and rose up for a short lob shot.
Zhao Dong jumped with him, fingertips grazing the ball.
"Did he get it?!" Doug Collins shouted.
Clang!
The ball bricked off the rim, and Zhao Dong snatched the rebound.
On the other end, he posted up again on the right block, calling for the ball.
Barkley wasn't about to let it happen again. He pressed in with everything he had, pushing Zhao Dong way out of position.
The pressure was intense, but Zhao Dong stayed calm.
Squeak!
He slid his feet toward the baseline.
That Level 90 Gold Medal technique kicked in, and Barkley bit hard, stepping back to cut off the drive.
Zhao Dong didn't even move.
Barkley scrambled to recover—too late.
Zhao Dong rose up for a pull-up jumper.
With Level 88 pull-up shooting and Level 93 shooting technique, he felt even more confident than before.
The shot went up, and just like last time, he threw up an OK sign before the ball even dropped.
Then he turned his back, not even watching.
"He's doing it again?!"
Doug Collins and Marv Albert's eyes went wide.
Swish!
Another clean make. Another arrow through Barkley's heart.
"Ohhhhhh!"
The crowd exploded—some in disbelief, others hyped beyond belief.
"He's torching Barkley! Is Zhao Dong about to go crazy tonight?!" Doug Collins shouted.
Zhao Dong didn't even look back.
"Hey, I'm still fucking you up. Just enjoy it."
Click, click, click!
Cameras went crazy, flashing nonstop at Zhao Dong as he casually jogged back on defense.
Behind him, his teammates ran after him, screaming and celebrating.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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