The Bulls were on the attack.
As soon as they crossed half-court, Jordan called for the ball, setting up on the left wing where Zhao Dong was waiting for him.
Zhao Dong squared up, giving a signal—he was taking this one-on-one, no help needed.
"Oh! Jordan's got the rock, and he's going straight at Zhao Dong! It's a matchup, folks! A real showdown!" Doug Collins shouted from the NBC broadcast booth.
Marv Albert chuckled. "Is MJ looking to get back at Zhao Dong for that early celebration? Man, I can't wait to see this."
Jordan dribbled, eyes locked on Zhao Dong. "I'm about to cook your ass, rookie," he growled.
Zhao Dong smirked. "Bet. But you ain't got the guts to celebrate early, do you?"
Jordan's eyes flickered. He wanted to—badly. But he knew better. His status was too big, too legendary. If he failed, it would be a worldwide joke. Zhao Dong, a rookie, could get away with it. Jordan? Not a chance.
"What's up, man? You love to gamble, don't you? Come on, take the risk. Go all in, like me. Maybe you'll win," Zhao Dong taunted.
Jordan's nostrils flared. His breathing grew heavy, and then—boom! He pulled up.
"A fadeaway?"
The commentary team was going wild.
"What's he doing? Is he—"
The ball sailed through the air. Jordan's heart pounded, the thought racing through his mind—should he celebrate?
Clank! The ball bounced off the rim.
Zhao Dong looked at the basket, then turned to Jordan. "Damn, you're soft!"
Jordan clenched his jaw so tight it could crack a diamond. His teeth ground together, his fists clenched. He wanted to cuss out Zhao Dong, himself—hell, maybe even the rim.
"Jordan took the shot but didn't return the early celebration. I gotta say, I really wanted to see that," Marv Albert said with a grin.
Doug Collins laughed. "Come on, man, he ain't built like Zhao Dong. The rookie can risk it all, but Jordan? The weight on his shoulders is too damn heavy."
"That's the luxury of being young in the league," Marv added. "Zhao Dong can afford to mess around. If he fails, no one cares. But Jordan? He's MJ. He can't afford to take Ls like that."
The game pressed on. Zhao Dong locked back in on Pippen, and Jordan didn't challenge him again.
By the end of the third quarter, Zhao Dong had stacked up 35 points, 12 rebounds, 6 assists, 3 blocks, 2 turnovers, and 3 fouls.
He had checked off his goals—blocking Pippen three times, dishing five assists, and putting up 30 on him. He just needed two more points over Pippen to seal the deal. And if the Knicks won? The sniper mission would be complete.
Rodman had been working the boards, pulling down 6 rebounds in the third quarter alone, bringing his total to 13—one more than Zhao Dong.
Jordan was a beast on both ends, dropping 39 points and handing out 5 assists.
The teams had battled evenly in the third, leaving the score at 77-70. Knicks still up by 7.
On the NBC broadcast, Marv Albert broke it down. "Pippen just can't contain Zhao Dong. That's the Bulls' biggest issue right now—he's getting torched out there."
Doug Collins nodded. "Even with Jordan and Ron Harper doubling him at times, Zhao Dong is making plays. His passing is on point—six assists already. He's breaking the pressure like it's nothing. If the Bulls can't slow him down in the fourth, man, they might be getting swept tonight."
"Zhao Dong is a problem," Marv added. "His size, his strength—he's 6'10" in shoes, with a 7'2" wingspan. His hands? Huge, damn near Jordan-sized. Once he raises the ball, no guard can rip it from him.
"And don't forget—he moves like a guard. If a double-team ain't tight, he's blowing past it. He's got that unique mismatch at the three—too strong for wings, too quick for bigs."
On the Bulls' bench, Jordan wasn't having it.
"I ain't losing this game! No way!" His voice roared through the huddle.
"Get me the damn ball," he barked. "I'm taking this over. I'm beating the Knicks and that damn rookie myself!"
Pippen sat there, blood boiling. He'd taken 15 shots through three quarters—6 in the third. Was that too much?
Maybe. But the real problem? He wasn't that dude.
His off-ball movement, his cutting, his spot-up game—those were his strengths. But creating off the dribble? That wasn't his lane. Zhao Dong had baited him into playing outside of his skillset, and it had messed up the Bulls' flow.
And Jordan knew it. That's why he was pissed.
Zhao Dong had gotten in Pippen's head, forced him into bad shots, and now Jordan had to clean up the mess.
Fourth quarter. All starters back in—except the Knicks swapped in Charlie Ward to double Jordan.
Knicks on offense.
Zhao Dong pulled up for three—missed. The Worm grabbed the board.
Bulls pushed it. Jordan? Pull-up three. Bang!
Four-point game.
Knicks came back down. Zhao Dong caught it on the left wing. Jordan was on him in a flash.
One jab step. Pippen flinched. Zhao Dong exploded past him, driving into the three-point line.
Jordan rotated over, ready to cut him off.
But Zhao Dong had him scouted. Two dribbles in, he stopped on a dime—pulled up.
Splash.
"That's it! Got my 30 over Pippen!" Zhao Dong smirked.
"Charles, switch with me," he called to Oakley. Time to handle Rodman.
Marv Albert caught it immediately. "Oh! Zhao Dong is moving to the low post!"
Doug Collins nodded. "Oakley's solid, but he ain't out-rebounding Rodman. The real question is—can Zhao Dong do it?"
Back on defense, Jordan was trapped by Ward and Starks but still forced up a fadeaway.
Zhao Dong locked in on the arc of the ball—tracked the landing spot—boxed out Rodman—snatched the board.
Rodman scowled. The fight was on.
Possession after possession, Zhao Dong kept crashing the glass, out-jumping, out-muscling Rodman. The big man was furious, but there was nothing he could do. Zhao Dong was too quick, too relentless.
Neither team could find their rhythm for the next few minutes. But Zhao Dong? He grabbed four more boards. Rodman? Only two.
By the six-minute mark, Zhao Dong had 16 rebounds, one more than Rodman.
Score: 88-82. Knicks still up. The Bulls called timeout.
Jordan was fuming. Rodman looked rattled. Pippen was silent.
Zhao Dong? He was locked in. One step closer to taking out the Bulls.
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