"In the first round, Jordan had the upper hand," Matt Goukas chuckled from the NBC broadcast booth.
"Zhao Dong had a chance for a turnaround fade just now. Even though Jordan and McGrady doubled him, they didn't really affect his shot—he just bricked it," Marv Albert added with a grin.
The Knicks brought the ball up the court.
Jordan tailed Zhao Dong all the way to the three-point line, ready to clamp down—but Zhao didn't stop there. He kept moving toward the low post. Jordan was caught off guard and instantly signaled for a switch.
He knew damn well he couldn't handle Zhao Dong down low. Once Zhao crossed that free throw line, he could bully him with his size and strength.
So Oakley pulled out, Zhao dropped into the low block, and the two swapped assignments.
Now Jordan was stuck with Oakley, and Ewing had to deal with Zhao Dong.
"Jason, lock up that rookie," Jordan shouted at Kidd.
He knew Ewing couldn't hold Zhao Dong solo—man couldn't even move his feet fast enough. The key was denying the pass altogether.
Zhao Dong slid into position on the left block, eyes locked on Billups while constantly shifting.
Kidd's defense was tight, and Zhao knew if the pass didn't come clean, it was a wrap. He had to work in sync. When Billups had space, he had to be ready to catch it clean.
Just then, Billups slid over to the left wing. Zhao pulled out a bit, luring Ewing with him.
Then—boom—he faked and blew by Ewing's side, slashing straight to the rim.
Billups saw the cut and fired the dime.
"Here's the chance!" Zhang Heli shouted.
Bang!
Zhao Dong cut through the lane like a missile, snatched the pass, took a step, and exploded toward the rack.
Rodman, who'd taken plenty of hits from Zhao in the past, had no intention of contesting. He dipped out of the restricted zone quick.
Boom!
Thunderous slam.
Yeahhh!
The Garden erupted.
"Beautiful! Zhao Dong shook the Gorilla and slammed it home!" the commentator shouted.
Bulls ball.
Kidd threw up a signal, setting the offense in motion.
Everyone spaced out—Rodman stayed active in the paint, but even Ewing cleared out.
"Oh! Zhao Dong's guarding Jordan?" Matt Goukas said, surprised.
"Does he really think he can lock up MJ?" Marv Albert was just as stunned.
"Who gave you that kind of confidence?" Jordan started chirping, moving around off-ball.
"Your win percentage," Zhao Dong fired back instantly.
"…"
Jordan was tight. He wanted to clap back, but... facts.
After five seconds of running, Jordan realized—he couldn't shake Zhao Dong.
Dude was taller, heavier by at least 20 pounds, and still stayed with him stride for stride?
"Damn! Zhao Dong is right there with MJ!" Zhang Heli yelled.
But Jordan suddenly stopped and reversed course, heading back toward the top.
Zhao turned to follow—bang!—ran straight into Rodman.
Bulls had set a nasty pick-and-roll for Jordan.
MJ broke free, Kidd zipped the ball to him, wide open.
Swish!
Another clean jumper for Jordan.
"Easy shot," MJ taunted, jawing at Zhao and Oakley.
Oakley, who got caught behind the pick, wasn't happy with the trash talk.
"Switch faster!" Coach Van Gundy barked from the sidelines.
"It's all good, let's run it back!" Zhao Dong shouted to Oakley.
Back on offense, Zhao went back to work in the post, left wing again. He ducked in toward the paint, baited Ewing, then popped back out.
Billups read it perfectly. As soon as Zhao hit the edge of the paint, the rock was there.
He caught it, and Ewing rushed over. Then McGrady and Jordan came flying in too—triple team incoming.
But Zhao didn't hesitate—snatched the ball, rose up, and flicked it one-handed.
Bang!
Right over Ewing's outstretched arm. Bank shot—cash.
Tie game.
Bulls came back the other way.
"Triple team me, huh? Where's the D in that shot?" Zhao Dong barked back at Jordan.
"…"
Jordan was pissed, but he had nothing to say.
Back on D, Zhao hounded MJ again—this time, bodying him up, using that strength and weight to throw him off rhythm, bumping him just enough to keep him off balance.
The Knicks were going one-on-one against Jordan today. No help defense.
They couldn't afford to leave Ewing alone in the post—doubling Jordan would open up too much.
As Zhao kept bumping MJ, Kidd dished it to Ewing down low.
Big Ben rotated late—hook shot over his head, and Ewing got it to fall.
Zhao didn't waste a second—he turned and sprinted downcourt.
"Push it!" yelled Thibodeau from the bench.
Billups came back to take the inbound, but Kidd pressed up, and Ewing hedged to block the lane.
Big Ben tried to thread the needle with a pass—but it went bad.
Ben's passing game was shaky. He could hit the short pass, but threading it between defenders? Risky.
This one got picked.
"Oh no! Big Ben turns it over—Kidd with the steal!" the commentator called.
Kidd took it coast to coast and laid it in on the left side.
8-4, Bulls up early.
Knicks ball.
After serving, old Nelson called a timeout.
"Ben Wallace's passing game been suspect, man. Too short, and yeah he dodged Ewing, but Kidd? Nah, that ain't happenin'. In the Eastern Conference Finals, Knicks gotta stop runnin' Nelson's small ball all the time. These baseline fast breaks ain't it," Zhang Heli shook his head.
"Billups still a rookie too, man. Got no real experience going up against Jason Kidd," added Sun Zhenping.
In front of the bench, Nelson said, "Aight, listen up! From now on, fast breaks only after we snatch the defensive boards!"
After the timeout, the Knicks inbounded from the frontcourt.
Zhao Dong caught the ball outside the arc on the right wing. MJ stepped up but gave him space, keepin' half a step back.
Oakley slid a step inside the arc, chillin' at the short corner near the baseline, Rodman glued to him.
SQUEAK!
Zhao Dong exploded off that first step—dude's sneakers screeched as he straight up burned Jordan.
Rodman ditched Oakley and rotated over fast to help.
Zhao Dong swung a slick pass to Oakley, then cut hard around Rodman and dashed to the rack.
Rodman tried to recover and chased, while Jordan switched onto Oakley.
Oakley caught it clean—pulled up midrange.
Bang!
It bricked.
But Zhao Dong was already there. He snatched the board, landed, took one power step, then blasted off towards Ewing under the rim.
Ewing tried backing out, but it was late. Didn't wanna catch a blocking foul, so he jumped anyway—forced it.
Problem was—his knees gone. Dude barely got off the floor.
Zhao Dong? Man was flying. Cleared him easy by like half a meter.
"Damn it!"
Ewing knew it. He panicked.
BOOM!
Mid-air, Zhao Dong's abs slammed into Ewing's head—sent the big man crashing. Zhao Dong paused for a sec in the air, then swung the hammer.
BANG!!
The rim rattled. Zhao Dong hangin' off it, legs spread—and his hips slammed straight down on Ewing's dome as he fell back hard, flat on the hardwood.
"YEAHHHH!"
MSG lost their minds.
"Ohhhhhh my! That's a filthy dunk! Zhao Dong just yammed on the Gorilla—nobody saw that comin'!" Marv Albert's voice cracked in disbelief.
Some fans couldn't even cheer. They were Ewing loyalists, man. Seeing him get bodied like that? Eyes went red.
"Patrick, you good?"
Oakley ran over, feelin' some type of way seein' his boy get posterized. But he ain't pull him up. That's taboo in the NBA—helpin' up an opponent after gettin' rocked is straight betrayal.
Ewing stared at Oakley, then slowly got to his feet.
"You alright?" MJ asked.
"I'm good," Ewing panted, trying to shake it off.
Legs were the issue. Always been a jump-shooter, not a bruiser. His back was still fine—but damn.
8–6, Bulls ball.
This time MJ didn't play off-ball. Dude called for it at the right wing three, Zhao Dong up in his grill.
MJ tested him—little jab step—then sliced right past him.
Oakley stepped up from the low post to stop him.
But from the weak side, McGrady flashed in outta nowhere, cuttin' hard to the paint.
MJ saw it. Bang—fired the dime to McGrady slicing in.
McGrady took it strong right at Big Ben under the basket.
BANG!
Ben Wallace moved late. Too slow on the jump. Almost got posterized—again.
"YEAHHHH!!"
T-Mac flushed it and let out a primal scream, fist-pumping like crazy.
"Atta boy, rookie!" MJ hyped him up.
"We got somethin' for that," Zhao Dong growled as the Knicks brought it back up.
10–6, Knicks possession.
Zhao Dong parked himself on the left wing three.
Jordan approached—then boom—Zhao Dong suddenly burst past him again.
Oakley timed it perfect. He moved up, switched spots with Zhao Dong and set that screen—boxed MJ just right for the pick-and-roll.
Jordan and Rodman switched, but the ball was already out.
Billups hit Zhao Dong in stride—he caught it, switched hands, and bulldozed Rodman outta the way like he was a toddler.
He stormed into the paint—Ewing the only one back.
Zhao Dong wasn't even aiming for him, but that was the matchup. That was the weak link.
He had to break him—keep attackin' until Ewing cracked.
Ewing stepped up—had no choice—but he just didn't have the bounce anymore.
Zhao Dong soared, again.
He was way higher than Ewing, who barely got off the ground.
BOOM!
He came down hard—sent Ewing flying again. Body hit the floor under the rim.
BANG!
Another thunderous dunk. MSG erupted.
"Oh my goodness! Another one! Zhao Dong just wrecked Ewing again. This man's out here lookin' like a monster!" Matt Goukas shouted.
At this point, even the announcers were numb. Zhao Dong been doing this.
On the sidelines, Phil Jackson shook his head and burned a timeout.
The offense wasn't broken—the defense was.
Ewing? He couldn't be the primary rim protector anymore. He'd get injured for real if this kept up.
He pulled the players over and told Ewing, "Let him have the lane. Zhao Dong's playin' so reckless and explosive, he won't last the whole game. Just let him burn out."
Then he looked at his big man and said, "Your job now is to ease the load off Mike, help Rodman on D, and control the glass. You're not here to absorb every collision from that dude."
Ewing nodded, chest heaving. He didn't wanna admit it, but yeah—he felt it too.
Phil didn't even have to say it.
On the Knicks' side, old man Don Nelson told Van Gundy to tighten up the defensive schemes. They were behind, but it wasn't the offense that was the problem—it was the D.
10:8, timeout over. Bulls ball.
This time, Jordan played off-ball, really stretching out the Knicks' defensive setup, using screens like a pro to hunt mismatches and open looks.
He pulled the defense to the right wing, and Ewing, who was chilling in the low post on the left, shook off Big Ben and cut hard to the rim. Kidd saw the lane and zipped the pass.
"Swish!"
Easy layup.
"The Bulls are straight-up cookin' today. They're using that inside-outside chemistry to perfection. Knicks can't commit to doubling either Ewing or Jordan, so both guys are eating," said Marv.
"This might be the cleanest game the Bulls have played against New York in the last two seasons," Matt Goukas chimed in with a grin.
On CCTV's broadcast, Zhang Heli said, "Ben Wallace is still young. Half his attention was stuck on Jordan, and he forgot about Ewing."
12:8, Bulls ball again.
Billups brought it up but Kidd was pressing hard. Dude looked shaky. Jordan saw his moment, swarmed in with a trap—turnover!
"Oh! MJ picks his pocket in the backcourt and goes coast-to-coast!" the arena commentator lost it.
Jordan flew into the paint. He heard heavy steps closing in, felt the pressure building behind him—there was only one dude who could hustle back like that—Zhao Dong.
Zhao Dong was sprinting with everything he had, caught up right before the free-throw line. MJ took flight—and Zhao Dong followed.
Aerial battle. The two biggest names in basketball, head-to-head.
The whole arena, the whole damn world, held their breath.
Jordan was up first, right hand palming the rock, Zhao Dong coming up behind and to the right. MJ cocked the ball back, baiting the block.
But just when Zhao Dong went for the swat, Jordan twisted mid-air, tucked the ball back, switched to his left, and tried the reverse under the rim.
His body control was still elite—elite enough to hover just long enough to get the layup off before landing.
But when he touched down and looked back to watch the bucket drop…
"What the hell?"
Zhao Dong was still airborne.
He'd missed the block? That was expected. But then dude's abs and core snapped tight, keeping him floating for a half-second more. 100-rated core strength.
Jordan flicked the layup…
"Bang!"
Zhao Dong's massive hand smacked it off the glass just before it kissed the rim.
"YEEAAAHHHH!!"
Madison Square Garden went nuclear.
"Damn it!" Jordan cursed under his breath, pissed.
He'd never been stuffed like that—not after a clean backcourt steal. That's demoralizing as hell.
"Blocked! BLOCKED! Zhao Dong swatted Jordan's switch-up layup! Man just won that aerial battle straight up!" the arena commentator screamed over the noise.
"First time they went at it in the air—Zhao Dong came out on top!" Marv Albert shouted from the NBC booth.
"That hang time is just not human. How's a big man like him floating like that?" Matt stared at the replay, stunned.
On CCTV, Zhang Heli was nearly red from excitement. "He's got invisible wings, I swear! You know how heavy he is? 115 kilos! Jordan's already landed, and this man's still floating! It's insane. Chinese players can fly too!"
Zhao Dong came down with the ball, but Jordan was already harassing him, so the fast break was dead. They reset into a half-court set.
Kidd's pressure was relentless. Billups didn't want the smoke, so Zhao Dong waved him off and brought the ball up himself.
No double. Jordan didn't gamble this time, just played him honest.
"Yo, God of Gamblers, Even the rim felt that rejection huh?" Zhao Dong talked slick as he crossed half-court.
"Man, f*** off!" Jordan growled, smoke coming out his ears.
Zhao Dong strolled up the left wing, slow at first. Then—BOOM—hit the jets, hard crossover to his right.
Jordan was ready and threw a body check.
Both crashed shoulders—looked like they rehearsed it. Jordan got dropped. Zhao Dong lost the rock.
Ref hesitated—whistle in hand—but let it play. Jordan was still moving, wasn't squared, no charge. Just a clean collision.
As soon as the ref waved it off, Zhao Dong snatched the ball and took off toward the wing.
McGrady and Ewing jumped him at the elbow. He slowed down just a bit, then exploded through the double-team like a tank and stormed the paint.
"BOOM!"
Crowd erupted. Garden shook.
"WHAT A FINISH! Zhao Dong cooked Jordan with the first step, then bullied through a double like it was nothing! Man's driving game is on god-mode! No wonder the league had to drop 138 rules just to nerf his outside slashing," Marv shouted.
"Without those restrictions, this dude is unguardable. You can't match up against him on the perimeter—it's game over," said Matt Goukas.
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