Marv Albert broke it down on NBC's live broadcast: "From the first two games, you can tell—these teams are dead even. Either squad could knock the other out."
Matt Goukas chimed in, "But the Knicks dropped one at home. Now they've got three straight on the road. That's a tough spot to be in."
He laughed and added, "Look, nobody had high hopes for the Knicks at the start of the season. But they had a hell of a regular season. Then in the playoffs, when Zhao Dong went down, everybody counted them out. Even after his return, folks weren't convinced—nobody knew if he was fully healthy, and we all expected the Bulls to go beast mode. But now? It's looking like the Bulls might not even take this."
Marv nodded. "Starks is starting tonight for the Knicks. Both he and Allan Houston are looking nervous early. If they can't settle in, they're gonna be clanking shots left and right."
Matt chuckled. "Yeah, Starks is a dawg on both ends, and one of the few guys who can actually body up MJ. But man, he's streaky as hell. Remember the '94 Finals? Down 2-3 to the Rockets, Game 6, dude shot 2-for-18. Knicks lost, Rockets took the chip. He better not do that again tonight, or he's probably getting traded."
---
Meanwhile, in China's CCTV studio...
Sun Zhenping analyzed: "Through the first two games, Zhao Dong's been outperforming Jordan, straight up. One reason is the Bulls got Ewing on the block, so MJ's sharing the scoring load. Another reason—Jordan's getting up there in age, while Zhao Dong's just getting better."
His co-host added, "There's one more thing—Zhao Dong's upped his scoring, but dropped off on assists. He hasn't had a triple-double all playoffs."
Sun Zhenping nodded. "Makes sense. When it's crunch time, he's gotta do it himself. Dude's so efficient, sometimes passing is just wasting a possession. You gotta play smart basketball to win."
His co-host continued, "Billups got pulled from the starting lineup tonight—probably 'cause the backcourt was coughing up too many turnovers."
"Exactly," Sun Zhenping said. "The Knicks' lineup is super young—too many TOs and dumb fouls. Otherwise, with their rebounding edge and Zhao Dong's elite efficiency, they wouldn't have lost Game 2. Last game, Zhao Dong locked down Ewing in the paint. With no post offense, the Bulls had to lean on Jordan to hit outside shots."
He laughed and added, "But look, this lineup is still raw. Once they grow up? Scary hours. Zhao Dong handles the offense and organizes the plays, while the others handle the dirty work—defense, boards, movement, stretch spacing, picks, spot-ups. It's coming together."
"Yup. Just like Hu Weidong right now."
---
Inside the Bulls' Locker Room...
Phil Jackson wrapped up the pregame strategy and turned to Rodman. "Dennis, stay off Zhao Dong tonight. The league ain't gonna bail you out. If you're gonna stir things up, go after Ben Wallace."
Rodman nodded silently. He was still salty from Game 1—his antics backfired and the media dragged him. Plus, Reggie Miller's trash talk hit a nerve.
"Alright," Phil said. "Everyone sit cross-legged. Breathe in, get centered. Close your eyes, we're meditating for 20 minutes."
Silence fell over the Bulls' locker room. Even MJ sat still, eyes shut, zen mode activated.
Rodman took a few deep breaths. He could feel something stirring inside. Energy flowed, sinking to his core, running through his body—
"Cloth!"
Chaos. The locker room erupted.
---
30 Minutes Later – Game Time.
Zhao Dong jogged out for warm-ups. MJ met him at center court, smirking.
"Zhao Dong, welcome to my house," Jordan said with a wry grin.
Zhao Dong grinned back. "You actin' proud? I beat you here last year. Let's run it back—how about we win three straight this time?"
Jordan glanced over at the energized Knicks squad and scoffed. "With these guys?"
Zhao Dong shot him a cold stare. "We'll see."
He waved his squad forward.
"BOOOOOO!!!"
As he stepped onto the court, a deafening wall of boos hit him. Zhao Dong's eardrums straight-up shut down. His brain buzzed from the noise.
This time, the Bulls only gave the Knicks 2,000 away tickets—way less than the 3,000 New York offered Chicago.
With 20,000 rabid Bulls fans trying to tear the roof off, the Knicks were walking into pure hostility.
"Man, I'm gonna cook y'all right here!" Zhao Dong muttered as he sprinted onto the hardwood.
"Boom, boom, boom…"
The Knicks threw down dunk after dunk in warmups, but the crowd just clowned them harder.
Ten minutes later, the game tipped off.
Big Ben and Ewing went up for the jump ball. Bulls possession.
Zhao Dong matched up with Ewing on D and headed straight for the low post.
But this time? No fronting. No head-on D. Knicks switched it up—side defense.
There are three main ways to guard the post: front, side, and behind. Each one's got its perks.
Zhao Dong used the side angle to deny the entry pass. Even if Ewing got into the paint, his speed would help him recover. Plus, side D let him cover more ground and keep pressure up top—just like the coaching staff wanted.
Ewing noticed Zhao Dong wasn't behind him, so he spun into the lane and called for the lob near the top.
Kidd spotted the lane and went for it—he skipped the usual setup and threw a direct pass to the rim, hoping for an alley-oop slam.
But just as the ball left Kidd's fingers—
Zhao Dong exploded to the rim.
He soared up, snatched the pass out of midair before Ewing even got off the ground.
Swiped clean.
"Beautiful! Zhao Dong snatches the rock! John Starks is already sprinting out! Zhao Dong with the outlet..." Zhang Heli yelled.
Bang!
Starks took off fast, left Kidd in the dust, caught the pass and charged to the rack—missed the layup though. Kidd recovered fast and snatched the rebound right out of mid-air.
"...Agh!"
Zhang Heli let out a disappointed sigh.
Zhao Dong was already near half court. He didn't hesitate—turned and sprinted back on D.
Ewing's knees were toast now. Dude couldn't really run anymore. Slowest guy on the floor, and he was just hitting the top of the arc. But when the floor flipped, he was closest to the basket.
Whoosh!
Kidd fired a long dime. Ewing caught it in stride and went up for a layup off three steps.
"What is that? You can't even dunk it? What's up with you, big guy?" Zhang Heli said on CCTV's live broadcast.
The Knicks pushed back. Zhao Dong brought it up the floor, Big Ben moved into the post, and the squad started setting up.
Oakley drifted out to the perimeter to give space, so when Zhao Dong hit the elbow, one of the guards could cut.
The Bulls adjusted too—Jordan picked up Zhao Dong, Ewing stuck with Big Ben, and Rodman got switched onto Oakley.
"Old head, I'm blowing by you right now!"
Bang, bang, bang. Zhao Dong dribbled hard, talking trash to distract Jordan.
"You can try."
Jordan still remembered how Zhao Dong torched him in Game 1. This time, he came up tighter and started swiping to mess up his rhythm.
That's when Zhao Dong spun left and exploded.
Quick first step—lightning fast. Jordan stayed with him, turned immediately—
And ran straight into Big Ben's chest.
Coach Nelson had cooked up a perfect pick-and-roll—Big Ben came from the post, screened hard, dragging Ewing out too and wearing him down.
Ewing stepped up, arms wide, trying to cut off the lane.
Bang!
Zhao Dong slowed, then hit him with a nasty body cross, shifted gears, and slid right past Ewing.
Boom!
He burst into the paint, took flight—glided for two meters—and hammered down a vicious tomahawk dunk. The whole Bulls defense just froze as the rim shook.
"Filthy! Zhao Dong just slammed that joint like a beast!" Marv shouted on the NBC broadcast.
"Man, he don't need no finesse—he's just bodying Chicago's vets down low!" Marv laughed.
Bulls' turn.
Zhao Dong played free safety—hovering above Ewing in the paint, back a little, eyes locked on Kidd at the top and Ewing in the post, ready to rotate fast.
Ewing moved toward the block, Zhao Dong shifted back.
Kidd didn't feed the post though—called out a play instead.
Ewing recognized it and instantly popped out. Zhao Dong followed, camping around the left mid-post.
That movement baited the Knicks—everybody thought Kidd was looking for Ewing. Defense sagged on that side.
Right then, Jordan made his move. He used McGrady's screen, lost John Starks, and sliced into the paint.
"Watch out, Jordan's coming backdoor!" Zhang Heli screamed.
Big Ben saw it and spun around.
Kidd zipped a pass. Jordan caught it mid-air, cocked it back with one hand, and drove to the rim.
Big Ben went up for the contest, but Jordan pulled it back, glided by, and tried to finish before landing.
"Damn!"
But Jordan was late to notice—
BOOM!
Zhao Dong flew in from behind, timed it perfect, and swatted it right out the air. Clean.
OHHHH!
The entire Bulls crowd gasped—like they couldn't believe it.
YEAHHH!
Two thousand Knicks fans in the stands erupted.
"Incredible! Zhao Dong blocks Jordan AGAIN! This ain't the first time!" Zhang Heli screamed.
Matt jumped in on NBC: "They used to say Magic ran the ground, and Jordan owned the air. That was the NBA of the '80s and early '90s. Now? There's a new skywalker in town."
Zhao Dong didn't waste time—fired the outlet. John Starks was already streaking from the top.
Starks took it and dashed toward the rim, Kidd right behind. This time, he pulled up, faked the layup, and dished it to Alan Houston cutting in.
Jordan was still recovering under the basket—couldn't make it back in time.
Houston caught the pass, attacked the rim, and finished the layup.
4–2. Knicks in front. Bulls had the rock again.
But Phil Jackson called a timeout early.
"Zhao Dong is putting in serious work on D today!"
"Two swats already? Bulls gonna have a long night!"
Knicks fans were hyped—game just started and their MVP already packed Ewing and Jordan. They were feeling this one.
On the sidelines—
"Yao, when you entering the draft?" Barkley asked with a smirk.
"Oh, Brother Dong said I should finish my junior year, win an NCAA title, and go pro at 20," Yao replied casually.
"Two more years in college, huh?"
Barkley nodded. "Smart move. Big men need time. Even guards gotta wait nowadays—the league is a battlefield. Too early and you break down. But tell me—any team you dreaming of playing for?"
Yao scratched his head, paused a sec, and said, "Not sure."
"You don't wanna join the Knicks?" Barkley grinned.
"Brother Dong already the star there… what happens to the rest of the team if I go?" Yao said, a little unsure.
"Simple," Barkley laughed, "Tell the team to trade up in the draft."
But as soon as he said that, Barkley realized he might've just shot himself in the foot, and his face froze up.
If the Knicks were tryna snag Yao Ming in two years, they'd need to stack up draft picks, which would mess with the lineup and their chances at a chip. And how's he supposed to get a ring like that?
He quickly tried to cover, "Hey, Yao, for real though, you made the right move not comin' to New York. Think about it—Zhao Dong's quick as hell, and Coach Nelson's always pushin' that small-ball, run-and-gun vibe. You tryna keep up with that pace? Man, your knees would snap by the All-Star break. So yeah, go anywhere else... just not the Knicks."
"Really?" Yao asked, clearly unsure.
Lindsay was nearby and gave Barkley a sharp look like she was ready to have her man boot this loudmouth. Contract or not, she was not feelin' his nonsense.
But she also knew Zhao Dong's master plan. This year, he was gonna make sure the Knicks picked up Yao, let him run in New York for two seasons, then, two years later, find a way to grab Yao Ming in the draft. That way, both dudes would have two years under Zhao Dong's wing before doing their own thing. Smooth transition. Full development.
She pulled Yao aside and said in Mandarin, "Don't listen to his BS. Your bro Zhao has a plan."
"Oh, I got it, sis-in-law," Yao nodded quickly.
Timeout over. Game on.
Phil Jackson ain't the type to over-coach. He's more of a zen master, gettin' players in the right headspace. But he called that timeout 'cause the offense was jammed up and Zhao Dong was bodying 'em in the paint. Otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered.
Bulls on offense.
Ewing stepped out to pull Zhao Dong away from the rim.
But Ewing's jumper only stretched so far, so Zhao Dong camped around the left elbow, close enough to contest anything and still rotate back.
Up top on the left wing, rookie T-Mac was matched up with Oakley.
Kidd held it at the top of the arc, squaring off with Alan Houston.
Right wing? Jordan was there, dancing with John Starks. Low post? Rodman had Ben Wallace checking him.
Bulls kicked off their motion offense.
Rodman slid baseline toward the rim while Jordan made a slick backcut, reversed out to the wing.
Kidd zipped the pass to MJ.
With Big Ben sucked into the paint followin' Rodman, and Starks getting cooked by the fake, MJ found daylight.
He saw Zhao Dong racing back in and pulled up quick for the midrange jumper—wet.
Next Knicks possession.
Zhao Dong blew past Jordan, drew a double, then hit Alan Houston with the dish. Mid-range shot—brick.
Bulls tried to run a fast break, but Zhao Dong shut that down with a quick hustle back. They reset to halfcourt.
Same play again. Rodman cuts first, Jordan slashes next.
This time Zhao Dong was ready—but Rodman clipped him with a clean screen.
Jordan finished a smooth layup over Big Ben.
Score: 4–6. Jordan drops four straight to flip the lead.
Knicks back with the rock.
Zhao Dong pulled up on the left wing, signaled a play, dished to John Starks at the arc, and sprinted to his spot on the wing.
As soon as he hit the dotted line at the free throw area, Starks fired the ball right back.
"He passed it, then... BAM! It went in!" Zhang Heli was going nuts on the call.
Zhao Dong caught it clean, Jordan climbed up his back tryna swipe it.
He snatched it one-handed, kept it high, then spun off with raw strength and left MJ chasing shadows as he burst toward the rack.
Ewing saw trouble, but couldn't rotate fast enough.
Rodman was under the basket too, gearing up for a help double.
But neither of 'em wanted that smoke straight-up—they tried to angle in from the sides.
Zhao Dong stomped into the paint, slowed down mid-drive—froze both defenders.
Then—bang—he exploded off one foot, rose up with that ball cocked back like a sledgehammer.
"BANG!"
He smashed it down hard—Ewing and Rodman flew like bowling pins, both crashing to the hardwood.
"YEEAAHHHH!"
The two thousand Knicks fans on the road lost it, and the whole bench popped up in full celebration mode.
"Damn!"
Ewing sat up, clutching his knee. It was tight, sore—probably tweaked something.
Rodman took a second to get upright too—he'd been banged up all season, missed way more games than Ewing pre-injury.
The ref jogged over, pointed at Rodman. Clear hand foul—And-1 for Zhao Dong.
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