Marv Albert closed out NBC's live broadcast with a smirk, "The Knicks said they got harassed last night. Judging by that ugly 30-something percent from the field, looks like they were tellin' the truth. If it wasn't for Zhao Dong's crazy efficiency and their boards, they'd be lookin' at a Game 3 L."
Matt Goukas read from the stat sheet: "Zhao Dong dropped 20 in the first quarter and then 23 in the fourth. That's 43 points just in two quarters, shooting 5-for-11 during that stretch. All of it came from attacking the rim—straight-up bully ball.
The Bulls' bigs? Washed. Couldn't stop him at all.
Overall? Dude went 20-for-27 from the floor. That's 74%. Hit his only three. Went 12-of-17 from the stripe. Final stat line: 53 points, 15 rebounds, 7 dimes, 3 steals, 5 blocks, 3 turnovers, and 5 fouls.
That's a new personal playoff high for him. Straight cookin'."
Marv Albert chimed in, "MJ still went for 44, grabbed 8 boards, dished out 4 assists, and shot 53.9%. That's elite—but it don't matter. Zhao Dong was just better.
He straight-up outmuscled the Bulls. Even though he wasn't feelin' his shot early, he kept crashin' the paint. That's why his efficiency stayed through the roof. That's how you close out."
After the game, Zhao Dong got pulled for a quick courtside interview. Dude was gassed. He only answered two questions and dipped.
An hour later, he hit the postgame press room lookin' a lot fresher.
"Zhao Dong, Knicks up 2-1. How many more wins till y'all lock up the East?"
Team reporter Thomas asked.
Zhao Dong squinted and gave a deadpan answer. "We didn't sleep last night. Got two more road games. Unless that issue gets fixed, it's gonna be tough out there."
Thomas jumped on it. "You think it was the Bulls who sent those girls to mess with y'all?"
"Who else?" Zhao Dong snapped. "It's gotta be the other team."
Truth is, Zhao's legs weren't the same as in Game 1. But his hustle was on another level. He went harder on D, on the boards. He knew if he didn't dig deep, they weren't takin' that W.
His squad? Offensively cold. Couldn't hit water from a boat. If they had just shot 40%, Knicks would've iced this one by 15 easy.
Still, credit where it's due—they locked up on D and fought for every board. No shade from Zhao.
The next day, media ran wild with Zhao's comments—accusing the Bulls of shady business.
Chicago fired back fast. "That hotel stuff? Wasn't us."
The drama fizzled out, but the Knicks finally got a peaceful night of rest.
Same night, out West, Game 4 was lit. Jazz took another L. Lakers tied the series 2-2.
No one saw that coming. Media had the Jazz penciled into the Finals already.
Turns out, that Supersonics series drained the life outta Utah.
Reporters dug up an old quote from Zhao Dong, saying the Jazz might not survive the next round.
Shaq was hyped after the Lakers tied it. He ran to the media and said, "Man, the Jazz can't hang with the Knicks. Even if they make the Finals, Zhao Dong's gonna wreck 'em.
The Black and White Devils? They shrink when they see Zhao. He spared Karl Malone last round. Jazz should thank him—they barely beat the Sonics.
Let the Lakers through, we'll actually give the East a fight."
Boom—Jazz and Bulls were instantly heated.
Jordan wasn't havin' it. "That kid Shaq's a clown. Next time I see him, I'm droppin' 50."
But it wasn't Malone who clapped back—it was Stockton.
He snapped in an interview, "Shaq's the one scared of Zhao. Zhao yammed it on his head and then he got jumped. Dude's scared."
Shaq was defensive: "That wasn't Zhao! The Knicks jumped me! It wasn't just him!"
Now the media had what they wanted. Full-on war of words between Jazz and Lakers. Players from both sides started jawin'.
April 26 — Game 4, Eastern Conference Finals.
That morning, a local paper dropped a bomb: Ewing went to the hospital.
"Ewing's knee flares up! A legend breaks down!"
"The Bulls are in trouble!"
"Jordan's retiring again?!"
Instant media chaos. Rumors everywhere.
The Knicks were lovin' it.
Zhao Dong told reporters before tip-off, "After tonight, it's 3-1. We're taking this series back to the United Center and finishing the job."
Afternoon shootaround went smooth. His teammates were locked in. Zhao felt good.
If he could give them another Game 3-type performance? Bulls were toast.
As for Ewing? Zhao wasn't worried.
On defense, he could body an old Ewing with bad knees. Offensively, he knew Ewing wouldn't even jump to contest his drives.
To Zhao, the mission was clear: ball out and the series is theirs.
8PM. Thirty minutes till tip. Starting lineups dropped.
Knicks: Zhao Dong, Ben Wallace, Oakley, Allan Houston, John Starks.
Bulls: Ewing, Rodman, McGrady, Jordan, Kidd.
"What? Ewing's playing?"
"Did the Bulls just play us?"
"Nah, they're trying to psych us out."
"Are the Knicks ready for this?"
Media went wild.
In the Knicks' locker room, Zhao stood up and got his team hyped.
"Forget their games. We beat 'em twice with Ewing already. Let's handle business again."
Meanwhile, in the Bulls' locker room, Phil Jackson ran through the game plan, then had everyone meditate.
Ewing? Iced-up knees. Both were swollen with fluid. Docs drained some out, but he was still in bad shape.
Dude was frustrated. He thought saving energy in the regular season would help him dominate the playoffs. He wanted to show up Zhao and the Knicks.
But now? He just didn't want to go out sad. Even with the pain, he forced himself to play.
The game tipped off, and Big Ben snagged the jump. Knicks ball.
Zhao Dong took it on the left wing, slashed past the perimeter, and hit the spot just under the free-throw line. Rodman and MJ collapsed on him with a double. He spotted Alan Houston making a sneaky cut from the weak side and zipped a dime straight to him.
Houston caught it clean and went up for the lay. Ewing barely got off the ground—maybe half a foot. WHAM! He clobbered Houston mid-air. The moment Houston hit the floor, he grabbed his leg and screamed out.
"Damn, he rolled his ankle!" Zhao Dong cursed, clearly pissed.
Ref called a hand foul on Ewing. Houston couldn't go on—he was helped off the floor, limping bad.
Coach Don Nelson waved in Hu Weidong off the bench, and the game rolled on.
Hu Weidong stepped up to take the free throws in place of Houston and calmly nailed both. Bulls pushed the rock the other way.
But that foul? That was a statement. Ewing wasn't just out here playing—he was sending a message. Dude got mean. On every single drive to the paint, he threw heavy contact. Even Oakley caught an elbow and hit the deck.
Zhao Dong attacked the rim three times, finished twice, and got hammered by Ewing once.
Being a superstar center, Ewing got that soft-whistle treatment. Refs held their breath on most plays. It wasn't till five minutes into the first that they finally hit him with a second foul.
Everybody could see it—Ewing was playing like a man on a mission, laying it all out there. Desperate times.
But the Bulls didn't get any real edge. When it came to grit and defense, the Knicks were one of the coldest squads in the league.
The Bulls turned up the physicality, so the Knicks turned right back around and got even rougher. They clamped up, hacking and pushing to stop the Bulls from getting clean looks. It got wild.
Even Jordan wasn't safe—Zhao Dong and Oakley both sent him crashing out of the air. Mike got rocked, and you could tell it shook him.
Six minutes in, Hu Weidong made a hard cut to the basket. Ewing, who was late on the rotation, still threw himself back under the rim. The two collided, and both hit the floor hard.
"Oh no! Hu Weidong's down! He's clutching his knee!" Matt Goukas called out, voice tight.
"How bad is it?" Zhao Dong ran straight over, concern in his eyes.
He'd seen Hu fall awkwardly—his left knee slammed the hardwood first.
"I think it's…" Hu's face was twisted in pain. He couldn't even get the words out.
"Sh*t!" Zhao Dong's face turned cold. He turned and gave Ewing the death stare.
Dude had no business contesting that play—he was out of position and still jumped into Hu. That wasn't basketball. That was targeting.
Zhao Dong had been trying to body Ewing all game, but the vet was slick. He'd slide just enough or back off, avoiding real contact. Even flipped the script once and dropped Zhao Dong on his ass.
Now, with Hu Weidong and Alan Houston both out, the Knicks' backcourt was looking shaky. Only Charlie Ward and Chris Childs were left, and neither were known for scoring. Add the jittery John Starks, and it was looking rough.
Coach Nelson subbed in Ward and shifted gears—if offense was out, they'd double down on defense.
Meanwhile, the Bulls rotated Ewing out and brought in Bill Wennington.
Bill had one job—come in and get physical like Ewing. Smash the Knicks guards trying to drive.
Zhao Dong kept his foot on the gas, still charging the paint. But the rest of the Knicks? After seeing two teammates go down, they stopped driving. Settled for jumpers. With their limited offensive skill, those bricks stacked up fast.
First quarter ended: 23–21, Knicks barely ahead.
The only reason they held the lead? Zhao Dong was cooking.
He played the whole quarter, dropping 17 points on 5-of-6 shooting, went 7-for-8 from the line, grabbed 5 boards, dished 1 dime, snagged a steal, swatted 2 shots, and only had 1 turnover and 1 foul.
His relentless drives forced five fouls in the paint—he was carrying the whole squad.
Second quarter came, and Coach Nelson made a bold move. He benched Big Ben and brought in Chris Childs, letting Zhao Dong run the five. It was small-ball time with spread offense and breakneck pace.
No traditional bigs. Oakley was the slowest dude out there, and even he could run. Zhao Dong had guard speed. It was a wild switch-up.
With everyone spaced out, Zhao Dong had lanes to attack, and the fast break would throw off the Bulls' rhythm and keep their defense off balance.
As the players stepped back on court, Marv Albert gave the breakdown:
"Looks like Coach Nelson is done with Danny Fortson. The Knicks wasted a whole season on him. Same goes for Chauncey Billups—he's been iced out in favor of Ben Wallace. This lineup? Basically a throwback to last year's crew, minus Ewing and Houston. It's gonna be a tough road tonight."
Matt Goukas added, "Zhao Dong's running center, and they've got no legit small forward. They're playing two point guards and a shooting guard. That's a tiny backcourt."
Bulls got the rock.
MJ wasn't feeling the rim runs anymore. Back in his early days—and even in his prime—Mike was a slasher. But since coming outta retirement, he leaned into that deadly mid-range game.
With the paint turning into a war zone, he backed off the drives and stuck to pull-ups.
Oakley was planted down low, checking Bill Wennington.
Zhao Dong was playing up, giving Rodman some space—he wasn't sweating his offense.
Then it happened—on the right wing, Jordan and Kerr set a sneaky pick-and-roll. Mike cut inside, Kerr drifted out. Knicks switched—Starks picked up Kerr, Charles jumped on MJ.
Mismatch.
Kidd saw it developing and slung the ball to the top of the arc. Zhao Dong saw it too.
The second the ball left Kidd's hands, Zhao Dong shot out like a cannon. He jumped the lane.
"Huh?!"
Jordan reached out for the ball—but a blur of white and blue snatched it first.
BANG!
Zhao Dong picked it clean, blew right past MJ, arced wide across the perimeter, and gunned it down the court like a bullet train.
Kerr stepped up fast, eyes locked on Zhao Dong barreling down the court. That pressure? It hit him hard, heart pounding. But he didn't back down—he braced himself for the impact.
Then, boom—Zhao Dong hit the brakes and switched directions in a blur, flying past Kerr. Instinctively, Kerr reached out to grab him, but got blasted to the floor by the sheer force.
"Oh! Zhao Dong rips the ball! Kerr tries to step in—gets laid out! No whistle! Zhao Dong crosses halfcourt, and MJ's chasing him down!"
Matt Goukas was hyped as he called the play.
Kerr's screen had slowed Zhao Dong down just enough for Jordan to catch up.
But then Charles and Charlie Ward sprinted ahead of both Zhao Dong and MJ. Zhao Dong quickly dumped the rock to Ward, who pushed it hard to the rack. Jordan peeled off to cover Ward.
Ward drove strong with MJ on his tail. But he knew Zhao Dong was lurking behind. Slowing down just a tick, he faked left, slid over, and hit Zhao Dong with a clean left-hand dish.
Zhao Dong exploded from the left elbow, took one more long stride, then launched—about four meters out.
Underneath, Jordan saw the monster momentum coming and dipped out to avoid being on a poster.
"BANG!"
The rim screamed from the impact—dead silence in the United Center—until two thousand Knicks fans erupted like maniacs.
On NBC, Marv Albert shouted, "One-armed tomahawk after a coast-to-coast glide! That's pure showtime meets raw power! That's Zhao Dong, the New York Tyrant! The guy's electric—he'll have you jumping off your seat!"
"Just like that, big guy! Keep punchin' 'em!" Oakley ran up, yelling with fire in his chest.
"Tonight, we cookin' beef in Chicago!" Zhao Dong shouted back to the squad.
"Cook the beef! Cook the beef!"
The Knicks fans echoed it loud in the arena.
"BOOOOO!"
Bulls fans fired back with angry howls.
Chicago's possession.
Zhao Dong stood near the free throw line, reading the floor. Bulls backup big Bill Wennington saw his shot. He slipped into the paint from the left block, sealed Oakley behind him, and called for it up top.
Wennington had size—6'11", 255 pounds—and this matchup was his best shot. Kidd lobbed it to him quick.
But Zhao Dong was already sliding back in. Wennington went up for a quick flip instead of a dunk—Oakley had him tied up from behind.
"CLANK!"
Zhao Dong sprang up and straight-up palmed the shot off the glass with one hand—snatched it like a boss.
"Whew! Huge block by Zhao Dong!" Sun Zhenping couldn't hold his excitement.
Zhang Heli chuckled, "What's Kidd thinking? You feeding Wennington in the paint with Zhao Dong and Oakley there? That's barbecue chicken for New York!"
Back on the Knicks' offensive set—Charles dribbled at the top.
Everyone spaced out—Oakley dragged Rodman to the right wing. Zhao Dong had the ball way out on the left beyond the arc. Nobody stayed in the paint.
The Bulls struggled—forced to switch up. MJ stepped to guard Zhao Dong, leaving Bill Wennington stuck on the perimeter with John Starks.
Mismatch.
Starks gave him a quick shimmy, broke his ankles, and sliced to the cup.
Zhao Dong saw it—hit him with a dime. Starks caught it clean and finished with an easy lay.
The Bulls had to call a timeout.
Marv Albert broke it down: "This small-ball lineup by the Knicks is killing Chicago. With Oak and LJ playing outside, the Bulls have no paint presence—completely scrambled."
Matt added, "Unless Chicago goes small too, they're stuck between two bad options—close out shooters and get torched inside, or protect the paint and let the Knicks rain."
Out of the timeout, the Bulls subbed in McGrady for Wennington. They went full small ball—Rodman at the five, everyone else outside.
Bulls inbounded in the frontcourt. Rodman ain't scoring—Oakley sat back. Zhao Dong took on Jordan.
MJ did what he does—worked that right wing hard, making Zhao Dong chase him all over the place.
Kidd handled the rock, broke through the arc with two slick crossovers.
Oakley rotated to help. Kidd pulled right, baited Oakley, then whipped a nasty behind-the-back pass left as he cut away.
Zhang Heli jumped up, "Watch the backdoor cut!"
"Damn!" Oakley spun around.
McGrady was there, slicing from the weak side. He caught it mid-air and went up strong—Oakley had no shot at a block.
But Zhao Dong came flying in from the right corner—soaring—and smacked that ball off the glass before it dropped.
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