The Heat came down the floor—Tim Hardaway had the rock.
"Kamehameha..."
Billups was all up in his grill, locked in.
This time, Tim Hardaway didn't go for the drive. He faked a jab, pulled up from deep—just outside the arc.
"Bang!"
Billups reacted instantly, quick hands—smacked that ball right out the air.
Marv Albert shouted from the NBC booth, "Stripped it! Billups with the steal! Zhao Dong is flying down the sideline—Billups sees him—pass incoming!"
Zhao Dong was gunnin'. Blew past Mashburn like he was in slow-mo—one step, two steps—caught the dish just past the arc. Took one hard stride into the paint, elevated, and—
"BAAANG!"
Tomahawk jam. Rim-rattling violence. Whole basket shook.
Mashburn was gassed, breathing heavy. "Man, I just can't keep up!"
With the anti-isolation rules in effect, teams were doing everything they could to slow Zhao Dong—pulling, grabbing, double-teams, cheap shots—you name it. Same treatment Jordan used to get.
But you gotta catch him first.
"The break's just too lethal," Matt Goukas called out. "No way any forward can keep pace with Zhao Dong. If he's chillin' at the three and suddenly takes off in transition, how do you stop that? Honestly, I support the league bringing back the isolation rules. If they don't regulate guys like him, how do you compete?"
Heat tried to regroup on offense.
Tim Hardaway dropped it into the right block—Mourning posted up.
Big Ben locked him up one-on-one. Oakley lurking nearby, ready to rotate. Zhao Dong? Still chilling outside, not collapsing.
Coach Nelson's game plan—built off notes from Van Gundy and Thibs—was clear: keep Zhao Dong outside and running. No collapsing. No switching. Just run and gun.
The Heat's frontcourt was mid. Luc Longley? Just a role player. Mourning could score, but he wasn't getting past Oakley and Ben Wallace.
Meanwhile, Zhao Dong was a nuke waiting to launch.
"Bang!"
Mourning got loose for a second, shook Ben—but Oakley's help made him alter the shot. Clanked off the rim.
Zhao Dong was already on the move—read that rebound before it even happened.
Mashburn reached out, tried grabbing his jersey. Zhao Dong slapped it off and kept running. That was the closest Mashburn got to him all night.
Big Ben snagged the board and whipped a quick outlet to Billups.
"Whoosh!"
Billups dodged Tim Hardaway, launched a long dime to Zhao Dong already tearing into the frontcourt.
"BOOM!"
Another violent slam. Heat's rim just took a second body.
Score: 6–2. Pat Riley called for time.
In the NBC booth, Matt Goukas turned to Marv. "You'd think the rule change to limit isolation would force Zhao Dong into the post, but Coach Nelson's flipped the script. He's using the fast break to duck the restriction completely."
Marv nodded. "Matt, what do the Heat need to do here?"
Matt Goukas leaned in. "They gotta disrupt the transition. The Knicks ain't sending outlet passes straight to Zhao Dong—they're using Billups to connect the play. That's their weak link.
Heat need to slow Billups and jam the first pass. If they do that, they'll kill the tempo and force a half-court game."
Back on the Heat bench, Pat Riley was letting the fire fly.
"Tim! You lettin' a rookie out-pass you? You lettin' a rookie run your defense?!"
"Won't happen again, Coach!" Tim Hardaway barked out.
"Luc Longley, Alonzo Mourning—you two better keep your eyes peeled. I don't wanna see Wallace or Oakley making clean passes again. You're taller. Use that damn height! Got it?!"
"Yes, Coach!" They nodded, wiping sweat like they were on trial.
"I don't care how you do it—cut off their passing lanes! Shut down the fast break! Force Zhao Dong to the block! That's where the rules help us. Use it!"
"Jamal Mashburn—you been sleepwalking out there! He's killing us on every break, and you're jogging like it's practice. You gotta body him up! Get physical! When he's got the ball up top, I want you right in his chest! Use your damn fouls!"
Riley's voice dropped to a growl. "We drilled this for weeks. You forget all that the moment the lights turn on? You leave your brain in a toilet or what?!"
Over at the Knicks bench, Coach Nelson huddled with the squad, drawing up a counter.
"They're gonna start clogging the lanes, breaking our transition rhythm," he told them. "If they shut down our break, we flip to set plays. Zhao Dong, you go to work in the halfcourt."
Just behind the bench, Knicks GM Ernie Grunfeld was chatting with Jeff Van Gundy.
"Jeff, Nelson's changed, huh? Totally different vibe from back in the day."
Van Gundy nodded. "Yeah, playoffs are a whole different beast. Defense is brutal. Our game plan's built around halfcourt sets because that's what Zhao Dong wanted."
Back in the '95-'96 season, when Pat Riley left and Don Nelson took the Knicks reins, his small-ball vision clashed hard with Ewing. Ewing wasn't having it, refused to buy in. Nelson tried to trade him, locker room exploded, and the front office had to let Nelson go to keep peace.
Now, Nelson's back—and this time, he's different. No more small-ball obsession. He's blending it with power ball and transition heat—everything Zhao Dong thrives in.
And it's working.
Timeout ends. Game on.
Heat back on offense.
Tim Hardaway drove hard, collapsed the defense, kicked it to Mourning. Big Ben stepped up to challenge. Mourning rose up, let it fly—
Swish.
This was Big Ben's weakness. Even in his prime, his one-on-one defense wasn't elite. He just didn't have the size. Height limits you, and that's a common issue for undersized bigs.
"Clamp up, stay on 'em tight, and cut off their passing lanes!"
Pat Riley was barking from the sidelines as the game flipped from offense to defense.
The Heat turned up their pressure. Ben Wallace's quick floater didn't go down, and the fast break window slammed shut.
Back in the half-court, Zhao Dong brought the ball up and swung it to the left wing three-point line. Mashburn stepped up to take him one-on-one.
Because of the league's new isolation rule, the Knicks couldn't overload the weak side. Somebody had to stay on the strong side with Zhao Dong—and that man was Oakley.
That kept Heat power forward Alonzo Mourning on the left wing, too.
But Oakley wasn't pulling up to the perimeter. He stayed planted in the low post, creating more space between Mourning and Zhao Dong and making it harder for Zo to help on a double.
But of course, it came with drawbacks. With both Big Ben and Oakley down low, and Zhao Dong handling the rock above the free throw line, rule number two kicked in: the other two Knicks couldn't sag down, they had to stay high. That was disadvantage number one.
Number two? Neither Big Ben nor Oakley had much of a low-post bag on offense.
Since Oakley stayed put, the Heat adjusted—tightened up the perimeter to keep Alan Houston and Billups from shaking loose.
That meant Zhao Dong had to cook on his own—go iso against the double, or kick it to two guys who weren't real scoring threats down low.
So what was the Knicks' counter?
Right when Zhao Dong caught the pass, Mashburn got up in his jersey, bringing that pressure.
This was because of Article 138 of the Zhao Dong Rule: if he's above the free throw line and in iso, he can't initiate contact on the drive. So Mashburn was trying to bait a foul, bodying up and daring Zhao Dong to lower that shoulder.
Mashburn was strong, no doubt—6'8", 240 pounds, built like a tank, and not afraid of contact.
But just as he pressed in and threw his left elbow out, Zhao Dong hit him with a step-back dribble. Slick. Mashburn hesitated for half a second.
Bang!
Zhao Dong exploded off his left foot, blew by him on the left, and slashed to the wing. Mashburn reached out with his left arm and tried to check him in the stomach, but he couldn't stop the train.
"Damn, he's quick!" Marv Albert shouted.
Zhao Dong crossed the dotted line inside the free throw line—meaning rule number two no longer applied.
That rule: when the ball handler is up top, no more than two defenders can sag. But once Zhao Dong broke through, that restriction vanished.
Alan Houston saw the lane and cut hard to the rim, leaving his defender in the dust.
Zhao Dong fed him the ball, and Houston drove into the paint.
Luke Longley was already under the basket, locked up with Ben Wallace, so Mourning had to rotate fast.
Zhao Dong, trailing the play, sprinted into the lane.
Houston attacked the basket, drew the double, then dropped a slick bounce pass—straight through Mourning's legs, behind him.
"Zhao Dong?"
Mourning spun in panic, just in time to see a shadow overtake him.
"Oh hell no!"
Too late. Zhao Dong caught the pass and took flight from just outside the restricted zone.
BOOM!
Mourning didn't even get off the ground. Zhao Dong trucked him—flattened him like a linebacker—and sent him flying into Luke Longley. Both of them hit the floor.
BANG!
The rim shook. Madison Square Garden erupted.
"YEAH!"
The whistle blew, and the crowd exploded.
"Zhao with the hammer! Zhao Dong just demolished Alonzo Mourning with that dunk. That's straight-up disrespectful!" Matt Goukas yelled as the crowd roared.
"Whew…"
Mourning scrambled to his feet, chest aching like he'd been hit by a semi.
"Sh*t!"
He turned and helped Longley up, still wincing.
Zhao Dong walked past them with swagger, jawing as he strolled to the line.
"Don't get in my lane again—or you'll end up buried."
"Fuck this dude," Mourning muttered, eyes locked on Zhao Dong's back.
"That's a beautiful offensive set," Matt Goukas said. "The Knicks just passed their way right through the double. Last season, they didn't have that kind of fluid offense."
"That's Nelson's magic," Marv Albert replied.
Over on CCTV, Zhang Heli chuckled. "A strong forward needs to be like Zhao Dong—he can shoot, he can drive, he can finish through contact. Not like Karl Malone, who just settles for jumpers. I don't care how accurate your mid-range is—if you don't pressure the rim, you're not scaring anyone."
"Look at that finish—two Heat guys flat on their backs. How are they supposed to defend the next play? You think they're gonna stand there again? Nah, they'll hesitate, and that's when the Knicks will torch them from deep."
Zhao Dong nailed the free throw. 9–4, Knicks up.
Heat ball.
Left wing, Mashburn sprinted.
Dude was one of the best two-way wings in the league. Pat Riley had traded away a young Tracy McGrady to get him.
He cut inside, and when Zhao Dong followed, he doubled back, created space, and got the pass from Tim Hardaway.
But by the time the rock touched his hands, Zhao Dong was already back in his face. Mashburn stepped back. Zhao Dong pressed up. Forced him to pivot and protect the ball—he was now posting up with his back to the basket.
That meant he couldn't see the help coming.
Oakley slid up from the post. Double-team.
Bang!
Mashburn tried to split them, but Zhao Dong poked the ball loose—steal.
"Get back!" Riley screamed.
The Heat sprinted to stop the break. Houston and Billups got cut off. Zhao Dong tried to push the ball himself, but Mashburn grabbed at his jersey—borderline foul to slow him down.
In the playoffs—especially when it's the Knicks vs. the Heat—the refs are letting 'em play. You don't throw hands, you're good. But if you dare to swing? That whistle's coming fast.
Zhao Dong brought the ball up the right wing, just outside the arc. Mashburn was locked in, trailing tight.
Bang!
Zhao hit a between-the-legs dribble, then snapped the ball to his left hand while planting hard with his right foot—boom, he launched a sudden drive left.
Mashburn instinctively shifted to cut him off, but Zhao yanked the ball back between his legs, switched direction again, pulled the rock to his right, and blew by Mashburn on the other side. Just like that, he was heading downhill to the rack.
Mashburn spun back, but he was already two steps behind.
"Yo! That's that jab escape into the double cross!" Marv Albert called out from the NBC booth.
Mourning, down low, had just shaken Oakley and rotated up to help.
Zhao pivoted mid-lane, sliced around Mourning, entered the paint, then changed pace again—one step, rise up, left hand gripping the rock high.
Mourning recovered, jumped to chase the block, tried to swipe it from the side.
But Zhao pulled the ball back mid-air, gliding past Mourning's outstretched arm like it was nothing.
Then bam—Luke Longley stepped in from the restricted area, ready to take the charge.
Bang!
Collision. Full force.
BOOM!
The ball exploded through the rim as Longley flew back, lost his balance, stumbled two steps, and crashed into the media row behind the baseline. Cameras went flying. Pure chaos.
Beep!
Ref blows the whistle. Blocking foul on Longley. And-1.
"Oh my god! Zhao Dong is straight-up bombing the Heat's paint like a damn warzone!" the arena announcer shouted.
"Zhao Dong just ripped through the entire Heat defense by himself and picked up another foul at the rim. That's pure destruction," Marv said.
"Zhao's 5-for-5—all dunks! He's on one tonight!" added Matt Goukas.
Longley climbed up, face pale, back twitching. That hit told him straight up—if he eats another one like that, his night's done.
Zhao cashed the free throw. 4–12. Heat ball. They quickly called timeout.
Outta the timeout, Tim Hardaway dropped in a bucket. 6–12. Knicks back on offense.
Zhao Dong brought it up, posted beyond the arc on the left wing. Mourning gave Oakley some space and dropped just two steps off Zhao—trying to bait the drive and force him into help.
At the same time, Tim Hardaway (at the top of the key) sagged off Billups, eyeing Zhao Dong, ready to double on the bounce.
On the NBC feed, Matt Goukas broke it down: "Zhao Dong's been tearing through Miami's defense with brute force. So Pat Riley's shifting gears—he's going full double-team mode on him."
Marv added, "Their earlier plan was to go one-on-one, keep help ready, and lock down the supporting cast. But Zhao's too damn strong. That defense? It's not cutting it. This ain't some small guard they're dealing with."
"The Jordan Rules had two keys: double MJ, or isolate him and choke the others," said Matt. "But man, even that doesn't seem enough against Zhao Dong."
"These last few minutes? They tried the solo coverage," Marv continued. "Zhao just plowed straight to the rim and racked up fouls. His drive's got more bite than even Jordan's at times. It's like watching an upgraded MJ. What do you even throw at that?"
Mashburn tried to body him up again, playing tight and physical, hoping to draw a charge.
Zhao hit the brakes, spun around him like a blur.
But just as he took a step towards the wing—boom! Mourning rotated again, Tim Hardaway slid in from the arc, and Mashburn caught back up.
Triple-team.
Real Jordan Rule vibes. No iso space, faster double coverage.
But Don Nelson had cooked up options. Zhao had the green light to force the iso if he wanted—he had the skill for it.
If he went one-on-one, Oakley and Big Ben would crash the glass hard—Knicks lived off those second-chance points.
That meant Zhao could take shots without hesitation—he had backup rebounding to cover any miss.
At the same time, the perimeter guys had orders: crash back on defense in case the board didn't land their way.
And if Zhao didn't wanna go solo? He had dimes in his arsenal too, just like Ernie Grunfeld designed.
But the Heat were smart with the trap. They set up right at the free-throw line dotted line. That positioning blocked any cuts from the Knicks' shooters and took away clean passing angles.
Zhao couldn't kick to the arc. Only options left? Dishes to Oakley or Big Ben down low—and those two ain't exactly lights out in the post.
So what did Zhao do?
He picked up the dribble.
That meant no more bounce. Just shoot or pass.
Instantly, the Heat's triple trap snapped into full pressure. All three defenders closed in hard—six hands clawing at the ball.
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