At 7:30, the starting lineups were announced.
Knicks: Ben Wallace, Zhao Dong, Charles Oakley, Allan Houston, John Starks.
Utah Jazz: Greg Foster, Karl Malone, Bryon Russell, Jeff Hornacek, John Stockton.
The Finals were being broadcast live across the U.S. on NBC.
Marv Albert analyzed, "The Jazz have had two major problems the past few seasons."
"Which two, Marv?" Matt Goukas asked, playing along.
Marv chuckled. "First off, none of their centers—whether it's Greg Foster or Greg Ostertag—are star players. They're just role guys. Second, when the offensive sets break down, they don't have a star who can create and finish on their own."
"Haha…" Matt couldn't help but laugh.
Marv smirked and said, "I know what you're laughing at. You're thinking I'm agreeing with Zhao Dong that Karl Malone isn't a guy who can break defenders down off the dribble. Like, he's mostly a finisher."
Matt laughed louder.
"But it's true," Marv continued. "If Malone had even half of Zhao Dong's handles and ability to break down defenders, the Jazz would've won it all a long time ago."
Meanwhile, on the CCTV broadcast back in China, Zhang Heli smiled and said, "The Jazz are still running the same old squad, while the Knicks have improved their rebounding and interior defense this year. I don't think there's much suspense in this Finals. The only real question is how many games it takes for the Knicks to take them down."
"Zhao Dong said it would be four-one," Sun Zhenping added, smiling.
Zhang Heli burst out laughing, and after a while said, "If we can sweep them, even better. But if not, winning by a big margin would be even more humiliating for the Jazz. Of course, we can't be too obvious—we need to be a little more subtle about it."
"Coach Zhang, what's 'subtle humiliation'?" Sun Zhenping asked, half-joking.
The two broadcasters then got into a lively conversation about how to humiliate opponents subtly.
Both teams walked out with their starting fives.
Led by Zhao Dong, the Knicks held their heads high like they were playing on their home court.
The Jazz, meanwhile, looked deflated. Karl Malone, their leader, had totally lost his energy when facing Zhao Dong, and it showed. The whole squad's morale was shot.
John Stockton sighed. How much hope did they really have in this Finals?
When Zhao Dong hit the floor, he got blasted with massive boos at Delta Center—the mortal enemy who had punked Karl Malone multiple times was in the building.
"Should I play the Iverson villain today? Nah, forget it," Zhao Dong thought, brushing the idea off casually.
Stepping onto the court under the bright lights, Zhao Dong raised both arms and moved them up and down.
That move set off an even bigger explosion of boos, louder than before, the whole arena practically shaking.
"Oh, hell no! Is this dude provoking us? Karl, you better beat his ass!" one of the Jazz commentators shouted angrily.
"Yo, is Zhao Dong really trying to stir the pot with these fans?" Marv Albert said, surprised.
Matt Goukas laughed, "Nah, he's hyping up the Knicks fans. Didn't you see? He was facing the visiting section—all Knicks fans."
"Haha, true." Marv chuckled.
Yeah right. Zhao Dong had faced the home crowd first, no doubt about it. He was trolling them from the jump.
Back at home, David Stern was feeling a little uneasy.
He knew the Jazz weren't on the Knicks' level. This Finals was probably gonna be a one-sided beatdown. Not exactly great for TV ratings.
Just then, the landline rang. Stern hurried over.
"I'm Stern."
"Sir, the current viewership is at 26 million," the staff member reported.
"I see."
Stern let out a long breath. Those numbers were... okay. At least better than the year Jordan retired.
He knew Nike and Adidas were messing around behind the scenes—trying to stack teams like the Bulls and Lakers with stars. Originally, Stern had planned to shut that down. He couldn't allow the league's balance to collapse. If only the big markets had stars, small market teams would revolt, maybe even split from the NBA.
But tonight's game made him rethink everything.
"Maybe it's not a bad thing to have a few superteams after all..."
The idea started to grow in his mind. If Nike and Adidas were gonna push for star-studded teams, fine—but the league needed to control the money. Stern was already thinking about:
Cutting big market profits and redistributing them to smaller teams.
Sharing national broadcast revenue equally.
Sharing ticket and jersey sales income.
Introducing a luxury tax to punish teams that spent way over the cap.
If the big markets didn't like it, he'd block their trades.
If Nike and Adidas wanted to dominate? Fine. They'd just have to bleed more cash.
The only tough part was the Knicks—those guys weren't gonna let go of their money easily.
Still, if Stern played it right, Nike and Adidas could just give the Knicks extra sponsorship instead of cutting into their bottom line.
Five minutes later, the ball went up.
Ben Wallace won the jump ball, and the Knicks got first crack on offense.
Don Nelson's lineup didn't care about "positions"—he just threw his five best players out there, plain and simple.
Allan Houston brought the ball up, crossed half-court, and passed it to Zhao Dong on the left wing outside the arc.
"Let's see if the Knicks are still running that two-headed snake offense," Marv said, watching closely.
"It's the two-headed dragon offense, Marv," Matt corrected.
Marv laughed. "I say we call it the three headed cerberus offense. You know, Zhao Dong's doing three jobs at once—ball-handling, scoring, and organizing."
"Haha, Cerberus it is!" Matt chuckled.
Zhao Dong caught the ball at the three-point line.
The Jazz weren't crazy enough to put Karl Malone on him. Malone was too slow.
Instead, they stuck Bryon Russell on Zhao and had him play him tight—real tight. Elbows up, chest-to-chest, just short of biting his jersey.
If it weren't for the last rule of the Zhao Dong Rule, Zhao Dong could've just crushed Russell and easily broken through, but now he had to work around it.
He suddenly stepped back, dribbled, and switched directions to bypass Russell and head to the wing. Russell reacted immediately, but at that moment, Zhao Dong spun and blew right past him.
"Woah!"
Zhang Heli shouted excitedly.
Bang!
When Russell tried to recover and block again, Zhao Dong didn't hesitate—he dropped his shoulder and knocked him outta the way, then sprinted toward the flank.
The ref kept the whistle silent—Russell was still moving, wasn't in a legal guarding position, and didn't form a cylinder, so there was no violation under Article 138 of the Zhao Dong Law.
Three strides later, Zhao Dong's explosiveness kicked in even harder. He hit another gear, cutting in from the left elbow.
You could see the impact forming with your own eyes.
At the rim, Jazz center Greg Foster was holding it down, and Karl Malone was hustling back from the right wing.
Zhao Dong took four monster steps, bulldozed right through Jeff Hornacek trying to rotate over, then with one last quick step, pushed off the floor. His legs exploded and launched him into the air—from almost three meters out.
"Damn, he's fast!"
Karl Malone's eyes narrowed.
He was booking it back just as hard, but somehow Zhao Dong still had another burst left in the tank when he jumped.
He couldn't even catch up.
Whoosh!
Wind ripped past as Zhao Dong soared straight over Karl Malone.
Karl instinctively reached out, itching to yank Zhao Dong down—but he yanked his hand back.
If he did it, it'd be over.
If he hurt Zhao Dong, even killed him, the consequences would be way beyond what he could handle.
Getting shot, tossed in the ocean, or rotting in prison forever—none of it was worth it.
So he swallowed it down and watched Zhao Dong rocket toward the hoop.
Bang!
The basket shook violently. Greg Foster? He got caught mid-air and got launched.
"Am I gonna die?"
In that brutal mid-air collision, Greg Foster swore it felt like he got hit by a semi doing 80 miles per hour.
His chest caved in, all the air squeezed out at once, and for a moment he couldn't even breathe.
Bang!
He crashed onto the hardwood, groaning, sliding backward, plowing straight into the media row.
The whole Delta Center gasped in shock.
"YEAH!"
The three thousand Knicks fans and their bench went absolutely nuts.
Greg Foster couldn't even get up.
He clutched his chest, coughing painfully, his whole body numb.
In the commentary booth, commentary nearly exploded, roaring into the mic:
"He's killin' people out there! The Chinese kid's using that crazy power to kill Greg Foster! The league's gotta step in before someone gets murdered!"
He ranted furiously:
"The NBA needs to ban these kinds of collisions! This isn't the NFL where you're wearin' full pads. Somebody's gonna get seriously hurt if they don't change the rules—immediately!"
Boo!!
The Jazz crowd finally snapped outta the silence and unleashed a deafening wave of boos.
Over at the NBC broadcast booth, Matt Goukas wiped sweat off his forehead.
Damn, he hadn't even realized he was sweating just now.
"Zhao Dong's gettin' even faster, man," he shook his head and sighed.
"His explosiveness, that raw speed, the impact he brings—it's unreal. Straight up like the strongest fullbacks and tight ends in the NFL."
Marv Albert nodded, his voice filled with disbelief:
"The hits he's delivering... it's like those NFL crashes where dudes fly fifty feet. Only difference? No helmets, no pads, just flesh and bone.
And the defenders who try to stop him? Man, they're risking their lives every damn time."
Matt Goukas sighed:
"I remember Shaq once joked the league should ban Zhao Dong from sprinting more than ten meters."
"But just now," Marv added, "he didn't even run ten meters before takeoff. Maybe five meters is the limit? Cut it down to protect dudes?"
Matt thought for a second.
"Seven meters at most, just now," he said. "Yeah, five meters sounds better. That way even if he smashes into someone, it won't be lethal."
Marv Albert laughed and said, "But think about it—if they really cut him off like that, it's gonna ruin the game. Slows down the action, kills the vibe. That's not basketball anymore."
Matt asked, "So what's the solution then?"
Marv smirked.
"Actually, the league already been debating this ever since the Knicks made it to the second round."
Matt raised an eyebrow. "Zone defense?"
Marv nodded.
"Man-to-man is good for guarding shooters, but against monsters like Zhao Dong charging downhill? Zone's the way to go.
In man-to-man, once you hit a screen, boom—you're taken out, and the path to the basket is wide open. Nobody's there to stop the freight train.
But in zone defense?
Every area's guarded. No free paths. Layers of protection. It's way harder for a guy like Zhao Dong to just bulldoze his way to the rim."
Matt Goukas nodded and said, "Not bad, not bad. It's like setting up checkpoints out there. Zhao Dong can't get to top speed anymore, so the impact naturally gets limited."
"What?"
At this moment, Marv Albert suddenly exclaimed.
"Thirty-seven million?"
Matt also got the news. The director had just handed them the latest ratings update — viewership had skyrocketed by 10 million, and it was still climbing.
Marv Albert shook his head and laughed, "Man, looks like Americans really got a thing for this kinda hard-hitting action."
He knew perfectly well that it was that brutal collision involving Zhao Dong that had sent the ratings through the roof.
"That's why the NFL's always sittin' on top of the Big Four sports leagues," Matt shrugged and chuckled.
"Oh, the Jazz team doctor's waving for a sub," Zhang Heli suddenly shouted.
"I wonder where he's hurt?" Sun Zhenping asked curiously.
"Got hit in the chest, but I don't think he broke any ribs," Zhang Heli guessed.
On the Jazz bench, Greg Ostertag was being called over by Jerry Sloan.
He had given up his starting center spot earlier because of an injury. Even though he was just a role player, strength-wise, he was a bit better than Foster.
But after seeing what happened to Foster, dude's legs were shaking like crazy.
"What's wrong?" Jerry Sloan stared at the team doctor and asked.
"The collision was way too strong. He's dizzy, hurt his back muscles when he hit the ground. He's out for tonight. Check this out…" the team doctor said as he lifted Foster's jersey.
"Hiss!"
Everyone on the Jazz bench — even Jerry Sloan — gasped.
Foster's entire chest was flushed an abnormal red. The capillaries in his muscles had burst from the brutal collision.
It wasn't necessarily life-threatening, but he'd need recovery time for sure. No way the team doctor was letting him back out there.
"Coach Sloan, that hit to the chest? It's like getting in a car crash. He's gotta get to the hospital for scans ASAP. There's a risk of lung bleeding, and I can't guarantee there aren't any fractures," said the team doctor.
"Take him," Jerry Sloan waved without hesitation.
"Thirty-seven million?"
Meanwhile, in New York, David Stern got the report again and raised an eyebrow. But a man like him — sharp and experienced — quickly pieced together why the numbers spiked so much.
He had always tried to limit violent plays on the court, but technically... that collision just now wasn't a foul. It was clean. Just brutal.
He listened to the commentary from Matt Goukas and Marv Albert, too, and knew that this kind of full-contact could seriously hurt players. But he also understood — this wasn't the moment to push new restrictions or switch straight to zone defenses.
After all, a rule that limits sprint distance couldn't just target one guy. That would mess up basketball itself.
Any move to limit Zhao Dong's insane impact needed to be done carefully — without tipping the league balance too hard.
Of course, if a player's ability went so wild it actually broke the game balance, restrictions would have to be considered. Basketball's a team sport, not a one-man show.
So now, he started seriously thinking about zone defense.
Actually, lots of teams had already been bending the no-zone rule for years.
Implementing it fully? Not that hard anymore.
Maybe, Stern thought, it was time to remove illegal defense calls — let teams double off-ball players.
Back in '81-'82, he changed the rules to ban that kind of defense because he wanted to create more superstars.
But now? With monsters like Zhao Dong and Shaq dominating?
Maybe it was time to bring balance back — or risk the league spiraling outta control.
Bang!
In the Jazz's frontcourt, Zhao Dong suddenly sprang up and swatted Karl Malone's mid-range jumper into the stands.
"Cool!"
Watching Karl Malone stunned like a deer in headlights, Zhao Dong felt absolutely lit.
Right now, with Silver Demon's help, he felt like his bounce was on par with Shawn Kemp's freakish athleticism.
Jazz ball again. Stockton pulled up and hit a mid-range jumper.
2-all. Knicks' turn.
Zhao Dong caught the ball beyond the arc on the left wing.
As soon as he caught it and looked ready to drive on Russell, every single Jazz player — hell, even the Jazz fans in the building — stiffened up.
Nobody knew what was about to happen next. Someone might get steamrolled again.
"I'm coming for you."
Zhao Dong's eyes locked past Russell and onto Karl Malone, lurking near the paint.
The Mailman's face twitched. He even stopped breathing for a split second.
"Bryon Russell, throw everything you got at him! Stop him before he gets moving!" Jerry Sloan's furious roar echoed from the sidelines.
Russell was feeling the weight now.
Last year, he had the guts to challenge Jordan in the Finals and even tried guarding Zhao Dong. But now?
The pressure was insane.
Standing in front of Zhao Dong, he clawed and grabbed like crazy, desperately trying to hold him back.
Zhao Dong didn't even flinch.
He lifted Russell slightly with his left arm while cradling the ball in his right, swinging it back like an eagle spreading its wings.
Right then, he exploded off his right foot and attacked from the right side.
The move was so fast, Russell couldn't even react. All he could do was cling to Zhao Dong's arm with both hands.
Zhao Dong stumbled slightly and lost the ball.
But the ref's whistle immediately blew, signaling a foul on Russell.
"Kid, defense like that? You're about to get benched," Zhao Dong sneered at him.
"You're not getting past me! No way!" Russell barked back.
"Haha!"
Zhao Dong laughed.
In his eyes, Russell was just begging for more pain.
A team like this? Trying to challenge him for a championship?
Please.
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