News of Ewing's injury was spreading like wildfire.
"Ewing is their anchor in the paint. Without him, the Knicks are done for! We're definitely taking this series!" Karl Malone was practically bouncing off the walls in his hotel room, hyped like he'd been injected with a hundred shots of adrenaline.
"This is perfect timing. Best news we could've gotten," John Stockton added, though he kept his composure.
"Alright, settle down," Jazz head coach Jerry Sloan clapped his hands, reeling his players in. "Their injury is good news, but we still have to win this on our own terms. Now, let's get to the tactical meeting."
Sloan was stoked. The Knicks had just taken down the Bulls, and he had been seriously worried about their chances. But with Ewing out, he knew the door was wide open.
"Ewing's gone, which means the Knicks only have one superstar left," Sloan addressed his team during the meeting. "Their interior defense is toast. Karl, I need you to be a monster in the Finals. Own that paint."
"Don't worry, Coach," Malone grinned, feeling himself. "I'm gonna torch their inside game. Oakley can't guard my mid-range anyway."
Sloan didn't have to say much to Stockton—he trusted him blindly. But he turned to his starting small forward, Bryon Russell, and got serious.
"Bryon, you're the key to this series. I need you to lock down Zhao Dong. Can you do it?"
Russell shot to his feet. "I'm gonna beat that punk rookie, Coach!" he declared with cocky confidence.
Drafted 45th overall in 1993, Russell's selection was technically higher than Zhao Dong's. That alone gave him an inflated sense of superiority.
Hell, he once even challenged Jordan in '94, calling him out after MJ retired. "If he ever puts on a pair of shorts again, I'll cook him," Russell had bragged.
Sloan frowned slightly. He was talking about defending Zhao Dong, not beating him. Russell clearly didn't get it.
This season, Sloan had promoted Russell to a starting role. The guy had delivered, averaging 31 minutes, 10.8 points, 4.1 rebounds, 1.5 assists, 1.5 steals, and 0.3 blocks per game.
Decent, sure—but to shut down Zhao Dong, who locked up Scottie Pippen in the Conference Finals? Yeah, Russell was definitely delusional.
Still, Sloan wouldn't knock Russell's confidence. The Jazz didn't have a better wing defender, so he was the best bet.
"Bryon," Sloan repeated, "your main focus is defense. But you'll have help. On offense, stick to the wings. Keep Zhao Dong away from the paint and the strong side. Get into open spots and let John find you."
Russell nodded, but Sloan could tell he was still daydreaming about "beating" Zhao Dong.
Meanwhile, the outside world was already speculating about the Finals outcome.
Shaquille O'Neal, never one to stay quiet, was in New York stirring the pot.
"Ewing's injury means the Knicks are screwed," Shaq said bluntly to reporters.
"They'll have no size, no rebounding, and no low-post scoring. The Jazz just lucked into the easiest Finals ever."
Charles Barkley, who ditched his usual fishing plans, flew into New York for the Finals. When asked for his take, he couldn't help but troll Jordan.
"Man, MJ's gotta be pissed!" Barkley laughed. "If Ewing had gotten hurt earlier, the Bulls wouldn't have lost! Haha!"
Even Magic Johnson weighed in, joining the pre-Finals media frenzy.
"This is a nightmare for the Knicks," Magic said on air. "They lost their cornerstone. Their leader. Can they even fight back?"
Magic squinted at the camera. "Now we'll see what Zhao Dong is made of. Can he carry the Knicks alone? Can he keep their morale intact?"
Back in Chicago, Michael Jordan was packing his fishing gear when he got the news. He stood there, stunned for a full minute.
"Shit!" he blurted, throwing down his rod. "Ewing, you bastard! If you were gonna get hurt, why not do it earlier?! Now you're handing the Finals to the Jazz!"
His phone rang. It was Scottie Pippen.
"Yo, Scottie?"
"Mike, you hear the news? Ewing's out," Pippen's voice was buzzing with excitement.
"Yeah, I just heard," Jordan muttered, still pissed.
"The Knicks are gonna collapse. What do you think?" Pippen asked, practically giddy.
Jordan's mind flashed back to the Conference Finals. He still felt a bit guilty about supporting management's plan to trade Pippen.
"Scottie," he said slowly, "the Jazz just hit the jackpot."
"But you know what?" Pippen added with a grin. "Zhao Dong still ain't getting a ring. That's the best part."
"Oh, no doubt. That rookie's cocky as hell," Jordan scoffed.
Then Pippen's voice lowered slightly. "Mike… you think we still need to blow up the team?"
Pippen had been in deep talks with his agent. Everyone figured he was done in Chicago. But with Ewing out, the situation had changed. Pippen was starting to wonder if they should run it back one more time.
Jordan, however, hadn't considered it yet. He deflected.
"If Ewing's out for good or comes back weaker, we might not need to overhaul the roster," Jordan said vaguely. "But we still need reinforcements. I'll talk to management. No promises yet."
"Alright. Keep me posted," Pippen said, a little disappointed.
After hanging up, Jordan tossed his fishing gear aside and paced the room.
Was it still necessary to trade Pippen?
Without Ewing, the Knicks were significantly weaker, but they were still dangerous. And Pippen couldn't handle Zhao Dong—that much was clear.
After thinking it over, Jordan grabbed his fishing rod again.
No matter how tight his bond with Pippen was, winning came first. If keeping Pippen hurt their chances, he had to go.
At the Knicks' training facility, right before the tactical meeting started, general manager Ernie Grunfeld was fuming.
"From this moment on, the team is officially banning all sexual activity during the Finals!" Grunfeld barked. "All players, including the bench, will be staying at the team hotel—no wives, no visits, no exceptions!"
The entire management staff was there, including owner James Dolan. The atmosphere was grim. Players were downcast, their morale in the gutter.
"Too little, too late," Zhao Dong thought, shaking his head. "Why the hell didn't they do this earlier?"
Grunfeld slammed his hand on the table. "The media—hell, the whole world—thinks we're toast! Even the New York press is writing us off, saying we'll get stomped by the Jazz. This is bullshit!"
The room buzzed with murmurs.
"Without Ewing, who the hell's gonna hold down the paint?"
"We're screwed. No low-post offense, no rebounding, no defense. How the hell are we supposed to win the Finals?"
"It's over. We're cooked. No way we're winning the chip now."
The players' defeated muttering filled the room. Both the squad and management were shell-shocked.
Zhao Dong scanned the room, watching their despair. Even the front office looked lost.
No surprise. Ewing was the Knicks. For over a decade, they leaned on him like a crutch. Hell, they were so dependent on him that they turned down Shaq in the offseason just to keep their "franchise guy."
But while everyone else saw disaster, Zhao Dong saw opportunity.
Ewing was out, and suddenly, the Knicks were a single-star team—with him as the sole face of the franchise.
Yeah, Larry Johnson and Charles Oakley were former All-Stars, but they were shells of their former selves. Zhao Dong was the only legit star left.
If he could lead the Knicks to a championship now? On his own? That was legacy-defining.
A single-core title would skyrocket his value—in New York and the entire league.
It was time to step up. Time to take over.
Zhao Dong stood up, catching everyone's attention.
"Zhao?" Heads turned.
The room remembered—they still had him. The guy who had outshined Ewing in the playoffs. The one who had straight-up bullied Scottie Pippen.
For the first time all day, the players' eyes lit up.
"I don't get why you're all bitching," Zhao Dong's voice cut through the tension. "You're worried about the paint? Fine. Ewing's out? I'll do it."
"He's gonna play center?"
"But he's a power forward…"
"He's only 6'9" (205 cm) barefoot. Isn't he too short for the five?"
"Zhao Dong's got crazy low-post skills, though. Better footwork than Ewing. Just not as strong around the rim."
The room erupted with whispers.
Ernie Grunfeld's eyes widened. "Zhao, you serious?" he asked, his voice trembling with excitement.
"Zhao, are you really gonna play center?" Jeff Van Gundy cut in.
The rookie head coach looked wrecked—he clearly hadn't slept since Ewing's injury was confirmed. His sunken eyes and dark circles made him look like he'd been punched in the face.
Zhao Dong didn't hesitate. "I've got the low-post skills to dominate down there. I've got rebounding, defense, and guard-level mobility. I can defend the entire perimeter and still own the paint."
His voice hit the room like a lightning bolt. The players' heads shot up.
"Yeah, yeah, that could work!" Tom Thibodeau blurted out, nodding vigorously.
Van Gundy, still skeptical, asked, "But what about the three spot? What about organizing the offense?"
Zhao Dong shrugged. "Let the point guard run the offense. If that's not working, I'll run the show from center. Even though I'm a little short in the post, I'll shift to the high block to get a better view. That way, I can orchestrate the entire offense."
"Wait, what?" The room blinked.
"An organizing center?"
There were pass-first bigs in the league—Arvydas Sabonis and Vlade Divac were the best examples. But those guys were giants—7'3" and 7'2", with the height to see over defenses.
Zhao Dong? 6'9". He didn't have that kind of bird's-eye view.
Centers ran offenses from the low block, not the high post. No one knew if Zhao's concept would even work.
But the way he said it—like it was a done deal—sparked belief.
"There's no turning back now. I'm telling you—I can do this," Zhao Dong said firmly, his voice filled with conviction.
"Is that the decision?" Jeff Van Gundy glanced toward the front office, clearly unsure.
At this point, what else could Ernie Grunfeld and the management say? Let the team collapse? Hell no. They had to roll the dice. With no better option, they all nodded in agreement.
And just like that, the Knicks officially approved Zhao Dong's center experiment.
"Jeff, announce the starting lineup," Grunfeld reminded him.
"Got it."
Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Van Gundy nervously laid out the plan. "Zhao's gonna run the low-post offense. So, we need a big who can stretch the floor. But since Zhao's also gonna run the offense from the high post, we need another big who can hold his own down low."
He laid it out. "I'm starting Charles Oakley and Larry Johnson together. Oak will space the floor when Zhao is down low. And when Zhao moves up top, Larry will be our go-to post scorer."
Grunfeld and the rest nodded. The lineup made sense.
Zhao Dong also gave a firm nod, fully on board.
Seeing the room's agreement, Van Gundy exhaled sharply. "For the backcourt, we need someone to check Stockton. I'm going with Charlie Ward and pairing him with John Starks."
"Agreed," Grunfeld and the others said without hesitation.
Then Zhao Dong added, "Let me take Karl Malone."
Van Gundy didn't even blink—he was already thinking the same thing.
No point in wasting Zhao Dong's defense on Greg Ostertag, the Jazz's clunky big man. Ostertag was huge but weak—no match for Zhao's defensive versatility. Letting Zhao lock down the Mailman was the smarter move.
Next, they dove into tactics.
Van Gundy laid it out: "We'll start by running the offense through our point guard. If that works, great. If not, Zhao takes over—running the offense himself."
The tactical meeting dragged on for two hours. Afterward, the players hurried out for some last-minute on-court adjustments, prepping for Game 1 that night.
Meanwhile, Knicks management held a press conference, officially confirming Ewing's injury and announcing that he was done for the Finals.
---
Madison Square Garden – Game 1
By 7 PM, the Garden was already rocking. Packed with nearly 19,000 die-hard Knicks fans, the arena was buzzing. Celebs were sprinkled throughout the crowd.
Ticket prices for the Finals were ten times the regular-season rate, making them the most expensive in the league.
Salt Lake City fans? Broke. Less than a thousand Jazz supporters made the trip. The rest were hometown Knicks fans, decked out in matching Finals T-shirts.
But despite the sea of blue and orange, the vibe was off. With Ewing out, the energy wasn't nearly as electric as it had been against the Bulls.
On the sidelines, Magic Johnson, Shaq, Charles Barkley, and several other superstars waited for the action.
A reporter approached Barkley.
"Charles, who you got tonight?"
Barkley didn't sugarcoat it. "I'm rolling with the Jazz. Look, it's not that I like them—I don't—but without Ewing, the Knicks don't stand a chance. Let's be real."
Next, the reporter turned to Shaq.
"Shaq, do you think Zhao Dong can keep putting up superstar numbers tonight?"
Shaq grinned. "Man, you can't stop a superstar, same as you can't stop me. Without Ewing, Zhao's gonna get more shots. His stats'll probably skyrocket, but the Knicks will still lose. One star against two? That's too big a gap."
Finally, the mic went to Magic Johnson.
"Magic, do you give the Knicks a shot?"
Magic chuckled. "Only if Zhao goes supernova."
As the crowd pulsed to the music, the cheerleaders hyped the place up. Then came the guest performance—Whitney Houston.
When her voice filled the arena, the crowd erupted. The atmosphere finally felt worthy of the NBA Finals.
On the sidelines, Lindsay sat right by the Knicks bench, rocking a light pink sleeveless dress that turned heads.
The cameras couldn't get enough of her, and she kept popping up on the big screen.
Next to her sat Zhao Dong's agent, Ringo Wells, along with Ernie Grunfeld and the rest of the Knicks management.
A few seats back, celebrities packed the rows, including one familiar Chinese face—Jackie Chan.
Fresh off filming Rumble in the Bronx (1995), Chan was gearing up for his Hollywood push. He wasn't even a basketball fan—he flew in just for Zhao Dong.
Chan had tried Hollywood once back in 1980 with the movie The Big Brawl (Killer Trench), but it flopped. He knew how tough it was for an Asian star to break into the American market.
Watching Zhao Dong dominate the NBA filled him with respect. The kid was making waves worldwide, and his legendary elimination of Jordan made him a household name.
---
Tip-Off – 8:30 PM
At 8 PM, the starting lineups were announced.
Jazz:
Greg Ostertag
Karl Malone
Bryon Russell
Jeff Hornacek
John Stockton
Knicks:
Zhao Dong
Charles Oakley
Larry Johnson
John Starks
Charlie Ward
During the CCTV live broadcast, Zhang Heli sighed deeply.
"The Knicks are down bad this time. They fought all season, even took down Jordan, and now? With Ewing out? What a heartbreak."
"Now it's all on Zhao Dong's shoulders," Sun Zhenping added.
Zhang shook his head. "One man against the Black and White Devils? This is a nightmare matchup."
Zhang analyzed the Knicks' lineup.
"With this group, it's clear that Zhao Dong will shift inside. But the Knicks still lack a true center. Zhao's their tallest starter, but he's still just 6'9". Can he really hold it down at the five?"
Then he smirked slightly, switching gears.
"Still… being small has its perks. Without Ewing, the Knicks lose height, but they gain speed. If they run a fast-paced offense, pushing the tempo, they might just have a shot."
"Right! They torched the Bulls with quick offensive shifts and fastbreaks," Sun added eagerly.
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