The two teams hit the court as the lights came on.
"Coach Sloan, Zhao Dong and his crew jumped Karl Malone and his boys before coming out. Security broke it up quick, but damn, it got heated," a staff member informed.
"What?! Those damn New York thugs! Straight-up criminals!" Jazz head coach Jerry Sloan was livid.
Ten minutes later, both teams lined up, ready for the tip-off.
The ref motioned for Zhao Dong and Malone to step forward. "Listen up. I don't want any dirty plays tonight. You act up, you're out. And trust me, the league will be coming down hard. You hear me?"
Zhao Dong smirked, staring right at Malone. "Sir, the Knicks are gentlemen. That's Jazz business you're talking about."
"Snort." Malone glared at Zhao Dong, fuming but staying quiet.
The ref added, "Fighting is a no-go. Anyone throwing hands is getting tossed immediately."
"Sounds good to me." Zhao Dong flashed a grin.
Malone's expression darkened. The refs were clearly favoring the Knicks, making his path to a championship even harder.
---
Tip-off. Jazz win possession.
"Come on, big guy! I'll give you space, shoot it. Call for the rock," Zhao Dong taunted, backing off Malone a step.
Malone's eyes burned red. Just minutes ago, this dude sucker-punched him. Now he had the nerve to call him a "caked eater"? His blood boiled.
Stockton swung the ball to Malone, but he hesitated for a split second—too angry to react properly.
SMACK!
Zhao Dong jumped in, ripped the ball clean, and exploded down the court.
The Jazz scrambled, but their bigs were too slow. Only Stockton had a chance to stop the break.
Zhao Dong sprinted down the right wing, straight for the rim. Stockton rushed to cut him off, planting himself under the basket.
Zhao Dong didn't even flinch.
Last game, Stockton played dirty, leading the Jazz's cheap shots. Zhao Dong wasn't about to forget.
He picked up speed. Full throttle.
The sight of a 220-pound freight train charging at him made Stockton panic. He tensed up, shut his eyes…
WHOOSH!
A gust of wind blew over his head.
BOOM!
The rim exploded as Zhao Dong threw down a ferocious slam.
The Delta Center went dead silent for half a second.
Then—"YEAHHH!!!"
Knicks fans erupted in the stands. The New York bench lost their damn minds.
Across the country, and even back in China, millions of people screamed in excitement.
Hanging from the rim, Zhao Dong let himself swing, ice-cold eyes scanning the stunned Jazz crowd. No flex, no yell—just pure dominance.
Beneath him, Stockton stared at the jumbotron, watching his own humiliation on replay.
"No way… This ain't real… This can't be happening…"
"That's a foul! He fouled him!" the Jazz commentator whined.
The ref immediately signaled—bucket counts, no call.
"Damn!"
Marv Albert's voice rang out. "Stockton just got put on a poster! Zhao Dong just made him part of NBA history!"
Matt Goukas shook his head. "Man, if that was me? I'd retire on the spot. That kinda embarrassment… it don't go away."
---
Over on the CCTV broadcast, an overexcited Zhang Heli rambled, "Zhao Dong just gave Stockton the biggest embarrassment of his life! Maybe one day, when Stockton makes the Hall of Fame, he'll thank Zhao Dong for this… a true moment of growth!"
Sun Zhenping promptly kicked him under the table, making him shut up.
---
Back on the court…
"Zhao Dong! How the hell did you just do that?!" Larry Johnson grabbed him, still hyped.
"Yo, do that again—but over Karl Malone this time!" John Starks hollered. "That'd be legendary!"
Meanwhile, Malone sprinted over to Stockton, crouching down to check on his fallen teammate. "John, you good? Damn that Zhao Dong, he should be banned for this!"
Zhao Dong casually walked past them, smirking. "That was my answer for last game. You like that? I handled it the basketball way."
"ASSHOLE!"
Malone snapped, ready to swing. But Stockton grabbed him, holding him back.
"Nah, Karl, not like this," Stockton whispered, seething. "We gotta get him back—on the scoreboard. We take his ring. We take his Finals MVP. We break him."
Malone clenched his jaw. "You're right. Let's take him down."
Zhao Dong, already walking away, turned and grinned. "Damn, y'all are cute. I ain't know the Jazz had this much bromance."
The Jazz inbounded the ball, and Jerry Sloan quickly called for a timeout. His squad had taken a serious mental hit, and he needed to give them a breather while also cooling down the Knicks' early momentum.
Zhao Dong jogged back to the bench, still hyped. He high-fived every teammate in sight, celebrating the insane start.
"Did my bounce just upgrade?"
That last dunk felt different—like he got more air than usual.
"98? Damn, I really leveled up. This must be from my lower body and core strength boosts. Took a minute to kick in!"
He pulled up his system stats—yep, confirmed. His vertical had just gone up a notch.
Timeout over. Game on.
The Jazz stuck to their bread and butter—relentless pick-and-rolls. Over and over again.
Zhao Dong stayed disciplined, sticking to their defensive game plan. No unnecessary switches, no delayed coverages—just straight-up athletic dominance. He was faster than Malone, and he damn sure was gonna use it.
Another pick-and-roll.
Greg Ostertag stepped up, setting a wide screen, forcing Zhao Dong to fight through it. Stockton quickly fed Malone the ball.
"Squeak!"
Zhao Dong spun hard, slipping past Ostertag like a defensive back, closing in on Malone just as he pulled up for a mid-range jumper.
"Gimme that!"
BANG!
The ball got sent—blasted into the crowd like a heat-seeking missile.
"YEAH!"
The Knicks' bench exploded. Their traveling fans went wild.
Marv Albert's voice rang through the mic. "Ohhh, Karl Malone just got violently rejected by Zhao Dong! He hesitated just a fraction of a second, and Zhao Dong made him pay for it!"
Zhao Dong smirked and clapped his hands, talking his talk.
"Postman, if you can't even collect your own mail, what good are you?"
Malone's face twisted in anger. His jaw clenched so hard it looked like his teeth might crack.
The Jazz reset.
Malone sprinted down the left wing. Zhao Dong stayed glued to him.
"C'mon, old man! Move those legs! You tryna shake me or take a stroll?"
"Shut the hell up, you punk!"
Malone snapped. He couldn't hold it in anymore. With both hands, he shoved Zhao Dong to the floor.
"BEEEEEEP!"
The whistle screeched through the arena.
In an instant, the entire Knicks squad charged forward, ready for smoke. Even the bench players were up, locked in.
Zhao Dong hopped up quick and threw his hands up.
"Chill, chill! Don't fall for it! These Jazz boys are trying to bait us into some cheap stuff."
The refs didn't hesitate. Technical foul—Karl Malone.
Matt Goukas chimed in. "Ooooh, Malone completely lost his cool! But you gotta wonder—what exactly did Zhao Dong say to push him over the edge?"
Marv Albert chuckled. "Malone's in trouble early. He's getting outplayed, outworked, and now out of character. This is bad news for Utah."
Knicks ball.
Zhao Dong lined up in the low post. The Jazz threw Ostertag on him, with Malone lurking on the weak side, ready to help.
"Larry Johnson's got no range," Matt noted. "He's all post work, so he's letting Utah keep their defense packed inside."
Zhao Dong caught the entry pass.
Malone immediately rotated over.
But right before Malone could contest—fake slide-down move.
Malone took the bait, sprinting toward the baseline.
Too late.
Zhao Dong spun back, slipped past Ostertag like a shadow, and elevated at a 45-degree angle.
One-hand floater—BANK SHOT!
"Got 'em!"
Zhang Heli shouted on CCTV. "Zhao Dong faked out Malone, shook Ostertag, and finished with a perfect one-handed bank shot! His hands are too big, his touch too precise—this move is damn near impossible to guard!"
Zhao Dong turned and grinned.
"Damn, almost stopped me there! Almost! ...Almost blocked a damn thing!"
The Jazz were pissed. 5-0, Knicks.
The Utah crowd started chanting.
"ATTACK! ATTACK! ATTACK!"
But their energy backfired.
They were rattled.
Suddenly—Bryon Russell fumbled the ball!
Zhao Dong saw his chance.
Swipe!
"TURNOVER! Zhao Dong picked his pocket—fast break!" Marv Albert roared.
Russell panicked, reaching out and grabbing Zhao Dong's jersey to slow him down.
Big mistake.
Zhao Dong hit the gas.
Russell lost his balance and face-planted on the hardwood while Zhao Dong took off with the rock.
"WHAM!"
Tomahawk slam.
The entire Delta Center went dead silent—except for three thousand hyped Knicks fans losing their damn minds.
Stockton had made it back to the paint, but after that first poster, he didn't even bother jumping.
7-0. Knicks running the table.
The Jazz had no choice.
Timeout—again.
The Knicks came out firing, while the Jazz were still rattled from how Zhao Dong embarrassed Stockton at the start. Their morale was shot, and they needed someone to step up and bring the energy. Instead, they let their leader take the L without pushing back.
"That's the thing," Marv Albert said. "Sometimes, when your main guy gets humiliated, it's actually a chance for the team to rally around him."
"Yeah, but I don't see that happening here," Matt Goukas added. "The way this is going, the Knicks could very well steal Game 4."
"Losing Oakley definitely hurt their defense," Marv continued. "But offensively? They're just fine. If anything, this lineup has even more scoring punch."
Meanwhile, Jerry Sloan was on the Jazz bench drawing up plays. "Guards, I need you taking more shots! Light it up and take some pressure off the bigs. Greg, you gotta go at Larry in the post. He's undersized—take advantage of that."
The timeout ended, and the Jazz had the ball. Stockton ran a pick-and-roll with Jeff Hornacek and drilled a three.
"Finally!" The Delta Center erupted as their team got on the board.
"The Knicks gotta be careful," Matt Goukas warned. "Stockton and Hornacek are both snipers. They get a sliver of daylight, and it's going up."
7-3, Knicks still up.
Zhao Dong moved around the paint before flashing out to the left wing. Greg Ostertag was way too slow to keep up. Easy catch, easy shot. 45-degree bank. Buckets.
"Man, Zhao Dong got so much space out there, you'd think he was taking a vacation in the Pacific Ocean!" Matt joked.
"The Jazz gotta put Malone on him," Marv said. "He can't keep up either, but at least he won't give him that much room."
"But they got options," Matt countered. "Their backcourt can score, and Greg Ostertag can bully Larry Johnson inside. That's a straight-up mismatch."
"Yeah, but good luck telling Malone not to take shots," Marv laughed.
The Jazz came down again. Greg Ostertag got deep position on the right block, sealing off the much shorter Larry Johnson.
Big man drop-stepped, hooked it up—DENIED.
Zhao Dong came flying from the weak side and swatted the ball into the second row.
"MONSTER BLOCK!" Marv shouted.
"Beautiful help defense!" Matt added. "And here come the Knicks!"
Larry Johnson scooped up the loose ball and kicked it out. Fast break.
The Jazz guards sprinted back, so the Knicks slowed it down to set up the offense. But Zhao Dong? He had other plans.
He sprinted to the top of the arc, with Malone and Ostertag still stuck in quicksand. Five-on-three advantage for New York.
The floor spaced out. Zhao Dong caught it in stride, took off inside the free-throw line…
BOOM! ONE-HANDED TOMAHWK!
The Knicks' bench exploded. The away fans went wild.
"Oh my goodness! A one-handed slam from just inside the free-throw line! That's absurd!" Marv roared.
"I never thought I'd see a 6'9, 250-pound dude dunk like that!" Matt shouted.
"C'mon, you've seen him before," Marv joked. "He does it every night!"
11-3, Knicks still rolling.
The Jazz finally got another bucket when Ostertag scored over Larry Johnson. Zhao Dong tried to rotate but got held up by Malone. No whistle.
"Get the hell off me!" Zhao Dong shoved him aside and took off.
Larry Johnson grabbed the ball, quickly inbounded it.
"The Knicks are pushing again!" Marv called. "Four-on-three in transition…"
Zhao Dong drove into the lane, forcing small forward Russell to step up.
Kick out! Alan Houston, wide open left wing…
Brick.
Houston shook his head in frustration. He knew he rushed it.
But Zhao Dong was already skywalking for the offensive board.
By the time Malone and Russell reacted, he had them both trapped.
Zhao Dong faked a pass with one hand. Both defenders bit.
Then he just rose up.
BOOM! POSTERIZED.
Over Malone and Russell.
13-5, Knicks DOMINATING.
Malone was pissed. His face was red, his head was steaming.
"Zhao Dong's fake was too smooth," Matt laughed. "When you got hands that big, you can make any pass look real."
Zhao Dong jogged back on defense, chirping the whole way. "Damn, y'all almost got a finger on that one."
"You little punk!" Malone snapped.
Zhao Dong smirked. "Oh, so that's how you see yourself? Cake Eater?"
Malone lost it.
Dude was furious.
He was getting cooked on the court.
Getting cooked in the trash talk.
And deep down, he knew he couldn't do a damn thing about it.
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