At Madison Center Arena, Stockton started from the right wing three-point line, using a screen to shake off Charles Oakley and break into the paint. Allan Houston slid over to help, but Stockton used Jeff Hornacek's pick-and-roll to dodge the second line of defense and kept moving.
But once he got inside, he had no real shot. Oakley and Larry Johnson were both clogging the paint, forcing Stockton to circle through and swing to the left wing. Oakley stayed close on his tail.
At that moment, Karl Malone came over with a pick, forcing a switch. Zhao Dong stepped in to guard Stockton.
Malone found himself in a mismatch against Oakley and immediately called for the ball.
But Stockton couldn't get it to him—Zhao Dong stuck to him like glue, cutting off the passing lane. With no option, Stockton pulled it back beyond the arc to reset the offense.
That's when Oakley came over to double-team Stockton at the left wing three-point line.
"Steal!" Marv Albert shouted. "Oakley knocked it loose! Zhao Dong's got it—he's about to take off!"
Bang!
Zhao Dong's breakaway speed left the Jazz in the dust. No one could catch him as he threw down a vicious dunk.
"94-99! Knicks up by five!" Matt Goukas roared on NBC live broadcast.
"Zhao Dong's stat line tonight is insane," Goukas continued. "He's got five steals already and is just one block away from his second 5x5 in the playoffs."
The Jazz came right back. Hornacek let one fly from deep after another pick-and-roll, but it bricked. Oakley snagged the board, while Zhao Dong was too deep to initiate a fast break.
"The Jazz's shooting touch is fading. If they can't find their rhythm soon, they won't be able to stop Zhao Dong's offensive onslaught," Goukas analyzed.
In the frontcourt, Zhao Dong dribbled toward the top of the arc.
"I'll say it again," he taunted. "This time, I'm pulling up from three. Go ahead, defend the shot—just don't let me blow by you."
The trash talk had Bryon Russell seeing red, his eyes sharp as knives, itching to tear into Zhao Dong.
"C'mon, man. Play better. You're making this championship run feel cheap," Zhao Dong smirked.
"Bastard!" Russell snapped and lunged at him.
Zhao Dong smoothly spun off him, slashing toward the arc.
Malone stepped up early, bracing himself at the top of the key.
"Accelerate!" the in-game commentator roared as Zhao Dong switched gears.
Malone's nerves tensed—he retreated quickly, preparing to defend the drive.
But with a sudden screech, Zhao Dong hit the brakes, stopping on a dime just outside the three-point line.
"Oh no!" Malone's gut sank as he realized he'd overcommitted.
He slammed on the brakes, but his momentum betrayed him. His upper body kept moving, and he crashed down onto his butt with a heavy thud.
"Bang! Pull-up jumper! Wet!" Marv Albert shouted. "Zhao Dong drains another clutch three!"
"Oh! He dropped Malone!" Goukas howled.
"Idiot," Zhao Dong sneered, walking past Malone. "I never said I wouldn't throw in a fake. Last time, I was just playing with you. You're either trash or straight-up garbage."
Malone's face flushed red with fury, his eyes bloodshot.
Zhao Dong turned to Russell and smirked.
"And you—same level. Trash just like him. Better to be trash than to be nothing."
The double sting of being outplayed and out-talked shattered Malone and Russell's mental game.
94-102.
Zhao Dong had just rattled off eight straight points, pushing the Knicks' lead to eight with 88 seconds left.
The Jazz called a timeout, switching to a three-point shooting play.
Jerry Sloan also drew up a foul strategy: if Larry Johnson got the ball, they'd foul him immediately to send him to the line.
It was a gamble—Johnson was a 70% free throw shooter, not terrible, but beatable. However, the rest of the Knicks were over 80% from the line. Fouling them would be suicide.
The Jazz came back on the court. Hornacek drained a clutch three.
97-102.
Jazz were still down five with 68 seconds left.
"Splash!" Goukas yelled. "That's his sixth three tonight. The Jazz are clinging to life thanks to Hornacek's shooting."
Knicks' possession.
Zhao Dong brought the ball up and slowed the tempo, dribbling near the top of the arc, bleeding the clock.
The Jazz grew desperate. Russell rushed him.
Zhao Dong turned his back, dribbling low and tight, then suddenly spun and blew past him.
"Double him!" Sloan screamed from the sideline.
The Jazz threw a triple-team at Zhao Dong—Malone, Hornacek, and Russell swarmed him.
But Zhao Dong's court vision was sharp. With the Jazz overcommitted, the floor opened up.
He spotted Oakley one step inside the three-point line on the right wing and Allan Houston cutting baseline on the left.
"Jump pass!" the commentator shouted.
Whoosh!
Zhao Dong exploded into the air and whipped a bullet pass to Oakley with one hand.
The Jazz's triple-team failed.
As soon as Zhao Dong landed, he crashed the boards, ready for the put-back.
Oakley caught it in rhythm and coolly pulled up.
"Swish!"
Nothing but net.
"AHHH!" Oakley roared, fists clenched.
After over a decade of grinding in the league, he could finally feel the championship slipping into his hands.
97-104.
Knicks up seven with 49 seconds remaining.
The Jazz brought the ball up.
Stockton ran the offense at the top of the key. Charles Oakley, gasping for air but still relentless, applied full-court pressure.
Stockton, drained and sluggish, was a step slow on his handle. The ball drifted too far.
Houston pounced, doubling him instantly.
Zhao Dong, who had been guarding Malone, saw the trap and sprinted over.
Stockton, ever the assist king, spotted Malone open and fired a half-high lob over Zhao Dong's head.
Screech!
Zhao Dong pivoted hard, spun, and closed the gap.
Malone caught it and immediately went for the shot.
Zhao Dong launched himself.
"Predict it!" the commentator screamed.
Smack!
Zhao Dong swatted the shot into the stands.
The crowd erupted.
Before Malone could react, Zhao Dong spun around, boxed him out, and snagged the board.
The Golden Tyrant wasn't just playing—he was dominating.
"Congrats, Zhao Dong! You just pulled off your third 5x5 and your second 5x5 in the playoffs!"
Marv Albert roared excitedly.
"Man, this is insane—Zhao Dong just put up his second-ever 5x5 in the playoffs, and it's happening in the NBA Finals. This is historic! No one's ever done it like this!" Matt Goukas shouted, hyped beyond belief.
Charles Oakley took the inbound pass, muscled his way through the defense, and dished it to Zhao Dong, who sprinted into the frontcourt.
"Three-pointer or poster dunk—your call!" Zhao Dong barked at Bryon Russell and Karl Malone, who were patrolling the paint.
"Pick your poison!"
"Fuck him up!"
The Jazz were unraveling. With the championship slipping away, Malone snapped. His rage boiled over, and he charged at Zhao Dong like a bull.
"Fuck him!"
Russell, on the verge of losing it, bolted at Zhao Dong too.
But they were cooked. Zhao Dong shredded Russell with a nasty crossover, then spun past Malone, leaving them both stumbling.
Two birds, one bullet.
Blinded by anger, the two Jazz players clumsily collided, looking like fools.
Bang!
Zhao Dong detonated a ferocious slam that made the rim scream for mercy.
"AHH!"
The Garden exploded. The crowd was on their feet, roaring as the Knicks inched closer to glory.
Zhao Dong, still fired up, landed and glared at Malone and Russell.
"You dumbasses wanna brawl? Fine by me! It'll be even sweeter when I beat your ass and walk away with the trophy!"
"Come on!"
Malone, seething with rage, charged again, fists clenched.
"BEEP!"
The ref instantly blew the whistle, wedging himself between the players, arms out, shoving both sides apart.
"Oh man! This is wild!" Matt Goukas howled. "The game's almost over, and they're still trying to scrap? Hilarious!"
"Knicks, keep your cool!" Marv Albert urged. "Just 15 seconds left—no need for any dumb moves. The Jazz need to stop with the cheap tricks—it's over!"
With the refs holding things down, the fight fizzled out.
The Jazz burned their final timeout.
But it was pointless.
There was no superstar to carry them back. No miracle was coming. The clock was their enemy now.
After the timeout, the Jazz burned 13 seconds on a desperate three, but it clanged off the rim. They were out of gas.
100-106.
Game over.
The Knicks had just dethroned the Jazz in Game 5 and clinched the 1996-97 NBA Championship.
"AHH!"
The final buzzer triggered pandemonium in Madison Square Garden.
Knicks fans erupted into a frenzy.
"YEAH!"
Zhao Dong, grinning ear to ear, hugged his teammates in triumph.
Confetti rained down like a blizzard, showering the players in gold and white.
The Golden Tyrant stood tall, bathed in victory.
His teammates hoisted him onto their shoulders, carrying him across the court as MSG roared.
David Stern and the Knicks' management, including Ernie Grunfeld, walked onto the court, ready to hand over the Larry O'Brien Trophy.
"Congrats to Zhao Dong!" Marv Albert declared.
"Rookie year. Championship ring. This guy just did what many legends never could."
"Insane efficiency tonight," Matt Goukas added.
"Zhao Dong shot 21-for-30 from the field, 2-for-4 from deep, with a scorching 70% field goal percentage.
He hit 7-of-9 from the line and posted a monstrous 51 points, 15 boards, 8 dimes, 5 steals, 5 blocks, 2 turnovers, and 4 fouls. Unreal!"
On the NBC broadcast, Marv Albert raved,
"Not only did Zhao Dong notch his second 5x5 in the playoffs, but he just made NBA history with his first-ever 5x5 in the Finals.
And that 51-point game? It's officially the fourth-highest scoring performance in Finals history!"
"He just topped Bob Pettit's 50-point mark," Goukas added.
"Now he sits behind only Elgin Baylor's 61, Jordan's 55, Rick Barry's 55, and Jerry West's 53."
"Legendary stuff," Marv marveled.
"Zhao Dong and the Knicks earned every bit of this title. No question, he's the clear-cut Finals MVP."
Matt Goukas nodded.
"Now we look to the future.
Zhao Dong came into the league by stomping on Jordan—and in his rookie year, he's already looking brighter than MJ did early on.
Is he the next Magic Johnson? Could he build his own Showtime era right here at Madison Square Garden?"
"Funny coincidence, right?" Goukas chuckled.
"In Magic's rookie year, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar went down with an injury, and Magic carried the Lakers to the title solo.
And now, with Ewing out, Zhao Dong did the same—leading the Knicks to glory."
"True." Marv grinned.
"Ewing's injury might've been the best thing that happened to the Knicks. It gave Zhao Dong the chance to cement his legacy right out of the gate."
David Stern stepped onto the podium, shaking hands with Ernie Grunfeld, and handed over the O'Brien Trophy.
"Congratulations, Zhao Dong."
Stern's voice boomed through the mic.
"You just joined the league and snagged the one prize that many superstars chase their whole careers for.
I hope you remember this moment and continue to be a superstar people admire."
"Thank you!"
Zhao Dong gripped the O'Brien Trophy with both hands and thrust it into the air.
MSG shook.
The roar of the crowd was deafening.
New York belonged to Zhao Dong now.
After the celebration, it was time to announce the Finals MVP.
David Stern returned to the podium.
He tore open the envelope, scanned the name inside, and smirked. No surprises here.
"I swear, if Zhao Dong ain't the MVP, I'll jump off the Empire State Building," Larry Johnson cracked.
"No one's making that bet with you, idiot," Oakley shot back.
"Who else could it be?"
Stern stepped up to the mic.
"NBA 1996-97 Finals MVP…"
"Zhao Dong! Zhao Dong! Zhao Dong!"
The entire arena thundered with his name.
Zhao Dong smiled, walked forward, and clutched the MVP trophy with both hands.
As he hoisted it high, the MSG crowd roared louder than ever before.
The Golden Tyrant had arrived—and New York was his kingdom.
"Heh!"
David Stern chuckled, slightly startled before grinning.
"Zhao Dong," he called out with a smile.
"YEAH!"
Zhao Dong threw his arms up, roaring as the Garden exploded with deafening cheers.
"Congrats to Zhao Dong on winning the Finals MVP! This is the perfect reward for his legendary performance in the Finals!" Marv Albert shouted excitedly.
Matt Goukas rattled off the stats:
"Zhao Dong averaged a monster 37.4 points, 11.4 boards, 6.8 assists, 2.6 steals, 5 blocks, 2.2 turnovers, and 3.2 fouls over the five-game series.
If he hadn't been ejected halfway through Game 3, he would've easily averaged 40+ points. Unreal!"
Stern waved over Bill Russell, who was still full of energy at 63 years old, to present the trophy.
(At this point, it wasn't officially called the Russell Cup—that wouldn't happen until 2009.)
"Zhao Dong, take it."
Charles Oakley handed over the O'Brien Trophy with a grin.
Zhao Dong grabbed it with both hands, then hoisted both trophies high, sending Madison Square Garden into pandemonium.
After the celebration, he made his way over to Lindsay, still clutching both trophies, and celebrated with her as the cameras swarmed them.
"Eve, mind holding onto this for me?"
Zhao Dong leaned in close, speaking softly into her ear with a grin.
"You know I still don't have a permanent spot in New York. Can't leave this in some random hotel room."
"Mm-hmm!"
Lindsay smiled and nodded, hugging the Finals MVP trophy.
Just then, Sun Zhenping and Zhang Heli strolled over with live broadcast mics in hand.
"Zhao Dong, say a few words to the fans back home?" Zhang asked.
"Of course."
Zhao Dong smiled, handing the O'Brien Trophy to Ernie Grunfeld, then turned to the camera, waving.
"Hey, everyone! It's Zhao Dong. My rookie season is officially over—and damn, it was pretty much perfect.
I just wanna thank you all for the support… couldn't have done it without you."
After wrapping up, Sun Zhenping asked,
"Zhao Dong, now that the season's done, you heading home?"
"Oh, for sure. Haven't been back in three years.
Man, I even dream about running through the old Beijing alleys sometimes…"
Zhao Dong's eyes softened with nostalgia.
"Got any plans?" Sun pressed.
"Yeah, gotta handle some business in the States first."
Zhao Dong smirked.
"Got some off-court stuff to take care of too."
A Japanese reporter quickly chimed in.
"Zhao Dong-san, when you return to Asia, will you come to Japan?
You've got a ton of fans in Japan, and we'd welcome you with open arms!"
"Yeah, there's a plan," Zhao Dong answered casually, leaving it vague.
He had big plans for the East Asian market.
While China would be his base for his sports brand, he knew he couldn't ignore Japan—their economy was booming.
He was coming for that market.
"Thank you so much!"
The Japanese reporter bowed deeply, clearly overjoyed.
Not to be outdone, a Korean reporter quickly followed up.
"Zhao Dong! Korea is also waiting for you! We're eager for your arrival!"
"I'll be there," Zhao Dong nodded coolly, not missing a beat.
The East Asian market was too lucrative to ignore.
"Alright, see you at the press conference."
Zhao Dong ended the interview and turned back to celebrating with Lindsay.
He then spotted Charles Barkley, standing with Magic Johnson, Shaquille O'Neal, and Larry Bird.
Grinning, Zhao Dong walked over and cracked a grin.
"Hey, Sir Barkley!"
Zhao Dong smirked.
"You're my idol, man.
So… how's it feel watching me win the chip?"
"Pfft!"
Magic, Shaq, and Bird all burst out laughing.
Barkley's face twisted with mock annoyance.
"Tch, next year's our turn, kid. Don't get
cocky!" he snorted.
"You got nothing to be proud of—yet!"
"Tsk, tsk…"
Zhao Dong clicked his tongue mockingly, shaking his head.
"Next year? Man, you and Hakeem will be a year older.
How you gonna fight me?
I'm calling it now—you'll still be watching me lift the trophy next year."
"Snort!"
Barkley glared, but deep down, he was jealous as hell.
He'd been chasing a ring for years—and here was Zhao Dong, winning one in his rookie season.
Zhao Dong then turned to Magic Johnson with a curious look.
"Magic, you're my idol too.
Now the media's saying I'm the next Magic. What do you think?"
Magic chuckled, raising a brow.
"Zhao, I gotta ask—why didn't you model your game after me?
I heard you picked your own template."
"Easy, I like scoring more," Zhao Dong grinned.
Magic nodded in understanding, then responded thoughtfully.
"Well, in that case… you're not the next Magic.
You're the next Jordan."
"Nah, he ain't Jordan," Larry Bird suddenly cut in.
Everyone turned to Bird, curious to hear his take.
The media swarmed in, cameras flashing and mics thrust forward.
Bird smirked.
"His offense ain't as refined as Jordan's—yet.
But his playmaking's better.
He can run the floor and play all five positions.
He's got more ways to help his team win.
That's why he beat the Bulls."
Bird's eyes narrowed, calculating.
"My take?"
He pointed at Magic and Barkley.
"He's a hybrid of you two and Jordan—but incomplete."
Zhao Dong grinned.
Bird wasn't just a legend—he was sharp as hell.
Unlike Barkley, who never won a ring, Bird had the vision of a champion.
"Zhao Dong, you aiming for back-to-back chips?" a reporter asked.
"Hell yeah," Zhao Dong smirked.
"Nah! That's ours!" Barkley barked.
"The Rockets are winning it next year!"
"No shot." Shaq jumped in.
"Lakers are taking over."
Zhao Dong grinned slyly.
"Bulls and Jazz are still gonna be the real threats next year.
As for you two?
Pfft. You'll still be watching me lift the trophy—again."
"Yo, don't sleep on us, man!"
Gary Payton suddenly appeared, annoyed.
"The Sonics are still in this."
"You?"
Zhao Dong snorted.
"You better keep an eye on Shawn Kemp, bro.
Dude ain't exactly a stable guy."
Payton's face darkened, realizing Zhao Dong had just hit a nerve.
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