"Squeak!"
Amid the sharp screech of sneakers, Zhao Dong planted his feet and faced a triple-team. Just when it looked like he was trapped, he spun around with his back to the basket.
"Bang!"
Right as he turned, he slammed his body into Mourning, who was rushing in for the help defense. Using that force, Zhao Dong spun back instantly, launched himself backward, and elevated into the air at a slick 45-degree angle. He was almost horizontal, the rock held high above his head with both hands like he was about to launch a heat-seeking missile.
That move completely broke the triple-team—Mashburn trailing from behind couldn't even sniff the ball.
"Turnaround...?"
The on-site commentator blurted out in shock.
As soon as the words left his mouth, Zhao Dong pulled up and let it fly.
He wasn't passing—hell nah. Even if he bricked, Big Ben and Oakley were down there, while the Heat only had Longley. That offensive board was pretty much guaranteed. So why not let it fly?
"Swish!"
Straight cash—nothing but net.
"YEAHH!"
The crowd went wild.
"...Fadeaway jumper!"
Seeing the shot drop, the commentator's shock turned into raw hype as he yelled out:
"What a filthy turnaround fadeaway jumper! That's MJ-type sh*t! Zhao Dong's fadeaway angle was even crazier than Jordan's—man was practically laid out in the air. Ain't nobody blocking that! Nobody!"
"This, this, THIS is insane!"
On NBC, Marv Albert was stunned.
"Weren't they saying Zhao Dong didn't have a back-to-the-basket game? Look at this! What are we even talking about?"
"There he goes again!" Matt Goukas jumped in.
"Dude just casually pulls out some elite, high-level footwork like it's nothing. That's his thing—every once in a while, BAM! Just drops some top-tier offensive weapon we ain't seen yet."
Over on the CCTV broadcast, Zhang Heli chuckled and said:
"With this kind of move? Man, he doesn't even have to worry about getting doubled anymore. This is a straight-up double-team killer! Hell, even three defenders can't lock him up."
And he was right. Even if a rule like the old Jordan Rules was in play, you can only double so much. If Zhao Dong starts cooking and hitting assists out of those traps, who's gonna risk sending two or three at him?
Zhang Heli was already thinking ahead.
The Heat still tried throwing doubles at Zhao Dong, but it didn't matter—whether he was shooting or dishing, they couldn't really hold him back.
Sure, with the added help defense, his efficiency dipped a little. He went 2-for-4 under the pressure.
But the boards? Man, the Knicks dominated there. Every time Zhao Dong missed, Big Ben or Oakley swooped in and grabbed that thing like it was owed to them.
End of the first? Zhao Dong didn't even take a breather.
Stats: 8-for-10 FG, 4-for-4 FT, 20 points, 3 rebounds, 2 dimes, 1 steal, 1 swat, 1 turnover, 1 foul.
Scoreboard read 15:30, Knicks up by 15 after one. They doubled up the Heat.
Knicks were shooting 53% as a squad, compared to just 43% from Miami. On the glass? Knicks pulled 15 rebounds to the Heat's 8.
"Twenty in the first? Damn. And even while getting trapped, he threw out two dimes. By the end of that quarter, the Heat stopped doubling him altogether. I think they're gonna fall back to man defense," Marv Albert predicted during the break.
Matt nodded.
"Yeah, 'cause no matter what they try—even going full-on Jordan Rules—nah, let's call it Zhao Rules now—it's not gonna completely clamp Zhao Dong. Just like Jordan couldn't be fully stopped by the Jordan Rules."
"When they sent Zo to double Zhao Dong," Marv added, "the whole paint collapsed. Longley tried to stand tall, but once Zhao Dong blew past him, Miami lost the boards, lost the paint—just lost control. So Zo had no choice but to back off and return low to protect the glass."
Back on the CCTV broadcast, Zhang Heli was breaking it down:
"In the rebounding game, the Knicks have the edge—honestly, they might be the best in the league right now.
Defensively inside, Ben Wallace and Oakley locked that paint up. Four combined blocks. That's huge—it's messing up Miami's whole interior scoring plan.
Compared to last season, sure, they lost Ewing, so on paper the offense looked weaker. But if you're looking at this first quarter? Not at all. Zhao Dong's going nuclear, Big Ben and Danny Fortson can give you 17–18 points down low, and this offense is still stacked.
Plus, those two additions boosted the defense and boards. Offense and defense both leveled up.
So long as Zhao Dong doesn't get locked up—which looks damn near impossible—the Knicks are real contenders this postseason."
"Zhao Dong just can't be shut down," Sun Zhenping chimed in.
"He's the heart of the Knicks' offense and playmaking. Only he can draw the defense and create easy looks for everybody else."
Zhang Heli laughed.
"Under normal situations, with someone like Zhao Dong, I'd tell him to pass more. But in the playoffs? Nah. Let him cook. Let him go solo more often."
"Oh? Why's that?" Sun asked.
Zhang Heli smiled.
"Remember when the Bulls were struggling with their point guard rotation? Jordan had to run the one and organize the offense. He was racking up triple-doubles.
But guess what? They still lost more than they won. Why? 'Cause his teammates just weren't as efficient. Even with a double-team on him, MJ still gave you better offense than the others.
Same thing here—Zhao Dong is just on another level. Let him go to work."
Sun laughed.
"So basically—'I'll just take care of it myself.'"
"Exactly," Zhang grinned.
"Look at the numbers—Zhao Dong is shooting 80%, the team's at 53%. Let him take charge."
"They had a couple fast breaks early, too," Sun added.
"In those early minutes when he wasn't being doubled, the hit rate was crazy. But once the Zhao Dong Rules—kicked in, you could see it slowed him down a bit."
Zhang Heli nodded, his smile fading as he got serious. "Yeah, I was double-teamed from behind and went 2-for-4, shooting 50%. Not bad, but it could've been better.
"But real talk, the Knicks own the boards. Even if the shot doesn't drop, we got second-chance opportunities all day. That's why I still say Zhao Dong should take that shot himself. I don't care how many defenders they throw at him—he gotta shoot that rock.
"That said, I don't think the Heat should keep double-teaming him next game. If they can't shut him down with those doubles, they're giving up too many boards. They lost the rebound battle hard that quarter. Keep that up and they're basically asking for an L."
Early in the second quarter—around the 3-minute mark—Zhao Dong checked back in. This time, the Heat didn't hit him with the Jordan Rules. No double. Mashburn covered him one-on-one.
Zhao Dong? He went right back to that wrecking-ball style from the first quarter. Straight-up chaos at the rim. The Heat's paint looked like a warzone by the time he was done.
By the ninth minute, the Knicks were up 20. Knicks ball.
Zhao Dong got it at the right wing, outside the arc. He gave Mashburn a pump fake, got him off his feet, then dribbled right, driving hard toward the wing.
Mourning stepped up to help, but he didn't fully commit. He backed up, trying not to get blown by and lose position.
"Kick it! Watch the double!" Zhang Heli shouted on the CCTV broadcast as Zhao Dong moved into the paint and the Heat's defense collapsed inward.
Bang bang…
Zhao Dong suddenly pulled up at the elbow, dribbling fast, like a blur.
The Heat's rotation froze for a split-second.
"Pull-up J?" Mourning read it too late—Zhao was setting up for a mid-range jumper. Mourning lunged at him.
Mashburn and Mourning both crashed toward Zhao Dong from the top.
Just like that, Heat's double-team was back in action.
But Zhao Dong had 'em reading the wrong script. He blew past Mourning with a lightning first step and stormed into the paint.
"Aw hell nah!" Mourning skidded to a stop, turned, and grabbed Zhao Dong's left arm.
Zhao powered through. Mourning lost his balance and hit the floor.
But Zhao Dong fumbled the rock for a second.
Luke Longley saw the loose ball and made a move from inside the restricted zone to snatch it.
Too slow.
Zhao Dong regained control just in time.
Then—boom—he lowered his shoulder and trucked Longley, knocking him back into the legal zone.
Zhao Dong exploded upward.
BANG!
Monster slam.
Longley hit the deck, the whistle blew.
Blocking foul. And-1.
Zhao Dong's power was on another level. He didn't even want the jumper—he wanted to put the Heat's bigs in pain.
"Damn! Zhao Dong came in like a freight train. He didn't wanna score—he wanted to punish!" Zhang Heli yelled.
"Now Longley's got three fouls, right? And Mourning too?" Sun Zhenping said with a grin.
"Yup," Zhang confirmed.
Bang!
Zhao Dong missed the freebie. Mourning cleaned the glass, Heat ball.
Mourning pushed the pace, sprinted to the rack, pulled a fake on the rookie Billups, then went up for the lay.
"Yo, heads up!"
Mourning's shout echoed.
BOOM!
A huge hand came flying outta nowhere and pinned the shot off the glass. The ball looked like it was about to break the backboard.
"What the—?"
Mourning looked up—Zhao Dong was right there.
Zhao grabbed the ball and booked it.
Both teams flipped the switch—guys sprinting down the floor, some running, some backpedaling on D.
Alan Houston got open on the left wing. Zhao Dong hit him with a perfect dime, then went full speed down the middle on the break.
Houston attacked the left, baiting the defense. Zhao Dong came barreling down the middle from the top of the arc, and Houston sent the rock right back.
"LATE!"
Heat guard Leonard saw it coming and panicked. He screamed and pointed at Mourning.
"Huh?!"
Mourning turned, reached—too late.
Zhao Dong came flying through, full speed—more than 20 meters of sprint—and elevated.
BOOM!
He caught the ball mid-air, curled in his core, and threw it down with everything he had. A 100-level power slam.
The rim bent down and stayed bent.
"OOOOOH!!"
MSG exploded. Nearly 20,000 fans lost their minds.
Creak…groan…
The rim looked done. Bent like an old man's back. Wobbling, squeaking—like it was about to snap off the backboard.
"Yo, this whole hoop about to fall!"
"Move! Get outta the way!"
Crack—crack—CRASH!
Media dudes on the baseline scrambled like pigeons getting spooked. One photographer was running backward, still clicking pics of Zhao Dong like his life depended on it.
"This dude's a freak! Straight animal!"
Watching Zhao Dong hanging off the rim, the entire Heat squad looked shook. Their energy was gone, just like that.
Zhao Dong let go and dropped down, staying under the hoop. He knew his dunk relied on pure momentum. Unlike Shaq's monster frame, he didn't have that weight to fully pull the rim off — so unless it got yanked, it probably wouldn't fall.
Sure enough, the rim was bent and just hanging there, all twisted.
"AAAHHH!"
The crowd exploded. Their adrenaline had been building all night, and now it burst like a damn volcano. Faces were red, veins popping, fans going nuts screaming for Zhao Dong.
"Zhao! Bro, you really did it! You really wrecked the Heat's basket — no, for real, you bent the damn hoop!"
Oakley ran over hyped as hell, jumped on Zhao Dong's back, and started yelling like a madman.
"We gotta smash the other one too! Gotta back up the talk!"
Zhao Dong carried Oakley while the whole squad came in for hugs, chest bumps, and crazy cheers.
From there on, it was a wrap. The Knicks, fired up with sky-high momentum, steamrolled a Heat team that looked completely cooked.
By the end of the second quarter, Luke Longley couldn't keep going. Zhao Dong had bullied the paint over and over — dude just didn't have the gas to keep up.
And with their main big man out? The Heat had no shot.
---
"Mr. Stern, after Zhao Dong shattered the hoop, the ratings went crazy — hit 31 million viewers. But once it turned into a blowout and he got subbed out, numbers dipped. Overall average came out to 27.5 million."
David Stern was watching the game from home when he got the call. As soon as he heard those numbers, he couldn't help but grin.
"Thirty-one million?" He repeated, eyebrows raised.
That's almost touching the all-time record, and this is just the second round?
He remembered clearly — the highest viewership ever was Game 6 of the 1993 Finals. Suns vs. Bulls. Series was tight, 3-2. Phoenix had home court. MJ was MJ. That game pulled in 32.1 million, and it ended with a wild 99-98 win for Chicago.
Tonight's game? Total domination. So the reason for the spike had to be one thing — Zhao Dong putting on an absolute show. His physicality, his flair, that rim-wrecking dunk… fans ate it up.
"The Heat just ain't built right. No boards, no paint defense. They got nothing to stop Zhao," Stern muttered. "They're getting swept, I can feel it."
He didn't mind if the Knicks won — in fact, that's what he preferred. But he needed this series to at least stretch to six games for the money. He just couldn't see the Heat lasting that long.
Final score: 95-75. Knicks by 20.
Zhao Dong only played the first half. Still, the Heat's bench squad clawed back a bit late, but it was pointless. The damage was already done.
Zhao logged 21 minutes. In that short time, he was the engine. 14-for-18 from the floor, 7-for-9 from the line, 35 points — all in the first half.
But that pace? That kind of intensity? It drained him.
---
Postgame, in front of a sea of reporters:
"Zhao Dong, how much has the 'Zhao Dong Rule' held you back tonight?"
Zhao grinned. "Man, when we control the boards, no double team can slow me down. I shoot however I want. Tonight? That rule didn't mean jack. Check the stats — they tell the story."
"How'd it feel when you wrecked the hoop?" another reporter asked.
"That was domination. That power… it's addicting," Zhao Dong replied with a smirk.
He fielded a few more questions, then bounced.
Back in the locker room, Larry Johnson shouted the second Zhao walked in:
"Yo, boss — the Jazz lost at home!"
"What?" Zhao's eyes widened.
The Sonics had traded Shawn Kemp for Vin Baker. Solid move. They were still a strong squad. But go toe-to-toe with Karl Malone's elbows? Vin Baker?
Oakley cracked up. "Man, Malone shot 5-for-18. Dude was off his game."
Alan Houston chimed in, laughing, "Boss, I bet it's 'cause you're suing his agent!"
Zhao burst out laughing. "That's gotta be it! Serves him right — feels good!"
---
Meanwhile, inside the Jazz locker room, head coach Jerry Sloan was livid.
"I told you to stay outta those marketing games! Told you not to let the sponsors get in your head! What the hell were you thinking?"
"Zhao Dong ain't the same guy as last season. He's not just a player anymore — he runs Zhao Dong Sports. Half the league's signed under him. With the way he's building that brand, he's gonna have even more stars in his corner. You try to go at him off the court? You're gonna lose before you even realize it. Hell, even MJ couldn't win that game. What makes you think you can?"
"The only place you stand a chance is on the court. That's it. Now use your damn brain, Malone. You trying to cost us everything?"
Sloan was raging. He'd built this squad with the Black and White Devils for years. They were finally peaking. Then MJ came back. Now Zhao Dong had leveled up. Spurs, Lakers, Pacers — all looking dangerous. And now Karl Malone's messing around with lawsuits and distractions?
The Mailman sat on the bench, elbows on his knees, hands over his face. He didn't say a word.
His head was still spinning from the $2 billion lawsuit. That army of lawyers? Still haunting him.
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