At this moment, over in New York, David Stern sat in his home office with a serious look on his face.
He knew this was one of those moments where every move mattered. Another big decision lay in front of him—should he keep riding with MJ, or was it time to start backing Zhao Dong too?
Stern's stance on Zhao Dong had always been neutral—he didn't push him, didn't block him either.
But that offseason fight Zhao Dong had with Karl Malone? That really pissed him off. The league had rules, and Zhao straight-up ignored 'em. Stern seriously thought about hitting him with some pressure.
Thing is, since this new season tipped off, Zhao Dong had been going nuclear—like, rookie-season-level dominant but even scarier. Dude had fans flooding in from all over.
And Zhao was different from MJ. He had Mike's skillset and killer mentality, but with that raw, wild, straight-up savage edge. And real talk—Zhao looked good too, just like Mike. Fans, especially the younger ones, were eating that up. Some were even saying he had more swag than Jordan.
Bottom line? Zhao Dong didn't lack anything MJ had. But MJ? He might not be able to keep up with everything Zhao was bringing to the table.
Jordan was aging. And while Zhao was Chinese and would never be "the next Michael Jordan," Stern couldn't ignore the business side. The NBA was going global, and Zhao Dong could be the key—especially for China and the whole Asian market.
So even though he wanted to clamp down on Zhao after that offseason drama, he held back. Just like before—no push, no pull.
But that wasn't gonna fly anymore. This thing had blown up. He needed to send a message to the league—show where he stood.
He reached for the landline, hesitating. His hand moved real slow, like he wasn't sure. He even thought about hanging up.
But then he made the call: "Hit Michael with a tech. That play was reckless."
"What? Mr. Stern…" the guy on the other end sounded shocked.
But Stern just hung up. No explanations. Message sent.
The news hit the arena quick. The ref who got the word looked stunned.
MJ saw the ref walking over and already knew something was up. The ref threw up the T-sign.
"YEAH!"
The Knicks bench exploded.
"Man, what the hell?"
MJ wasn't mad about the tech itself—but he felt wronged. He just ate two punches and still got a T? Where was the justice in that?
Still… he let out a breath. In a way, he was relieved. He didn't want that smoke with the Knicks either.
But he understood what that whistle really meant. The higher-ups had made the call. That meant one thing—Zhao Dong might've just caught Stern's eye.
Was this how it felt to be on the decline? Being the guy who gets stepped over? Damn.
If this was three years ago, he'd shut Zhao Dong down and crush his hype. But now? He felt powerless.
Next up—free throws.
Jordan got slapped with the tech. Zhao Dong stepped to the line, knocked it down.
Then Larry Johnson went two-for-two. Jordan answered with a pair of his own. But Zhao Dong got hit with a tech too, and Jordan nailed that freebie.
Scoreboard said 9-10. Knicks down one. Bulls had the rock.
"Man, MJ got decked, and he still came out with points and the ball," Zhang Heli griped.
"We Chinese ain't soft," Sun Zhenping added with pride.
Over on NBC, Marv Albert chimed in, "Wow, the ref flipped the call. Mike takes hits and still gets hit with a tech. That's rare."
Matt Goukas added, laughing, "The Knicks are tight, and Zhao Dong's clearly the leader. If MJ didn't get that T, who knows what would've happened out there."
Marv nodded, "Definitely the right move."
Game back on. Bulls pushing the rock.
Kidd was running point, orchestrating. Guys were moving off-ball.
Ewing peeled off from the baseline, looping around toward the paint. Zhao Dong followed, matching his route.
Then Bulls' forward Jason Caffey slid in, laying a pick on Zhao, clearing the lane. Ewing got the mismatch—Oakley guarding him inside.
Kidd read it instantly—he's got that vision—and zipped the pass in.
Coach Nelson shook his head on the Knicks bench. "Man, if we had Kidd, our offense would be on another level…"
Zhao Dong didn't try to muscle through the pick. Caffey was just as solid, so Zhao used his agility instead—curved around it like a wingman.
Bang!
Ewing pulled up over Oakley, who clobbered him on the release. Whistle blew.
Ewing looked down at his red wrist in disbelief. "Damn, Oak hit me that hard?"
Oakley just stared him down. "Pat, we ain't teammates no more. We rivals. You said it yourself."
Ewing's eye twitched. He scoffed and stepped to the line.
First one went in. Second one clanked. Camby cleaned the glass and kicked it out.
This time, Zhao Dong didn't hit the low block. He stopped at the right wing, just outside the arc, called for the rock from Charlie Ward.
"Zhao lookin' to test the Bulls' inside D again?" Marv raised an eyebrow.
Matt responded, "First play of the game, he bulldozed Rodman. Now let's see if Ewing and Bill Wennington can hold their ground."
Bulls switched. Caffey ended up on Zhao.
Bang!
Zhao didn't even hit him with fakes. Just caught it, one dribble, and blew by him clean. Straight line drive.
Caffey tried to foul him—grabbed at air. Zhao was gone.
Wennington slid over for help. But Zhao hit the brakes, then turned on the jets again. Quick crossover, cut through the gap—and suddenly he was in flight.
Ewing stood under the rim but didn't have the muscle to contest. Zhao took off like a missile.
BOOM!
That dunk rattled the rim and silenced the entire United Center.
MJ had given this arena so many highlights. But this? This wasn't finesse. This was a damn sledgehammer.
Even the home crowd—who hated Zhao Dong—couldn't help it. That dunk hit different. Pure adrenaline. It punched straight through their chests.
They wanted to cheer. Their bodies were screaming to react. But pride? It held them back.
This kind of emotional conflict had everybody tight. They were stuck, frustrated—like they were about to snap and throw hands just to let the rage out.
"Zhao Dong once again showing off that beast-level athleticism! Man's playing above the rim, dunking like a savage. He's straight up bullying the Bulls in the paint!" Marv Albert shouted with hype.
"Another soul-snatching dunk," Zhao Dong said coldly, giving Ewing a death stare before walking away.
Ewing looked like he was about to cough up blood from frustration, but real talk—he wasn't about to step up. Dude knew if he tried, he might just be forced into early retirement.
"The weight of a big, the speed of a top-tier guard, and the bounce of a small forward—this is exactly why Zhao Dong's becoming a fan favorite real quick," Matt Goukas added.
"Yo Matt, you think Zhao Dong's power-forward-on-wings-style game is gonna start a whole new trend in the league?" Marv asked.
"What?" Matt blinked. He thought for a second, then said, "Man, I don't know. That's tough. Zhao Dong's a freak of nature. You can't just clone that."
"Exactly. Players like Zhao Dong come once in a generation. He's rarer than even a Jordan-type talent," Marv laughed.
"There's dudes out there with some similar traits," Matt said, grinning. "But nobody's that extreme across the board. Like, Zhao's got the body of a big, the handle and speed of a guard, and he jumps like he's got springs in his shoes."
"Yeah, like Chamberlain, Shaq, Ewing, the Dream, David Robinson—they're all centers, but they moved like wings. That's why they were a nightmare for anyone not their size," Marv said.
"And those physical tools? That's what makes 'em all-time greats," Matt nodded.
"Zhao Dong's got all that and more. His mismatch game is on another level. And his body's built to last—he's got that injury resistance. Barring anything wild, dude's career is gonna be legendary," Marv added.
"Man, speaking of Zhao, remember that one-sided boxing match with Karl Malone?" Matt laughed.
Marv lost it. "Two dudes go at it, and one ends up with a concussion while the other leaves the ring, hits the bar, then jokes about fighting Mike Tyson. That contrast is comedy gold!"
"Ha!" Both of them were cracking up.
By the 8-minute mark of the first quarter, the score was tied 20-20.
Ewing went 2-for-6, got stuffed by Zhao Dong three times, and had to hit the bench.
Zhao Dong was cooking from the perimeter, pulling Ewing out where he couldn't guard, and dude refused to challenge the drive. Fans were heated, expecting more fight from a vet like Ewing.
Phil Jackson, MJ, and the Bulls bench were calm though—they already knew what time it was.
But GM Jerry Krause was taking notes. He was starting to see the flaws in this Bulls lineup when facing the Knicks.
Sure, Kidd could run the offense, but the real issue was inside. Zhao Dong was wrecking them in the paint by himself.
Last year's East Finals already proved it—double-teaming Zhao Dong was a waste. His passing was elite.
Rodman couldn't hang with him either. Rodman was built for set plays and man defense, not dealing with a tank like Zhao on the move.
What the Bulls needed was an inside enforcer—a big body with rim protection and toughness. Scoring wasn't necessary. Just someone who wouldn't back down and could eat up space.
On the wing, they also needed someone who could slow Zhao Dong down at the three. Fast, strong, clamps on defense, and could shoot to spread the floor.
That kind of player wasn't easy to find—but if they wanted to beat the Knicks, they needed someone like that.
Zhao Dong played the full first quarter, no rest.
He was a whole monster out there. The Golden Tyrant. Going crazy on dunks, finishing 7-of-7, 3-of-4 from the line, with 17 points, 3 boards, 1 dime, 1 steal, 3 blocks, and 1 foul.
MJ matched him—7-of-10, 3-of-3 FTs, 17 points, 1 board, 1 assist, 1 steal, 1 block, 1 foul.
Knicks were double-teaming MJ, but it wasn't playoff-level pressure.
Phil Jackson didn't double Zhao Dong at all. That was his tweak after last season's loss—let Zhao eat, just lock up his teammates.
It was the Jordan Rule flipped on Zhao. And it worked. Even though Zhao went off, his teammates weren't doing much. Only 1 assist from him.
End of the quarter: tied again, 25-25.
Even though MJ was taking hits out there, he was fired up. Bulls defense was locked in, and he felt like they could take the Knicks if they just had a tougher interior.
"Jason Caffey, what was that? I told you to foul Zhao Dong! You gave him two. What, you saving your fouls for next week?" Phil Jackson grilled him.
Caffey just shrugged, helpless. "Coach… dude's too quick, too shifty. I can't even get close enough to foul him."
Phil was frustrated. Same height and weight, but Zhao moved like a whole guard. Wild.
On the Knicks side, Coach Nelson started tweaking the lineup.
He'd been ramping up minutes for backup centers this month.
His goal? Get those young bigs ready before the playoffs, then slide Zhao Dong back to the wing.
But he wasn't feeling Marcus Camby. Camby's rim protection was weak, no post game, body too light—definitely didn't live up to that #2 pick hype.
Between Ben Wallace and Danny Fortson, he leaned toward Fortson.
Fordson was a rebounding machine. His foul trouble was the problem—cost them possessions and his own minutes.
Big Ben? He didn't see him as a center. Played him at the four or even three sometimes, but it wasn't clicking.
Ben didn't fit the small-ball system. That system needed a center who could pass and had floor vision—two things Ben lacked.
But they didn't have many choices. So they had to make it work.
"Ben, you're running the five," Coach said.
"Let's go, Coach!" Ben said, hyped.
Second-quarter squad: Zhao Dong at the three, Big Ben at the five, Fortson at the four, Starks at the two, and Hu Weidong at the point.
Zhao Dong shifted to playmaking forward.
With him as the initiator, they went with Hu over a pure point guard.
They didn't have much height, but the squad was quick and gritty on both ends.
Offense leaned outside-heavy. Inside scoring was weak, but spacing and tempo were fire.
This was Nelson positionless philosophy in action.
Bulls ran a full bench lineup, most of 'em no-names.
Only notable guy was Steve Kerr, and let's be real—he was famous for catching hands from MJ back in '95 practice, not his on-court buckets.
MJ sat out the second. It was still regular season, and he wasn't about to burn out early—man was pushing age already.
The Bulls ran their set, and Kerr bricked a three from the top.
Zhao Dong was already in position, boxing out early. But just as the ball came off the rim, Danny Fortson came charging in and almost ran him over. The rebound got snatched up by Big Ben.
"Yo, boss?"
Fortson looked embarrassed as the board sailed right past him.
Three Knicks fighting for the same rebound? Zhao Dong was speechless. Especially Fortson—if he'd crashed like that against the Bulls instead, it could've been another foul. Might as well just hand them the ball.
The Knicks pushed the tempo right away. Hu Weidong and John Starks were sprinting down the left and right wings. Zhao Dong took it up the middle, with Big Ben and Fortson trailing behind.
Zhao Dong pulled up at the three-point line.
Right on cue, according to the play, Big Ben and Fortson split off to the wings and set pick-and-roll screens for Hu and Starks, who were both cutting hard to the rim.
Zhao Dong slung the ball to Hu Weidong, who had the better angle. Hu caught it in stride, elevated, and banged it home one-handed over the Bulls' help.
"Damn! That was clean!" Zhang Heli shouted. "If Zhao Dong and Hu Weidong can cook like this with the national team, that's gonna be scary."
Over on the NBC broadcast, Marv Albert broke it down: "Only 5.3 seconds from turnover to score. That's classic Nelson-ball—push the tempo, get in quick."
"Zhao Dong draws defenders up top, the rest cut hard inside, and the two bigs set perfect picks. It's layered," Matt Goukas added. "If No. 66 Hu doesn't finish, No. 9 Starks is right there for the putback."
"Not just Starks," Marv replied. "Ben Wallace—No. 65—and Fortson—No. 64—crashed hard too. They're all over the glass. Second-chance points, boards, hustle… that second unit's got juice."
Zhao Dong kept running the offense, dropping dimes left and right during fast breaks. In just half a quarter, he had 5 assists—dropping one every 2.5 touches. That's elite efficiency, and the Bulls' bench was getting smoked.
The Knicks were feasting on the boards. Zhao Dong, Big Ben, and Fortson were all monsters in the paint. Even though Ben and Fortson weren't polished yet, their rebounding instincts were shining against Chicago's backup bigs.
Big Ben was a menace under the rim—way more comfortable than when he was stuck playing the 3 or 4. In just half a quarter, he pulled down three boards on his own.
The Knicks totaled 8 rebounds in that stretch while holding the Bulls to just 2. They were getting way more shots up too.
By the end of the half-quarter run, the score was 42–30. The Knicks had dropped 17 while holding the Bulls to just 5.
On the bench, Jordan wasn't looking too happy. In fact, he looked pissed.
He already took two hard shots earlier, and now his bench was getting torched too. There was no way he was chill about this.
If this same thing happened in the playoffs—if the Bulls got out-boarded and gave up 20 or 30 more shots—they were toast.
They used to dominate thanks to Rodman, but even if Rodman somehow turned into his Pistons-era self again, he couldn't stop these Knicks on the boards.
"My God, no one expected the Knicks to be this deep," Zhang Heli said, fired up. "Just look at the bench—No. 64 and 65 are bullying the Bulls' second unit on the glass."
Sun Zhenping just laughed beside him.
Back on NBC, Matt Goukas had more analysis: "Ben Wallace—undrafted in '96—barely got any burn before. But today? Three rebounds in one quarter. Him and Fortson both are scrappy on D and hit the glass hard. Offense? Not much yet, but defensively? Solid."
"The Knicks are betting on defense," Marv said. "You've got Larry Johnson, Oakley, and now Wallace and Fortson bringing physicality. Defense plus rebounding? Yeah, the Bulls are watching that and sweating."
"Haha…"
Matt chuckled and added, "Chicago threw 50 mil at Jordan and Ewing—there's barely anything left for the bench. If they don't fix that, the only option is to run the starters into the ground."
Halfway through the second quarter, Jordan couldn't take it anymore—he subbed himself back in.
Ewing, who only played six minutes in the first, came back too.
The Knicks didn't switch their rotation. Their unit was clicking.
Jordan and Ewing stabilized things a little, but the Knicks still had the edge in defense and rebounding. And with Zhao Dong quarterbacking the offense, the Bulls couldn't make a dent.
Three minutes later, the score was 47–34. The gap had even widened.
Phil Jackson had no choice—he threw Kidd and the entire starting five back in.
Bulls possession.
With Oakley still resting and Zhao Dong guarding the perimeter, Ewing saw a chance to eat in the low post. He fought hard for position on the left block.
It was all about post work now.
There was a big height gap, so Ewing had the physical edge.
Kidd got him the ball without hesitation.
As soon as Ewing caught it, Big Ben locked in and applied pressure—no space to turn.
Ewing forced the issue, throwing up a sweeping hook.
Clang!
Ben timed it perfectly, jumped, and swatted that thing.
But Ewing got lucky—the ball fell right back into his hands. He tried again, backing Ben down.
Bang!
He elbowed Ben square in the chest, trying to drive him back into the paint.
Ben stood tall, didn't budge an inch. Ewing only managed half a step before running into a wall.
As an elite center, Ewing was low-key embarrassed. Getting stonewalled by an undrafted dude shorter than him? Nah, that didn't sit right.
Frustrated, he lowered his shoulder again and threw another elbow.
Then another.
Ben ate both hits and didn't move. He was straight-up tanking them.
The Knicks didn't double-team. They trusted Ben to hold his ground.
BEEP!
24 seconds. Shot clock violation. Possession Knicks.
"ROAAARRR!"
Big Ben let out a primal scream, hyped after locking Ewing down for a full possession—even after taking a few hits.
He lived for that kind of smoke, and honestly? Ewing didn't even bring enough heat.
"Yo, Ben, that was lockdown!" Zhao Dong slapped him up.
"Heh heh!" Ben chuckled like a gentle giant.
"Tough little center," Marv said. "Maybe two meters tall max—he ain't got height, but he's all grit. Right now, that's all we see—but it's working."
By halftime, Matt Goukas looked a bit surprised. "Wallace used to play the 3 and 4, didn't look great. But as a 5? Totally different dude tonight."
"Five boards and a block in just a quarter," Marv said. "And he's got some rim protection juice too."
Matt nodded. "Yeah, and he moves well, can help on defense, and doesn't back down. Tough as nails. If he keeps this up, he could be a solid rim-protecting role guy in the league."
On the Bulls bench, GM Jerry Krause glanced at Ben Wallace and felt a twinge of excitement.
He'd been eyeing a strong big man for the roster. No. 65 wasn't quite a true center yet, but the potential was there. If a trade could be worked out, Wallace might just be a solid backup big.
The question was—would the Knicks even consider dealing with the Bulls?
At halftime, the scoreboard read 52–41. Chicago was still down by 11.
Even when the Bulls' starters returned to face the Knicks' bench unit, they struggled to close the gap.
"26–19. The Knicks grabbed seven more boards by halftime. No surprise the Bulls are trailing," Zhang Heli said with a chuckle on the broadcast.
"No. 65, Ben Wallace, had four rebounds that quarter. Danny Fortson grabbed three, Zhao Dong added three more. Fourteen rebounds total for New York in one quarter. That's insane!" Sun Zhenping added with a grin.
"Where the hell did the Knicks dig up all these rebounding monsters?" Jordan muttered angrily as he entered the locker room.
Rodman was aging. Even if he weren't, the combination of these guys and Ewing would still make it near impossible to dominate the glass.
And this was without Oakley even playing much. If Oakley were out there, Chicago might not win a single rebound.
Of course, come playoff time, when Ewing's minutes ramp up to 40 per game, the rebounding battle might look different.
"In the second half, we tighten the perimeter defense," Phil Jackson instructed. "Let Zhao Dong shoot. Lock down everyone else. Our priority is to cut down their outside percentage."
Then he turned to Ewing. "Patrick, our goal is the playoffs. Zhao Dong's been going hard tonight. I'm cutting your minutes second half—don't want you getting hurt."
Ewing looked frustrated but nodded.
Meanwhile, in the Knicks locker room...
"Ben, four boards in one quarter, huh? You loving it?" Oakley teased.
"Just getting lucky tonight," Wallace laughed.
Zhao Dong walked over to Van Gundy for his stats. He checked the sheet:
9-of-10 FG, 3-of-4 FT, 21 points, 6 rebounds, 7 assists, 2 steals, 6 blocks, 1 foul.
He'd already laid the groundwork for a potential quadruple-double with his defensive presence and playmaking. Whether he could pull it off would depend on the second half.
The rebound numbers were a little low—Ben and Fortson were vacuuming the glass.
Still, 6 assists in one quarter was solid. The team's pace had picked up and their inside cuts were crisp. And with the Bulls rolling out bench players early in Q2, it had been easy to rack up dimes.
"Coach, I'm heading back to the low post in the second half," Zhao Dong told Don Nelson. "Don't want Ewing thinking I'm scared of him."
Nelson raised his eyebrows. Was Ewing nuts enough to say that? He probably wanted Zhao Dong as far from the post as possible.
But if Zhao Dong insisted, Nelson wasn't going to argue.
In the third quarter, Ewing played just six minutes.
On New York's side, Big Ben stayed on the floor, splitting time with Fortson.
Wallace wasn't as flashy this quarter, but his defense remained solid—he never backed down from contact.
Fortson, on the other hand, had a relapse of his foul-happy tendencies. He racked up quick fouls chasing boards and was eventually subbed out for Oakley.
Zhao Dong stayed in the post but didn't force offense. Instead, he focused on anchoring the defense and facilitating.
Heading into the fourth, the Knicks still led the rebounding battle. Score: 72–65. Bulls down 7.
But offensively, New York cooled off. Zhao Dong deferred his scoring, and the team relied heavily on their dominance on the boards to fend off a surging Chicago.
Jordan turned up the heat, dropping 14 in the third quarter alone. The Bulls also ramped up their perimeter defense, forcing more Knicks turnovers and lowering their shooting percentage. That's what allowed them to chip away at the lead.
Even with Ewing's minutes cut and a rebounding disadvantage, the Bulls clawed back. Their gameplan was working.
Zhao Dong hit double digits in both rebounds and assists this quarter—securing a triple-double. He just needed two more blocks.
So, to hunt those last few swats, he stepped out to the perimeter in Q4, leaving the paint to Wallace and Oakley.
Both of his blocks in Q3 had come against Ewing. Now that Ewing was sitting out, it would be harder to find those chances inside.
Three minutes into the fourth, the Bulls had the ball.
Jordan was on the left wing, guarded by Allan Houston. Suddenly, he cut back in the opposite direction.
Zhao Dong, positioned at the left elbow, read the play instantly.
He knew Kidd's game like the back of his hand. As soon as that window opened, Kidd would make the pass.
Zhao Dong sprang into action, charging toward Jordan.
Sure enough, Houston got left behind, and Jordan found space.
Kidd had two options: Jordan or Caffey. One was the GOAT. The other? A role player.
He chose Jordan.
Jordan caught the ball with his left, looked up—and saw Zhao Dong barreling in, two meters away. He jumped instantly.
Zhao Dong made his read. Jordan would lean back. He had to—otherwise, he was getting stuffed.
So Zhao Dong didn't jump right away. He took another long stride, then launched himself through the air.
Jordan did lean back. It was his signature shot—created separation and minimized the risk of getting blocked.
But just as he went up, he saw Zhao Dong exploding toward him out of the corner of his eye.
Whoosh!
Jordan flicked his wrist, adding extra arc to get over the contest.
Zhao Dong soared, covering ground like a hawk, stretched his right hand to the limit—
BANG!
His palm smacked the underside of the ball, sending it flying upward.
"What?!"
Jordan's eyes widened in disbelief. His fadeaway got blocked?
"Blocked?! Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful! Zhao Dong just swatted Jordan's fadeaway—on help defense!" Zhang Heli shouted in amazement.
"That was pure prediction. Zhao had to have read that fadeaway coming. No way you block that shot without anticipation," Sun Zhenping exclaimed.
"One more block, just one more and Zhao Dong gets a quadruple-double!" Zhang Heli added excitedly.
Alan Houston snagged the loose ball, sprinted down the court, and laid it in.
Back on defense, Zhao Dong turned to Jordan and said coldly, "You should be thanking me."
Jordan scowled. "Thank you for what?"
"Don't worry, I'm not saying thank me for beating your ass," Zhao Dong replied.
Jordan was seething. He looked like he might actually throw hands.
"I'm saying thank me… because my defense just gave your shot a meaning."
"Get lost!" Jordan snarled, on the verge of exploding.
He was livid.
"I'm staring at you, just staring at you. Remember this—don't even try to shoot again. One more block and I'm getting that quadruple-double. That's a stat you'll never see in your whole damn career," Zhao Dong said with a grin.
"Get lost!"
Jordan looked like he was about to snap. His frustration was boiling over.
Zhao Dong laughed. "Haha!"
With six minutes left in the fourth, the score was 82-78. Jordan had already dropped 40+, and the Bulls were only down four. They had the rock. That's when Phil Jackson threw Ewing back in.
Ewing had only played 18 minutes so far and still had fresh legs.
"In the second half, the Bulls turned up the D. That playoff-level intensity is here. But man, the Knicks' shooting is trash right now," Marv Albert said on NBC. "Zhao Dong's been dishing, but nobody's hitting. Hu Weidong's cold as ice too—just 1 for 4 from the field."
"If Zhao Dong stopped looking to pass and just went at 'em, there's no way the Bulls would've clawed back," Matt Goukas chimed in.
"Facts. Knicks are winning the battle on the boards and locking down the paint," Marv added.
On the next Bulls possession, Zhao Dong was camped at the left elbow. The guy he was supposed to be guarding—Caffey—got bullied out of the way, tossed like two meters off.
"Yo, Jason Kidd! Swing that ball to your boy! One more block, baby!" Zhao Dong shouted, pointing straight at Caffey.
Kidd winced. Hell no. He wasn't about to be on the wrong side of a quadruple-double highlight.
Caffey's shot release was slow as hell. Unless he had a wide-open look, there was zero chance Kidd was giving him the ball with Zhao Dong lurking.
"Caffey ain't a sniper, and he sure as hell can't shake Zhao Dong," Bulls GM Jerry Krause muttered in frustration. "Man, we still got work to do on this roster. If we wanna beat the Knicks and stop Zhao Dong, we need the perfect squad."
Suddenly, Ewing made a hard slip to the baseline. Big Ben couldn't recover—lost his man.
Kidd's eyes lit up. The ball flew to the rim for a perfect lob.
Ewing elevated to catch the oop, but Zhao Dong had already rotated down—fast.
BANG!
A crisp smack echoed through the Garden. The crowd erupted.
"YOOOO!" the crowd roared.
"Quadruple-double! It's official!" Marv shouted. "Zhao Dong just posted his first career quadruple-double! What a dominant all-around performance!"
On the NBC broadcast, Matt Goukas exclaimed, "That's the fifth quadruple-double in league history! Only Nate Thurmond, Alvin Robertson, Hakeem Olajuwon, and David Robinson have ever done it. Zhao Dong just joined that elite club!"
That monster block crushed the Bulls' momentum. Zhao Dong, now mission complete, flipped the switch and went full-on attack mode. Jordan and Ewing couldn't stop the bleeding.
Final buzzer: 96–86. Knicks by 10.
Zhao Dong played all 48 minutes. He dropped 30 points on 12-of-16 shooting, hit his only three, and knocked down 5-of-6 free throws. Add in 12 boards, 12 dimes, 10 blocks, 3 steals, and just 3 fouls—absolute stat sheet killer.
Back on the NBC set, Marv summed it up:
"Without Rodman grabbing boards today, Ewing played just 24 minutes and couldn't hold it down defensively. The Bulls' interior was exposed."
"And let's not forget," said Matt, "if the Knicks weren't ice cold in the second half—just 16-for-51, that's 31%—they'd have blown this one wide open. Easy 20-point win if shots had fallen."
"Big reason the Bulls lost?" Marv said. "The Knicks' backup bigs stepped up huge. Ben Wallace and Danny Fortson combined for 16 rebounds in 54 minutes. That's hustle, man."
"But the Knicks' perimeter game was shaky," Matt added. "John Starks was a ghost—2-for-9 in 26 minutes. Houston got clamped up by MJ—3-for-15, just 20%. That's a whole lot of bricks."
"Yeah, wild how they trade Ewing but somehow got stronger inside," Marv said, raising an eyebrow.
"Defensively, yeah. But their offense inside? Meh. Not as good as last season. The real issue is their inconsistent outside shooting," Matt replied. "Credit to the Bulls though—Jordan and Kidd were locking dudes up out there. If Rodman hadn't gone out early, the Bulls might've had this one. Their defensive scheme was on point."
"And notice," Marv added, "the Bulls didn't double Zhao Dong. They just clamped everyone else. That's why the Knicks kept missing open looks."
"Exactly. Outside shooters couldn't get clean looks and had to force shots. If the Bulls ran this scheme back in the Eastern Conference Finals last year, who knows? But if the Knicks don't fix their shooting woes and the Bulls fix the inside and rebounding issues, the rematch could flip next time."
Post-game, Zhao Dong stepped into the spotlight for the interview.
"Zhao Dong, quadruple-double tonight against MJ and the Bulls! How's that feel?" team reporter Thomas asked, hyped.
Zhao Dong smirked, "Man, nothing beats putting up numbers like that on Jordan and still taking the dub. Feels unreal."
"Michael's gonna get a quadruple-double on you next time," a local reporter barked.
Zhao Dong scoffed. "If he didn't do it at his peak, he ain't doing it now. Quadruple-doubles? That's my thing."
"You just bullied him out there. If he was healthy, he'd cook you," the reporter snapped back.
Zhao Dong stared him down. "If he tries that again, I'll lay him out—simple as that."
"You thug!" the reporter muttered.
Zhao Dong didn't flinch. He dipped and headed straight for the locker room.
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