The timeout ended. The Lakers broke the huddle and got back on the floor with quiet urgency.
They needed a bucket—badly.
O'Neal once again lumbered into the paint, parking himself just outside the restricted area on the left block. But this time, the Knicks didn't push back. They let him enter the paint without resistance.
Instead, Zhao Dong and Fordson executed the same off-ball double-team strategy, leaving Big Ben Wallace wide open under the rim.
But Phil Jackson had adjusted.
O'Neal's new spot—slightly higher on the left post—meant Ben Wallace had clean space under the basket. It was bait. And Fordson was tempted to bite.
Fordson started to rotate to Ben, but Zhao Dong barked from behind him.
"Leave him!"
Fordson nodded and stayed locked in front of Shaq.
On the wing, Ron Harper took command of the triangle. Jackson had made it clear—they needed to force-feed Shaq. Superstar pressure, even if it meant forcing the pass.
Harper lofted a high lob toward the rim.
Fordson leapt first, contesting the angle. O'Neal tried to jump too, but Zhao Dong subtly shifted under him, breaking his timing.
The ball was too high for Fordson to snag, but he managed to get a fingertip on it—just enough to deflect it upward.
Zhao Dong timed it perfectly.
He stepped in, sprang off the floor, and snatched the loose ball in mid-air like a hawk stealing prey.
The moment he landed, the Knicks were off to the races.
The three guards sprinted down the floor.
Zhao Dong turned, saw Sprewell already streaking down the left lane past Glen Rice, and fired a bullet outlet.
Sprewell caught it in stride and laid it in—textbook fast break execution.
---
Phil Jackson stood at the sideline, arms crossed, stone-faced.
He didn't sit.
He couldn't.
The situation was already spiraling.
Next Lakers possession, the ball went to Kobe Bryant on the right wing. Kobe took the screen, forced a switch, and tried to draw help. He kicked it inside—but Zhao Dong and Fordson were still blanketing Shaq off the ball.
Kobe saw the paint closed off.
So he pivoted, pulled up, and drained a silky mid-range jumper over the contest.
10–4.
---
The Knicks slowed it down this time, setting up in the halfcourt.
No more fast breaks. Now it was surgical offense.
The three perimeter players pinged the ball around the arc—pass, pass, swing—pulling the Lakers' defense from side to side.
Fordson drifted to the right wing. O'Neal sagged inside, patrolling the middle. Meanwhile, Zhao Dong floated to the left wing, and Ben Wallace stuck with him.
Big Ben stayed physical, chesting up, jabbing with his hands.
Then suddenly, Zhao Dong cut outside, flipping into a hard off-ball screen for Ginobili, who was handling the ball up top.
Ginobili took the screen and turned the corner—Ben Wallace got stuck and couldn't recover.
Zhao Dong slipped and followed Ginobili into the paint. It became a two-man weave.
Ginobili drove hard, curling into the lane. Shaq rotated to challenge, muscles tensed, arms out.
But Ginobili twisted in mid-air like a corkscrew, as if going for an awkward left-handed layup.
O'Neal took the bait.
He fully committed to the shot.
But at the last second, Ginobili's wrists flicked—not a shot, but a no-look bounce pass behind him.
Zhao Dong exploded into the lane.
"It's over…" Doug Collins muttered in the NBC booth.
Shaq turned—but too slow.
Zhao Dong caught the ball in stride, gathered with one powerful step, and took flight.
His right hand cocked the ball back.
"BANG!"
The slam rocked the rim again.
O'Neal got caught under the thunder and was knocked back, staggering two full steps before stumbling to the floor.
The Staples Center exploded in gasps.
Ref whistles were drowned out by pure chaos.
---
Bill Walton in the NBC booth was howling.
"Another one! Rookie Ginobili and Zhao Dong just pulled off a picture-perfect alley-oop—fooled the entire defense! They just embarrassed the Big Fella again! Oh, this is turning personal!"
Matt Goukas laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat.
"Shaq looked like he was ready for the block, but he got juked by an Argentinian rookie and caught a second dunk in the face! Absolute humiliation! The Knicks came for blood!"
Bill chuckled again.
"Shaq's gonna say it doesn't count. 'Not a head-on dunk. Zhao Dong cheated.' Just watch."
Matt laughed even harder.
"Oh, then I guess we're waiting for the third one. Will Zhao Dong dunk over him straight-up again? Let's see…"
---
O'Neal lay on the hardwood, vision blurry, ears ringing.
Why…? Why me? What did I do wrong? I only helped Kobe pick up that model yesterday… Was that it, God? Are you punishing me?
He blinked and saw a figure leaning over him—a face he hated more than anyone right now.
Zhao Dong.
"Shark… are your eyes… sweating?" Zhao Dong asked innocently, spotting two glints at the corners of Shaq's eyes.
"Roll!"
Shaq roared, his voice full of rage and frustration. He wiped his face with his massive hand, turned, and forced himself back up.
He puffed his chest and shouted in Zhao Dong's face.
"You pissed me off! I swear—you really pissed me off this time!"
Zhao Dong raised an eyebrow.
"You gonna drop 50 on me now?"
Shaq paused for half a second, face twitching.
"…I will! Sooner or later, I'll hang 50 on your head!"
Zhao Dong smirked.
"Then I'll just score 50 on you first."
He turned and calmly walked to the free-throw line.
O'Neal was whistled for the foul. Zhao Dong stepped up and knocked down the free throw.
13–4. Knicks.
Next possession, Shaq decided to change it up.
This time, instead of crashing the paint, he posted up on the left low block, just outside the lane.
No off-ball double-team came.
Fordson stayed put.
Ron Harper saw the window and zipped the entry pass down to the big man.
As soon as Shaquille O'Neal caught the entry pass on the left block, Fordson immediately slid over from the weak side, doubling hard.
Big Ben Wallace was once again left wide open under the basket—but the Knicks didn't care.
"Finally! I caught it!" Shaq grunted, eyes wide with fire.
He had Zhao Dong buried under his left shoulder and cradled the ball in his right hand. He dribbled once, preparing to bulldoze his way inside—his plan was simple: one power dribble, shark spin, and finish with a backboard-breaking slam.
But he didn't make it that far.
Before he could even gather for a second dribble, Fordson's long arms crashed in, and two palms smothered the ball.
"Bang!"
The ball popped loose—Zhao Dong recovered it instantly.
Another turnover.
"AHHH!" Shaq bellowed, rage pulsing through every vein.
Zhao Dong flipped the ball up the court. Stackhouse sprinted into transition, but with Kobe and Ron Harper closing in, he made the smart play—kicked the ball left at the last second.
Sprewell, wide open on the left wing, stepped into rhythm and let it fly.
"Splash!"
Nothing but net.
16–4.
Another Laker timeout.
Back on NBC, Marv Albert set the tone.
"And just five minutes into the first quarter, Phil Jackson's calling his second timeout. The Knicks are playing surgical basketball right now!"
Zhang Heli, calling the game on CCTV, was just as animated.
"Coach Nelson is exposing the Lakers' soft spot—leaving Ben Wallace open and smothering O'Neal with off-ball doubles. With two elite defenders in Fordson and Zhao Dong, they've completely dismantled the triangle offense."
Su Qun added thoughtfully:
"Coach Zhang, is it because of Wallace's lack of range? What happens if the Lakers pull Ben and put in a shooter?"
Zhang nodded with a knowing smile.
"That's where it gets tricky. The Lakers do have a stretch forward—Robert Horry. He's shooting only 31% from deep this year, but he's a clutch shooter. Even if he only makes 0.4 threes a game, you can't ignore him. That could force Nelson to rethink the doubles."
---
Sure enough, Phil Jackson made the move.
Big Ben out. Horry in.
At 29 years old, Horry was averaging just under six points per game this season, coming off the bench. His stats were down, but his reputation as a clutch player gave him instant respect on the floor.
As soon as he checked in, he sprinted straight to the left corner, spacing the floor as Jackson designed.
Fordson followed.
With the floor spaced, Shaq seized the moment. He muscled his way into the low paint. Zhao Dong tried to hold his ground but was bulldozed backward.
Shaq used knees, elbows, and all 300 pounds to carve out real estate under the basket.
Harper floated the lob.
Shaq caught it with one hand, Zhao Dong still clinging to his back, and powered up.
BOOM!
A one-handed slam that shook the basket and ignited the crowd.
"YEAHHHH!"
The roar from Lakers fans felt like a title celebration. They needed that.
O'Neal turned to Zhao Dong and barked:
"You see that?! Try stopping me now!"
Zhao Dong just raised two fingers.
> "16–6. And 7–2."
He didn't have to say more—the score between the teams, and between them.
Shaq snarled.
"You wait…"
---
The Knicks brought the ball back up.
Zhao Dong parked himself near the 30-degree angle on the left wing, just above the free-throw line, while the other three guards spaced out along the arc.
Fordson stayed low, battling Shaq under the rim.
Horry took position in front of Zhao Dong, glancing nervously between him and Ginobili, who was controlling the top.
In the NBC booth, Doug Collins offered a warning:
"Shaq's gotta be careful here. Zhao Dong's looking to strike."
Shaq heard the noise from the bench and turned, locking eyes on Zhao Dong.
He wasn't about to get humiliated again.
That's when Zhao Dong made his move.
As Horry peeked toward Ginobili again, Zhao Dong slapped away his right arm and cut hard to the paint.
Ginobili fired a pass.
Zhao Dong caught it in full stride.
All five Lakers locked eyes on him.
"Screech!"
He braked hard on the left side of the paint, forcing Shaq to step up.
The moment Shaq did, Zhao Dong pushed forward with a soft right-hand shove—not a shot, but a pass off the backboard.
Fordson, left wide open, caught it mid-air and hammered it home with both hands.
BOOM!
The Knicks bench exploded in celebration.
---
Bill Walton chuckled on NBC.
"You can't stop Zhao Dong once he gets into the paint. Horry's not staying in front of him, and if Shaq steps up, that rim is wide open. That's the chessboard, and Nelson's already six moves ahead."
"Even if Zhao Dong doesn't take the shot himself," Matt Goukas analyzed live on NBC, "did you catch that? Sprewell—the Madman—was already cutting in on the weak side. If Zhao Dong just flicked it behind his back, Sprewell would've dunked right over O'Neal. Another poster."
Bill Walton chuckled.
"It's a mismatch nightmare. Horry might be a power forward, but he's only about 100 kilos. He's got neither the mass, the burst, nor the strength to handle Zhao Dong's first step. Once Horry gets beat, it's a disaster in the paint—O'Neal ends up getting swarmed."
Matt added, shaking his head slightly:
"Phil Jackson probably doesn't have a better option right now. Horry at least gives them spacing on offense and delays the double on O'Neal. But defensively? It's a gamble every trip down."
Bill raised an eyebrow.
"And the Knicks are running a three-guard lineup. You don't even see the guards helping low—they're not part of the double-team at all. It's just Zhao Dong and Fordson locking Shaq down. The Lakers are trying to solve a puzzle they don't have the pieces for."
---
The Lakers brought it up.
As expected, Horry drifted to the left corner to create space again. That spacing gave O'Neal a clean post-up opportunity—Zhao Dong was left on an island.
Harper dumped it into Shaq.
But this time, the Knicks collapsed instantly—three guards swarmed from the perimeter, forming a sudden four-on-one trap.
"Smack!"
As soon as Shaq secured the ball, Stackhouse came flying in and slapped it loose. The ball bounced once—Ginobili swooped in and stole it cleanly.
"The ball's gone! The Knicks just dropped the 'Zhao Dong Rule' on O'Neal—four-on-one at the block!" shouted Su Qun from CCTV. "Shaq never saw it coming!"
---
Zhao Dong didn't wait.
Instead of pulling out to the wing like before, he ran straight to the left low block, planting himself deep near the restricted area.
This was power territory. Too close for Horry. Too dangerous.
O'Neal had to rotate over.
Phil Jackson saw it coming. His defensive instructions kicked in—Horry would help from the weak side, and Shaq would seal off Zhao Dong's passing angle.
But as soon as Shaq got there, he started barking.
"Come on, little man! Let's see what you got!"
"Bang!"
Zhao Dong answered with a nasty elbow to the ribs. Shaq winced and clamped his mouth shut.
Taking advantage of the window, Zhao Dong took a hard step back and flashed his hand. The ball came in fast.
He caught it cleanly, and the moment it touched his hands, he turned and drove.
He squatted low, dribbling with his shoulders barely reaching O'Neal's waistline. Shaq reached to contest—but his hand missed. Zhao Dong was too fast. Too low.
Horry, rotating on the help side, stepped in. But Zhao Dong jumped before him, flipping the ball over Horry's outstretched arms.
The ball bounced off the glass.
Fordson, on the opposite side, soared up, grabbed the ball, and slammed it home with two hands.
"20–6! Knicks up by 14 on the road, and we're still in the eighth minute of the first quarter!" said Zhang Heli with a huge smile.
Su Qun was nearly out of breath.
"This is tactical perfection! Every possession, every rotation, the Knicks are executing like a machine. It's too precise—too good!"
Zhang added thoughtfully:
"We need to watch out now. Kobe's going to take the game into his own hands. Actually—he has to. He's got the status now to do it."
"Last season, Fisher had the ball most of the time. But this season, with Ron Harper in the mix, Kobe's usage dropped. Now that Harper's been ineffective organizing this offense? This is the moment. Kobe's going to take over."
---
And sure enough, the next trip down…
As soon as Kobe Bryant crossed halfcourt, he started calling for the ball.
"Hey! Ron! Ball. Now."
He stood at the top of the three-point arc, waving Harper off.
The tension was real.
Kobe had been on an obsessive grind for three straight offseasons—training harder than anyone in the league to catch up to the standard Zhao Dong set.
But now, that pressure had warped into something more.
He wanted everyone to rise with him. Teammates, coaches—everyone. And when they couldn't?
They grew apart.
In his previous life, not a single teammate showed up at his wedding. Not even his agent. Not even Phil Jackson. Now? It was even worse. He barely talked to anyone in the locker room.
Harper, a veteran who just joined the Lakers, didn't like being talked down to. He heard Kobe, but didn't respond.
He passed the ball to Glen Rice instead.
Rice took a jab step, faked a drive, then pulled up for a three over Ginobili.
Swish.
Score: 20–9.
---
The Knicks came back down. Zhao Dong drew the double, kicked it out to Sprewell, but he missed the jumper. First missed shot of the game.
O'Neal grabbed the board, and the Lakers ran.
Again, Kobe sprinted to his spot and called for the ball.
Again, Harper ignored him.
Instead, the ball went straight to Shaq.
Horry pulled to the left corner again, giving Shaq the space to go at Zhao Dong one-on-one.
As the entry pass came in, the Knicks collapsed again.
A full four-on-one trap beneath the rim.
Shaquille O'Neal caught the ball in the paint and powered up, eyes set on the rim, ready to tear it down with a vengeance.
But Zhao Dong was already in the air.
Smack!
Zhao Dong's right palm met the ball at the apex, slamming it against the rim. The entire basket shook violently.
The ball popped up—hovering momentarily above Shaq's head—then dropped straight back down into his hands.
Shaq roared, bent his knees, and powered up for a second dunk attempt.
But the Knicks' trap closed in.
Four defenders. One giant.
"ROAAARR!!"
The rage Shaq had buried all game erupted like a volcano.
He exploded upward.
Sprewell and Ginobili were flattened like crash dummies. The guards were sent flying by the sheer force of Shaq's brute strength.
The Diesel rose like a monster, gripping the ball with both hands. His eyes bulged. Sweat flew.
This wasn't just a dunk.
This was war.
He wanted to shatter the basket.
He wanted to posterize Zhao Dong.
He wanted to take back everything—his pride, his image, his authority.
He wound up mid-air, ready to obliterate everything.
But just as he reached peak elevation—
a figure rose from the shadows below.
Zhao Dong.
"GET OUT!"
He didn't scream it out loud—but he screamed it in his mind.
He extended his right arm and planted his palm directly on the basketball.
Shaq's momentum met Zhao Dong's raw, coiled core strength.
Their bodies clashed in mid-air.
Zhao Dong's waist and abs flexed like a spring-loaded trap. Every ounce of his freakish strength surged.
BOOM.
Shaq's dunk was stopped—cold.
---
"OH!!"
The Staples Center exploded. The crowd gasped in unison. Some covered their mouths. Others just stood frozen.
"YEAH!"
The Knicks bench erupted. Players leapt to their feet, fists pumping in the air. Towels flying. Screams echoing.
Shaq's massive body crashed down. He landed awkwardly, stumbled back three steps, barely staying upright.
Then—
WHISTLE.
The referee blew the call.
Traveling.
---
Shaq stood frozen.
He looked at Zhao Dong, stunned—his jaw slightly open.
How?
How could anyone stop a two-handed power dunk with one hand?
He looked down at his hands. Looked up at the rim. Then back at Zhao Dong.
"How…?" he mouthed silently.
Zhao Dong just stared him down and muttered:
"You had four guys on you. And you still tried to dunk on me? You're crazy."
Shaq blinked. He didn't respond.
The call stood. Turnover.
---
It was a demoralizing moment.
Their anchor—O'Neal—had just been stuffed. Twice. On the same possession. The last one? Humiliating.
The Lakers' body language collapsed.
Everyone except Kobe looked like they'd lost the will to play.
Shaq? He stopped calling for the ball. Barely moved on offense. He even stopped fighting for position.
He told himself:
"It's fine. It's just a regular season game. They're from the East. Doesn't matter."
As for the block? The dunk block?
He'd try to get that back—some other day.
---
The Knicks rolled to a convincing victory.
Final score: 105–84.
A 21-point blowout. In the Staples Center.