On February 2nd, the New York Jets arrived in Houston.
The next morning, February 3rd, the team stepped into Reliant Stadium to get a feel for the field.
Built in 2002, Reliant was home to the Houston Texans of the AFC South. With its 75,000 seats and cutting-edge design, it stood as one of the NFL's most high-tech stadiums. It was the first in the country with a retractable roof, which could close in ten minutes during rain or freezing temperatures.
The Jets hadn't been here before—last facing Houston back in 2001—so the players took their time studying every inch of the place.
As the Jets left, the Carolina Panthers arrived for their own walkthrough. The two teams crossed paths in the underground parking lot.
It was tense. The eyes of hundreds of players and dozens of coaches locked for a brief moment. Sparks seemed to fly in the air. But with the Super Bowl just a day away, neither side wanted to risk trouble. Both teams passed silently, their restraint hiding the storm brewing inside.
Still, once separated, the Panthers' players muttered in frustration.
"Look at him—walking around with dozens of bodyguards like a king. And the league lets him get away with it. That Chinese guy is way too arrogant."
"Yeah, but he's dangerous. He can line up at wide receiver, linebacker, running back—anywhere. How the hell do we stop that?"
Their tone was bitter, but underneath was caution.
---
Super Sunday
February 4th. The United States came to a standstill.
It was Super Bowl Sunday—the nation's unofficial holiday. Supermarkets overflowed, restaurants were jammed, and by evening, hundreds of millions of Americans were glued to their TVs with beer and wings, waiting for kickoff.
In Houston, a freak cold wave had swept through. Heavy snow fell before dawn, temperatures plunging to -3°C (26°F) by evening. Reliant's massive glass roof was shut tight, keeping the snow outside and the noise inside.
More than 70,000 fans packed the stadium. Their collective roar never ceased, a buzzing storm of chants, cheers, and popcorn crunches.
This year's Super Bowl drew Hollywood royalty and icons from across the sports world. NBA legends filled the stands—Michael Jordan, Yao Ming, Tim Duncan, Stephon Marbury, Charles Barkley, Hakeem "The Dream" Olajuwon, Kobe Bryant, Shaquille O'Neal, and dozens more.
When the NBA stars arrived, they grouped together—and made one decision.
"Let's go wish Zhao Dong luck," Jordan said, adjusting his coat as they made their way toward the Jets' locker room.
But his tone wasn't all praise. With a hint of envy, he muttered to Olajuwon, "Can you believe this guy actually made it big in the NFL too?"
Olajuwon smirked. "Michael, if you'd stuck with baseball, maybe you could've pulled it off too."
Jordan snorted. "Baseball? Please. I should've gone NFL. With my vertical and speed, I could've been an elite wide receiver. No doubt."
Barkley, walking behind, couldn't resist. "At 30 years old? Come on, Mike. The NFL chews guys up in their twenties. You'd have lasted two games. Stick to basketball—at least you got your rings."
The jab stung. Jordan's face tightened. If not for his early retirement, he might've had six straight championships. But now? Zhao Dong had seven straight titles in the NBA, leaving him in the dust.
"What about 30 years old? I was still in peak shape," Jordan shot back. "If I hadn't retired, Robinson would've retired ringless."
Olajuwon snapped, "Don't drag me into this. Even if you stayed, we'd still have beaten you."
"Impossible." Jordan's voice was sharp.
"Cut it out already." Magic Johnson raised a hand. "You're about to see Zhao Dong in the Super Bowl. If he hears you two bickering like kids, he'll laugh himself sick."
"Shit!"
Jordan cursed under his breath as he stood outside the Jets' locker room.
The corridor was crowded—Jets coaches, stadium security, and Zhao Dong's twenty-four bodyguards lined the hall. Team owner Robert Wood Johnson and GM Philip were also present. When they saw a group of NBA stars approaching, they greeted them warmly.
Jordan explained why they had come, and Philip nodded. "I'll check inside first. Give me a moment."
Three seconds later, the locker room door cracked open. Zhao Dong appeared, a grin on his face.
"Well, well. Look who it is—the defeated men. Here to watch me win the Super Bowl?"
"This bastard…" Jordan tossed his cigar down and growled, "Let's all rush him and beat him up right now."
Barkley chuckled, pointed at the fifty burly Jets players behind Zhao Dong and then at the twenty bodyguards in the corridor. "You go first, Mike. I'll support you… spiritually."
Jordan paused, then suddenly laughed. He stepped forward and hugged Zhao Dong, whispering in his ear: "Zhao Dong, I've finally paid off my debt to Nike—and the money I owed you too. So it's time you return those Mavericks shares to me, right?"
Years ago, Jordan had bought the Mavericks partly with money borrowed from Nike, secured by his lifetime endorsement contract, and partly from Zhao Dong, using 30% of the Mavericks' shares as collateral. Only now had he cleared the debt.
Zhao Dong smirked. "Are you sure you want me to hand those shares back?"
Jordan froze. In that instant, it hit him: pressing Zhao Dong to return the shares was the wrong move. The smarter play was to sell the shares to Zhao Dong, to keep himself tied to him financially.
"Think it over," Zhao Dong said lightly. "Give me an answer in two days." Then he turned to greet the others.
"Yao, you're having a strong season."
"Trying my best," Yao Ming grinned. "The Lakers are still tough."
The NBA schedule was already halfway done, and the Nets held the league's best record, even stronger than the Lakers. Championship hopes were real.
Zhao Dong glanced at Kobe and Shaq standing behind. Their feud had only grown over the years, even without a title to show for it. The media aired their conflict almost weekly.
"Kobe, Shaq—tell me. If you don't work together, how do you expect to beat Yao and Tim?" Zhao Dong teased.
Kobe just snorted coldly. Shaq frowned, muttering, "I'm not done yet."
Zhao Dong chuckled, then turned to Yao, Duncan, and Marbury. "You guys have the best shot this year. But Yao's rookie contract is over. The next one will be a max deal. The Nets can't afford three max contracts. One of you will leave."
Everyone fell quiet. They knew he was right. Yao's new deal would cost over twenty million. Duncan and Marbury were on smaller max deals, around ten million. The Nets could only realistically keep two of them.
Still, for now, they had a title run in front of them.
---
That evening, ABC's nationwide Super Bowl broadcast began, with Luka Michael and Lance Victor in the booth.
"The Panthers have four stars, the Jets have three," Luka said. "And Carolina's 15–1 record speaks for itself. I don't blame the national media for leaning Panthers."
Victor chuckled. "Maybe. But these two teams haven't faced each other in years. The Jets are basically a new roster with Zhao Dong, and the Panthers reshaped their lineup too. Regular season records don't tell the whole story. In my eyes, it's a toss-up. 50-50."
---
At 8:15 PM, both teams emerged.
Fireworks roared down the players' tunnel, rock music blasted, and Hollywood stars lined the sidelines. Seventy thousand fans shook the stadium with deafening cheers as the Jets and Panthers stormed out of the tunnel.
At 8:25, the coin toss went to the Panthers—they chose to receive.
At 8:30 PM sharp, the special teams lined up.
The Super Bowl had officially begun.
(End of this chapter)
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