NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

May 29th. Game 2 of the Eastern Conference Finals.

At noon sharp, the New York Knicks skipped their usual training base and headed straight to Madison Square Garden. The training facility was too far out and would waste nearly three hours in round-trip travel. Every minute counted.

Before hitting the court, they gathered in the locker room for a tactical meeting.

The coaching staff, led by Old Nelson, had already made the call—tonight's focus would be a low-post attack. Just as Zhao Dong had expected, only one between Big Ben and Danny Fortson would be starting. The final spot would go to either Barkley, David, or Kevin Willis. That decision was still hanging.

"For the starting unit, we're sticking with the low post," Old Nelson began. "Zhao Dong gets touches inside. If they double him, he kicks it out. The perimeter guys need to move, set solid screens, create space, and knock down shots."

"For the bench rotation," he continued, "Zhao Dong will act as the primary ball-handler. He'll attract the defense at the perimeter and look to slash. The bigs on the floor have to space out and give our cutters room to operate. Stay outside and wait for the skip pass."

Once the game plan was locked in, the Knicks got to work. From drills to scrimmages, everything was focused on tonight's adjustments. They didn't stop until 5 p.m.

By then, a sea of fans was already gathering outside Madison Square Garden. When the gates opened at 7 p.m., the crowd poured in. By 7:30, it was standing room only.

Inside the locker room, Old Nelson walked in with the final starting five.

"Zhao Dong, Billups, Latrell, Fortson…" He paused after naming the fourth.

Big Ben sat still. Disappointment flickered across his face. He glanced down at his massive hands—once a force on defense, now lacking any real offensive touch.

Fortson, on the other hand, grinned wide. He gave Ben a playful smirk, only to get a death glare in return.

Old Nelson looked over at Barkley, who nodded with a smile. But the coach suddenly said, "The last spot… Wang."

"Ha!" Barkley laughed dryly. "Man, why you look at me like that if I'm not starting?"

Wang Zhizhi was stunned. He never imagined he'd be starting in the Eastern Conference Finals.

Zhao Dong looked up, surprised too.

Old Nelson explained, "Wang gives us spacing. He can stretch the floor and pull Rasheed Wallace out of the paint. We need that to free up Zhao Dong and open lanes for cuts."

Five minutes later, the official starting lineups were announced.

Bulls: Oakley, Rasheed Wallace, McGrady, Jordan, Kidd.

Knicks: Wang Zhizhi, Fortson, Zhao Dong, Sprewell, Billups.

On NBC, commentator Matt Goukas raised an eyebrow. "Whoa, the Knicks benched Ben Wallace and started the Chinese big man, Wang Zhizhi. What's Nelson thinking?"

Marv Albert chuckled. "Maybe trying to trade Ben? Or just throw off Chicago's scouting report."

They both laughed.

Meanwhile, over on CCTV, Zhang Heli and Sun Zhenping were excited.

Zhang Heli smiled. "Wang's starting in the Eastern Conference Finals. Let's hope he makes it count."

Sun Zhenping nodded. "Offensively, this boosts their spacing and cutting lanes. Defensively, though, they lose some muscle."

Zhang added, "If Wang pulls Rasheed out, that opens up the post for Zhao Dong. If Chicago sends help, it'll have to be Jordan or McGrady. In a 2-1-2 zone, that gives McGrady the most coverage responsibility."

"And if the Knicks cut weak-side, the Bulls' help defense gets stretched thin," said Sun.

"Exactly. Zhao Dong just needs a clean pass to punish them," Zhang said.

Back in the Bulls' locker room, head coach Phil Jackson reviewed the Knicks' lineup.

"Fortson doesn't shoot much, but he's a beast on the boards. Pulling Ben Wallace out gives them stronger rebounding."

He continued, "Wang's there to stretch the floor and drag Rasheed away. That's gonna leave the rim unprotected. Whether Zhao Dong posts up or the wings cut inside, it's trouble."

Phil made adjustments on the fly, prepping his squad for multiple contingencies.

At 8:10 p.m., the teams came out for introductions.

"Yo, Zhao Dong!" a voice called.

Zhao turned and smiled. It was Hakeem Olajuwon, sitting courtside.

"Sup, Dream!"

Nearby, Barkley patted Dream on the shoulder. "Old man, I'm signed here three years. I'm building a dynasty in New York, then riding into the sunset."

Dream laughed. "More like lying in a hospital bed watching the dynasty happen without you."

"C'mon, I'm in the best shape of my life."

"That's 'cause you barely played all season. If you were still in Houston, you'd be lucky to suit up for 20 games."

"Man, say something nice for once. I'm about to get a ring!"

"I hope you do… as a core member."

"…Tch." Barkley muttered. A core member? Man, I'm lucky to even be on the floor.

Tip-off: 8:30 p.m.

Fortson jumped center against Oakley. Knicks gained possession.

Fordson took his spot down low, but quickly rotated to the right corner, pulling Rasheed Wallace with him.

Jordan and Kidd patrolled the perimeter, while McGrady hovered around the free-throw line. The Bulls had locked into a classic 2-1-2 zone.

Then it happened.

On the left wing, Zhao Dong—playing off-ball—suddenly cut hard toward the top of the key.

The Bulls scrambled. The zone compressed fast. Rasheed rushed back toward the paint.

A wide-open gap formed near the left elbow.

Billups snapped the pass to Zhao Dong on the wing. With Rasheed Wallace trailing two steps behind and Kidd trying to scramble back, Zhao rose up—textbook form—and let it fly from deep.

Splash!

The net barely moved as the ball swished through.

"YEAH!" The Garden erupted, the crowd buzzing from the early triple.

Matt Goukas called it: "Zhao Dong knocks it down clean! That's how you start a game!"

Marv nodded. "The Knicks ran that offensive set beautifully. They pulled the defense out, Zhao slashed through the middle to collapse the paint, and then kicked it to an open shooter outside. Classic spacing. The Bulls have to make a decision—do they stay in to stop Zhao Dong's drive or close out hard on shooters like Dazhi? Right now, they're getting burned both ways."

The Bulls brought the ball up, crossing halfcourt. They stayed in a stretch setup—2-1-2 zone still in play on the Knicks' end, with Zhao Dong patrolling the middle.

With Big Ben sidelined, Zhao's load tonight was heavy. He had to plug every hole—contest drives, protect the rim, and rotate on shooters. No breaks.

Rasheed spotted up beyond the right arc. Oakley hung around the perimeter too—he wasn't a low-post threat. With both bigs pulled out, the paint was wide open... except for one man.

Zhao Dong.

Then MJ made his move—he cut hard from the right wing, slicing into the lane.

"Same play again!" Zhang Heli shouted from the broadcast booth.

But this time, the Knicks read it different.

Per Coach Nelson and Van Gundy's scheme, New York didn't collapse. They trusted Zhao Dong to handle the cut solo, keeping the perimeter tight.

Kidd didn't see daylight on the wings, so he fired a quick bounce pass straight into the paint—too fast, too ambitious.

Zhao read it like a book.

Before Kidd even released it, Zhao was moving. One step forward, arms extended like a hawk, and—

Swipe!

He picked it clean.

"Damn it!" MJ cursed, reaching back as Zhao spun away from him.

Zhao held the rock high with his left, dodging Jordan's swipe, and fired it downcourt to Billups.

The Knicks were off.

Billups charged up the left side, with Kidd trying to slow him down. Zhao Dong streaked down the middle, a freight train with no brakes.

Oakley and Rasheed tried to rotate over, but they were too late. Jordan was the last line.

Billups lobbed it toward the rim.

Zhao took flight, MJ hanging on his back like a backpack. Zhao snatched the ball with one hand and BOOM—posterized the Bulls.

"MONSTER JAM!" Marv Albert shouted. "Zhao Dong detonates at the rim!"

Matt broke it down. "Look at that contrast—same cutting tactic, but the Knicks countered differently. No collapse, just Zhao guarding the paint solo. That positioning? Brilliant. He wasn't guarding Jordan—he was guarding the pass. That's high-IQ defense."

Marv grinned. "I'll say this—this Knicks staff is elite. Don Nelson handles offense, Van Gundy and Thibodeau bring that Riley grit on D. It's a perfect blend."

Matt laughed. "Meanwhile, Phil Jackson's got to be sweating—he doesn't have a squad of assistants like that."

The Bulls tried again. Jordan cut, but this time Kidd fired early. MJ caught, pump-faked, then pulled up—swish. Clean mid-range jumper.

Back the other way, the Knicks went right back to Zhao Dong.

He slashed again. Bulls collapsed. Same choice—stop Zhao, or gamble on the shooter?

Billups hit Zhao with a bounce pass. Defense collapsed.

Zhao kicked it to Dazhi in the right corner. No hesitation.

Swish!

Zhang Heli shouted, "Dazhi again! That's two from deep, wide open looks! He's cookin'!"

Phil Jackson squinted, arms crossed. He didn't adjust. His focus remained on stopping Zhao Dong's drives. Let the role players shoot. That was his gamble.

"Rasheed! Don't leave him that wide open!" Jackson barked.

They tried to rotate—tried.

Two minutes later, Zhao Dong found Dazhi again.

Wide open. Top of the arc.

Splash.

Three triples. No rim.

Zhang Heli almost lost his voice. "Dazhi hit three straight! He's killin' the Bulls out there!"

Phil Jackson stared at the scoreboard with a faint frown—13-8, Knicks lead. Only four minutes into the game, and the Bulls were already trailing by five.

It wasn't a big gap, and the plays weren't broken. Jackson stayed cool, sticking to his game plan. No timeouts. No panic. The Zen Master wasn't the type to burn a timeout off one early run.

Jordan glanced at the sideline, but seeing no reaction from Coach, he kept rolling with the original set.

For a minute or two, it looked like a good call. Zhao Dong kept feeding the hot hand—Zhizhi. But after Rasheed Wallace hustled back into the paint and tightened up the defense, Zhizhi's open looks dried up. He bricked back-to-back corner threes.

13-12. Bulls only down one.

"Man, that's gutsy," Matt Goukas said on commentary. "You really gonna leave a guy open after he just hit three in a row?"

Marv Albert chimed in, "And it's a shame—those were clean looks. But Sheed, the way he rotates? Lightning fast."

On the sideline, Don Nelson wasn't calling timeout either. Just gave Zhao Dong a quick yell and threw out a hand signal.

Zhao Dong caught it and nodded.

Back on offense, Chauncey Billups brought it up court, slowing things just a bit as Zhao Dong and Zhizhi crossed half court.

"Zhizhi, post up this time," Zhao Dong said as they jogged in. "Start wide, pull your man, then cut weakside hard. Use your size to finish—or draw help and I'll hit you on the slip."

"I got it, Bro Dong," Zhizhi replied.

Zhao Dong started his cut on the left wing, bumping shoulders with his defender—likely Fordson—using his footwork to slide across. The Bulls collapsed in fast, packing the paint.

Zhao Dong took the ball one step outside the restricted zone, slammed the brakes, and surveyed.

Oakley lunged forward. McGrady dropped down from the elbow. Rasheed rotated back under the rim.

But right on cue, Zhizhi cut backdoor behind Sheed.

Zhao Dong rose up, one arm cocked, and zipped a one-handed bullet pass right over Oakley's fingertips.

Rasheed jumped, trying to snag it midair, but it was too late. The rock flew right past him.

"Behind you!" Sheed shouted as he landed and spun around—

Too slow.

Zhizhi caught it on the right side of the paint, took one power step, and BOOM—rose up with his left hand and punched it over Rasheed Wallace just as he turned.

BANG!

WHISTLE!

The Garden erupted as the ref pointed straight at Sheed. Blocking foul. And-one.

"LET'S GO!" Zhizhi roared as he landed.

Matt Goukas lit up, "Oh my! Number 45—Zhizhi—throws it down and gets the foul! That's 11 points on 4-of-6 shooting, 3-of-5 from deep. He's the Knicks' top scorer so far!"

"Phenomenal sequence," Marv Albert added. "Zhao Dong draws the double on the wing, kicks out, then boom—the weakside slash from Zhizhi seals it. Textbook chemistry."

Goukas grinned. "This is how they need to play. Zhao Dong's gravity is elite. He'll draw two every time. Feed Zhizhi near the rim—he's seven feet with footwork, not a pure shooter. Don't settle for threes just 'cause you hit a few. You saw what happened on those two misses earlier."

The Garden buzzed with energy. Zhao Dong slapped palms with Zhizhi as they jogged to the line.

"Yo," Zhao Dong said, leaning in. "If they keep saggin' off, don't float out to the arc. Stay near the paint—be ready to slash or seal anytime."

Zhizhi nodded. "Got it."

As they switched ends, Zhao Dong added, "You're killin' it on offense. But don't sleep on D. Wanna be a top center? Defense gotta be tight."

"I understand, Bro Dong," Zhizhi said, locking in.

The Bulls came back down after the free throw.

Jordan drove hard into the paint, slicing through like only MJ could. Zhao Dong and Fordson stepped up to trap under the rim, and Jordan kicked it out behind him—straight to Rasheed Wallace.

Rasheed caught it, turned—and threw an elbow straight into Zhizhi's gut.

The big man grunted, staggered back half a step—but didn't back down. He reset his feet and held his ground.

Zhao Dong stepped over to help—double-team engaged.

Rasheed spun, elevated—but Zhao Dong slapped it clean out. The ball popped loose.

Zhizhi dove and snatched it clean.

"Now that's effort!" Marv Albert shouted. "Zhizhi's not known for his defense, but he's taking hits and holding strong. He's fighting now."

"Exactly," Matt Goukas added. "Defense is about heart. He's learning. Taking shots, standing tall, and getting stops."

Zhao Dong clapped his hands and pointed upcourt—transition mode.

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