NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

"Michael…"

The host walked over to Jordan and handed him the microphone.

Jordan, caught slightly off guard, glanced once more at Zhao Dong before accepting it.

"Michael, give your retirement speech," the host said with a warm smile.

"Thank you," Jordan said politely, waving to the fans as cheers roared through the arena. "It's not often I get a chance like this while still on the road."

The crowd settled as he continued. "Zhao Dong just mentioned that I've had a successful and challenging career… and he's right. I agree. But if I'm being honest—if I hadn't run into him—my career might've been even more perfect."

"Haha…" The arena erupted in laughter.

Jordan smiled. "From the moment I stepped into the league, all eyes were on me. My second year? I got hurt badly. But that injury didn't end me—it made me stronger. In fact, I'd say it was divine intervention. I truly believe that."

"Yo, this dude's talking like he's blessed by the gods," Zhao Dong chuckled from the sideline.

Jordan went on, "Then I met Larry Bird and Magic Johnson…"

Bird and Magic stood and waved, drawing another cheer from the crowd.

Jordan returned the wave. "And then I beat them. I ended their era."

"That bastard!"

"He deserved to get dethroned by Zhao Dong!" Knicks fans hollered as Bird and Magic laughed it off, waving Jordan away as they sat back down.

"I ran into those Detroit boys next," Jordan said. "They were more than just rivals. They shaped me—in life, not just in basketball. What they did to me didn't break me. It sharpened my resolve. I became stronger, tougher, smarter. That transformation led to the Bulls Dynasty."

He paused, drawing a breath. "Then, I came back… and met my greatest opponent."

The crowd buzzed.

"But before I get to that, let me take a moment to make a sincere apology."

"Oh!" Knicks fans and media alike gasped.

"Yes… I want to apologize to Zhao Dong. I know I said something before, but that was half-hearted. Back then, I secretly hoped Karl Malone would knock him out. This time, I'm being real." Jordan laughed, and the fans laughed with him.

"Zhao Dong, I'm sorry. Because of me, you had to leave Chicago. I truly am sorry." Jordan turned to the sideline, looking directly at Zhao Dong.

Zhao Dong gave a small smile and nodded in acceptance.

That nod marked the official end of their long-standing feud.

Jordan pressed on. "Now let me talk about the man who ended my era."

"Ohhh!" Knicks fans shouted in excitement.

"Let's be honest—he's not just a superstar. That's the bare minimum you can say about him. And if I downplay his greatness, what does that say about the one he beat?"

"Haha…" Madison Square Garden burst into laughter again.

"Michael seems like he's in a good mood tonight," Matt Goukas chuckled.

"Yeah, it's rare," Marv Albert added.

Jordan's tone turned serious. "Zhao Dong's only in his third season, but I'm ready to make a historical call right now. He's a legendary player. Top ten? Easy. Top five? Maybe. Top three?"

The crowd hushed, all eyes and ears on Jordan.

"In terms of raw talent and skill? He's definitely top three. No question. And if he defends his dynasty this season—if he finishes the repeat—then there's no other ranking for him. Top three in history. No debate."

Zhao Dong smiled on the sideline.

Top three?

That was still a bit conservative in his eyes—but fair. After all, this was only his third year in the league. Even getting a "Top 3 All-Time" label now was unheard of.

But if he really went on to win six straight titles, even if he retired immediately after, there'd be no doubt.

He would be the greatest of all time.

Back on the court, Jordan spoke once more.

"Since 1984, I've earned every accolade I could dream of. I've heard the roars of fans across every arena. I'm thankful. Thankful for the league, for the fans, for the Bulls and everyone who's been part of this ride. And to all the opponents I've beaten… thank you, too."

"Damn… he couldn't resist taking a shot at us, even in retirement," Reggie Miller muttered on the NBC broadcast.

Amid thunderous applause and endless cheers, Jordan gave his final wave to the crowd.

Then NBA Commissioner David Stern stepped forward, shaking Jordan's hand.

"Michael," Stern said with genuine emotion, "thank you. Your impact on this league is immeasurable. You didn't just play the game—you helped shape it. You made the NBA global. You're one of the greatest ever."

"Thank you, Mr. Stern." Jordan smiled.

One by one, Bulls owner Jerry Reinsdorf, Coach Phil Jackson, his former teammates, and NBA legends lined up to hug Jordan and say their goodbyes.

Finally, the host turned to Zhao Dong.

"Zhao Dong, as the man who ended the Jordan era… how would you evaluate him?"

Zhao Dong stood calmly, then said with a smirk, "If I didn't exist, he'd be the greatest player of all time."

"Ohhh!"

The crowd gasped—and then slowly nodded in agreement.

Jordan smirked, proud. "He's telling the truth," he said to Larry Bird beside him.

Bird rolled his eyes. "Idiot, he meant he's the greatest now. You're just the guy who got beat."

Jordan paused. "…Damn it."

———

At the end of the Eastern Conference Finals, the New York Knicks defeated their longtime rivals, the Chicago Bulls, in a gentleman's sweep—4 to 1—and advanced to the 1998–1999 NBA Finals. They waited to see who would emerge from the brutal Western Conference Finals: the Lakers or the Spurs.

The very next day, every major media outlet ran the same headline:

MICHAEL JORDAN RETIRES

Across the U.S., the stock market dipped slightly at open. It hovered in the red most of the morning, only recovering slightly by the close. Nike's stock felt the biggest hit, dropping two full points by the end of the day.

That night, Game 5 of the Western Conference Finals tipped off.

On the road, the Lakers stunned the San Antonio Spurs, taking the win and cutting the series lead to 3–2. The series would return to L.A. for Game 6.

"The Spurs might still hold the match point," wrote The New York Times, "but with Game 6 back in Los Angeles, this series is far from over."

June 5 — Game 6, Western Conference Finals

The night of Game 6 had finally arrived. June 5th. The Western Conference Finals between the Spurs and the Lakers was the hottest story in the league. All eyes were on Los Angeles.

The media was buzzing all day long, hyping up the idea that the Lakers had a real shot to tie the series. After all, they were back at Staples Center, riding that electrifying home-court momentum. And true enough, the energy in the building was off the charts.

But Gregg Popovich had other plans.

From the opening tip, the Spurs deployed a stunning tactic that no one expected—intentional fouling. Popovich ordered his players to hack Shaquille O'Neal repeatedly, sending the big man to the free throw line again and again. By the end of the night, O'Neal had shot a whopping 32 free throws—and only made 12.

That's 37.5% from the stripe—right in line with his usual playoff numbers.

But this time, "usual" wasn't good enough.

The Spurs stayed disciplined, executed the game plan to perfection, and walked out of Staples Center with a stunning Game 6 victory. The final score sealed it: Spurs 4, Lakers 2.

San Antonio was heading to the NBA Finals.

---

Postgame Chaos

Shaq was livid. After the loss, facing a sea of microphones and cameras, the Diesel didn't hold back.

"That tactic is straight-up despicable!" he fumed.

A reporter threw in a jab.

"Would you ever consider trying the underhand—or 'urinal-style'—free throw?"

Shaq's face twisted in disbelief.

"Me? Man, get the hell outta here!"

Meanwhile, over at the Spurs' postgame presser, Popovich was calm—and just a little smug.

"Yesterday, I had a call with Coach Don Nelson," Pop said. "We were talking about O'Neal's dominance and his struggles at the line, especially in Game 4. Don mentioned it was something we could exploit, so we gave it a try tonight. Clearly, it worked."

A reporter pushed back.

"O'Neal called it despicable. What's your take?"

Popovich leaned forward, eyes sharp.

"That tactic's been around since forever. We used to call it the 'Hack-a-Zhang' back in the day. It doesn't break any rules. If people have a problem with it, maybe they should spend less time whining and more time practicing their free throws."

Then came a bold question:

"Coach, are you planning to use this strategy against Zhao Dong in the Finals?"

Pop's smile vanished. His expression turned serious—and annoyed.

"Me? Use it on him? That guy hits free throws like a guard—over 90%. You think I'm outta my mind?"

---

June 6 – The Media Frenzy

The next day, headlines were ablaze.

"Hack-a-Shaq Tactic Sends Spurs to Finals"

Even NBA legends chimed in. Magic Johnson told ESPN:

"Sure, it's legal. But it's ugly basketball. It ruins the rhythm of the game. Breaks it into pieces. You think fans wanna watch Shaq brick free throws all night instead of dunking on fools? That game tanked in ratings—and rightfully so. I would've changed the channel too."

Wilt Chamberlain, phoned in by reporters, didn't hold back:

"They used to pull that crap on me too. Made me wanna quit and go run track instead—I was great at long jump, you know. It's disgusting basketball."

---

That afternoon, Zhao Dong made a quiet trip to Johns Hopkins-affiliated Mei Hospital to visit the Mei sisters, Mei Yanfang and Mei Aifang.

Before meeting them, he first consulted their attending physician—Dr. John Mai, a top oncology professor from Johns Hopkins and owner of the hospital.

"Mr. Zhao," Dr. Mai began, "Ms. Mei Aifang has been battling cancer for over ten years. Unfortunately, it's spread extensively. At this stage, all we can do is manage it and try to extend her time. A cure is no longer possible."

"As for Ms. Mei Yanfang, her condition was caught early. There's no sign of cancer now. We'll proceed with conservative treatment using the latest medication. We're optimistic we can fully cure her."

Zhao Dong nodded but asked something unexpected.

"Professor Mai, I've heard that a university is developing a vaccine for the HPV virus. What's the current status of that research?"

Dr. Mai raised an eyebrow, impressed.

"You're well-informed for a professional athlete," he chuckled. "Yes, it's a project led by Professor Ian Frazer at the University of Queensland in Australia. A Chinese scientist, Zhou Jian, is also heavily involved."

"Frazer's been researching it since the early '90s. I joined the project about three years ago. Right now, we're collaborating with Georgetown, University of Rochester, and the American Cancer Research Institute. The vaccine is in Phase II clinical trials. Results have been promising so far, but commercial release will still take a few more years."

Zhao Dong nodded thoughtfully.

"If Mei Yanfang's treatment doesn't go well, would she qualify to receive this vaccine as a test subject? I know she'd be strongly against any treatment involving hysterectomy."

Dr. Mai hesitated, then shook his head gently.

"At this point, she's responding well to treatment. There's no need to take risks with an unfinished vaccine. But once she recovers, getting vaccinated could provide strong long-term protection."

"Understood," Zhao Dong replied. "One more thing—if your team runs into funding issues, my wife and I would be happy to offer financial support."

Dr. Mai's face lit up.

"That would be incredible. With your backing, we could potentially speed up development and testing phases."

Zhao Dong nodded again, calm but firm.

"There are over 600 million women in China. Once this vaccine is ready, I hope it can be introduced back home, too."

"Absolutely. That's our goal as well," Dr. Mai agreed.

With that, Zhao Dong proceeded to visit the Mei sisters.

"Sister Mei, you're looking great today!" Zhao Dong grinned as he knocked on the hospital room door and stepped inside.

"Brother Zhao, how could I trouble you to come see me?" Mei Yanfang smiled warmly from her hospital bed. "By the way, I still haven't congratulated you on making the Finals."

Zhao Dong gave her a modest nod. "Thank you."

He pulled up a chair beside her bed. "I just spoke with your attending physician. He seems pretty optimistic about your recovery."

Mei Yanfang nodded with a smile. "He told me it was caught early. If they had discovered it even a month or two later, it could've progressed rapidly. But now, everything's under control. Brother Zhao, I really owe you."

Zhao Dong waved it off casually. "No need for that."

Changing the subject, he added with a smirk, "I heard Brother Rong's been in great spirits since heading back to Hong Kong."

Mei Yanfang laughed at that, her eyes lighting up. "Of course he is. With no paparazzi stalking him 24/7, he can finally breathe. Brother Zhao, you have no idea—back when it was at its worst, those paparazzi would go through the trash Arong threw out just to find gossip. He didn't have a shred of privacy."

She sighed. "Honestly, not just him. Every artist in Hong Kong owes you one."

Zhao Dong chuckled. "Well, Wan Guo Media is expanding. When the time comes, have you and Brother Rong spread the word—get those artists to sit down for interviews."

"That's a done deal. You don't even need to ask," Mei Yanfang replied confidently.

---

That evening, Zhao Dong was in a private meeting with Lindsay, discussing public health investments.

"The HPV vaccine is important. I heard Chinese scientist Zhou Jian is doing research on it," Zhao Dong said seriously. "Get someone to contact him—we'll fund his project."

He paused, then added, "We should also launch our own research program in China. Vaccine R&D takes serious money. If we just rely on imports, the cost will skyrocket, and average families won't be able to afford it."

Leaning back, he said firmly, "Our ancestors said it best—when you're poor, take care of yourself; when you're rich, help the world. Don't you agree?"

Lindsay smiled. "I'll handle it right away."

---

June 8 – 9:00 a.m., NBA Headquarters, New York City

Inside the league president's office, David Stern sat behind his desk, fingers tapping rhythmically against the wood. In front of him lay an open newspaper featuring quotes from legends—Wilt Chamberlain, Magic Johnson.

For Stern, maintaining balance in the league was an art. Balance kept the league thriving. Anything that threatened that equilibrium needed to be handled.

"Mr. President, I think we need to create a rule to limit these excessive fouling tactics—especially in the clutch," said Locke, Stern's special assistant. "Plays like that shouldn't decide games."

Stern looked up and nodded thoughtfully.

Encouraged, Locke continued. "Game 6 of the Western Conference Finals only pulled 19.9 million viewers. That's worse than a regular season Knicks vs. Bulls game."

He leaned forward, voice more animated now. "One of those teams was the Lakers, and it still tanked. Imagine if it had been the Spurs versus a smaller-market team. Ratings would've been even worse. No—definitely worse."

Stern frowned slightly. "I'm disappointed in the ratings. It'll be tough to negotiate a strong deal with the networks."

"That's why we need to push for more offense-friendly rules," Locke pressed. "Exciting basketball is what sells. That's what fans want."

Stern gestured for him to go on.

"For starters, we should look into illegal hand-checking. Defenders out on the perimeter use their hands to slow down slashers. If we restrict that, guards will have more space to create, and scoring goes up."

Stern didn't reply, but his expression showed interest. Locke pressed forward.

"Also," he said quickly, "we need to address Popovich's Hack-a-Shaq strategy. It turns the game into a free-throw fest. It's slow, disjointed, and just boring to watch. We're losing casual fans."

Stern leaned back, rubbing his chin, already thinking ahead.

---

That Afternoon – Madison Square Garden

By 3 p.m., the Mecca of basketball was already rocking. Knicks fans had packed every inch of the arena, their chants echoing across the streets outside.

"Dynasty! Dynasty! Dynasty!"

Once one voice shouted, dozens more followed. The crowd pulsed like a living wave. The air was electric with Finals anticipation.

This was it—Zhao Dong's Knicks had made it.

From a virtually unknown rookie to the face of the franchise. From doubted import to the Golden Tyrant of the East.

The moment he stepped onto the floor for warmups, the cheers were deafening.

Tonight, Madison Square Garden wasn't just hosting a basketball game.

It was hosting a coronation.

(End of Chapter)

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