Chapter 256

At this time, at Adidas headquarters, President Herbert Hainer was in a meeting with his top executives, deep in discussion about the Jazz situation.

"The Mailman's still got gas in the tank. He just put up 20 and 10 this season. We can't let him waste away in Utah—he still owes us a bag."

"Then let's get him outta there. Let's build a superteam, just like Nike's doing. Compete with the Bulls, Knicks, and Lakers for the chip. That'll boost our star value too."

"I'm with that. We can't sit on our hands. Nike's cashing out big-time off the Bulls' success. And what about us?"

"We got Tracy McGrady, but he's stuck in Chicago. Even though he's starting, he's barely getting touches. Not much ball control. Should we look to move him?"

"Nah, the Bulls won't let him go easy. Phil Jackson's just as tough to deal with as Pat Riley. We gotta hold onto McGrady for now."

"So who we looking at then?"

"What about the Lakers? Kobe's there, and the kid just started the All-Star game as a rookie. His stats are trending up, he's got star written all over him."

"O'Neal's locked in with Reebok, but if we slide the Mailman to LA, we got two stars in one spot. If the Lakers win big, we eat too."

"I like it. The Lakers ain't under Nike, and teaming up with Reebok could be a power move."

"I agree."

"Alright, after the Finals, reach out to the Mailman. Get him to push for a trade."

That same day at noon, the Knicks and Jazz team planes landed in New York, one after another.

Meanwhile, Phil Jackson made a trip to Philly.

He was on a mission to find the next starting power forward for the Bulls.

Rodman was gone, and they needed a tough defender who could crash the boards.

Jackson already had someone in mind—Rasheed Wallace from the Trail Blazers.

Rasheed, the No. 4 overall pick from the '95 draft, was coming off a season averaging 14.6 points, 6.2 rebounds, 2.5 assists, 1 steal, 1.1 blocks, 2.2 turnovers, and 3.5 fouls. He was Portland's third scoring option.

He was a force on both ends of the floor, but man, those technical fouls were killing Portland.

Three seasons in, and Sheed had already earned the nickname "Dirty 30" for his short fuse. He racked up 38 techs this season—league leader.

He was also repped by Nike.

Phil Jackson liked him. Athletic, fast on help defense, huge defensive range—he could lock down the paint for the Bulls and evolve into a new-age enforcer.

Nike was already working behind the scenes to make the deal happen, but Phil came in person, just in case. Rasheed's temper was unpredictable, and Phil wanted to read him face-to-face.

Rasheed appreciated the gesture. A legendary coach like Phil Jackson pulling up to his hometown? That showed respect, and Sheed took notice.

"Rasheed, MJ's real high on you—his fellow Tar Heel," Phil said casually after some coffee shop small talk with Sheed and his agent. "What do you think of him as your senior?"

"I got mad respect for Mike. He's a North Carolina legend," Rasheed replied.

"That's good to hear. Mike always looks out for his own," Phil smiled.

They chopped it up for about an hour, both sides vibing well.

Phil laid a contract on the table—6 years, $85 million. $9 million guaranteed next season.

Rasheed and his agent were all smiles. That kind of offer? Portland probably wouldn't match.

With the PF spot locked in, Phil moved on to the next target: a defensive big man.

Since Sheed could handle scoring, Jackson wanted a defensive anchor who could bang down low with Zhao Dong—Chicago's biggest obstacle in the East.

The guy needed elite rebounding too. Rodman was gone, and Sheed couldn't board enough by himself.

Phil had been eyeing Ben Wallace on the Knicks, but New York wasn't listening.

Danny Fortson? Also a no-go.

But there was one more name—Dikembe Mutombo from the Hawks. Towering presence, dominant defender, and better on offense than Big Ben.

Only issue? Mutombo was under Adidas. Nike reached out, but Adidas shut that down real quick.

That left one trade chip: McGrady.

Back in Chicago, Phil tried offering McGrady plus a couple of role players to Atlanta. Straight denial.

In the '90s, it was all about inside dominance. Zhao Dong was proof—dude got forced back into the paint by rule changes and still bullied the Jazz inside. No way the Hawks would swap an in-prime Mutombo for a rookie swingman.

Phil wasn't shocked. He went back to the drawing board.

That night, during dinner, Zhao Dong got a call from a familiar voice.

"Hello? Brother Jackie Chan, what's good?"

"Hey, Dong brother!"

"When's your movie dropping?"

"It's locked in. September 18. Think you can swing by the premiere and show some love?"

"For sure. Count me in."

"By the way, I'm coming through to watch your Finals game tomorrow."

"You need me to hook you up with seats?"

"Nah, I got it covered."

They chatted a bit longer before ending the call.

"Honey, what movie is he releasing? Is it here in the U.S.?" Lindsay asked.

"Yeah, Rush Hour is a Hollywood joint. It should be solid. Rumble in the Bronx did great back in '96. If this one hits, he might really break out here," Zhao Dong grinned.

"I heard from the news that Jet Li also came to the States recently?" Lindsay said, trying to imitate a Chinese accent.

"Him? He actually moved here a decade ago and opened a martial arts school. Later went back to Hong Kong to shoot Once Upon a Time in China. I think he's doing Lethal Weapon 4 in Hollywood this year."

New York, June 7 — Game 3 of the Finals tips off.

The first two games had lower ratings than the Eastern Conference Finals, and ticket sales at Delta Center were nowhere near Madison Square Garden levels.

So this Knicks home stretch was a big deal for the league.

A lot of smaller franchises were bleeding money, and the big dogs—the Knicks, Bulls, Lakers, and Heat—were carrying the financial load.

Even Commissioner Stern was in the building.

The NFL-style collision between Karl Malone and Zhao Dong in Game 2 had him heated. If not for the ratings, he might've suspended the Mailman on the spot.

So for tonight's game, the message was clear: any dangerous play was getting hit with a heavy penalty.

Starting Lineups:

Jazz: Greg Foster, Karl Malone, Bryon Russell, Jeff Hornacek, John Stockton

Knicks: Ben Wallace, Zhao Dong, Charles Oakley, Allan Houston, Chauncey Billups

And yeah—Billups kept his starting job.

On the NBC live broadcast, Marv Albert said with a smile, "Rookie Billups hasn't done anything eye-popping—just solid. But solid's good enough. The Knicks aren't banking on him for big-time production just yet. From what I've heard, he's still on the block this offseason."

Matt Goukas nodded. "Charlie Ward and Chris Childs are both on the chopping block. If you add a couple players who are itching to leave, the Knicks might be cooking up a whole new squad next season."

"Billups' trigger has been locked up tight—and that's a good thing. With Zhao Dong running that high-efficiency game, there's no room for a rookie chucking wild threes. He keeps jacking up bad shots, he's getting traded, plain and simple." Marv laughed.

"And Greg Foster, who got wrecked by Zhao Dong in Game 1, is back in uniform. But the Jazz's original big man, Greg Ostertag, went down in Game 2—dude couldn't hold it down and tapped out early," said Goukas.

"The Jazz always lacked that post-up fire and guys who can score off the dribble. I think they should consider trading for Larry Johnson. He's got that lingering back issue, but he can still give you buckets," Marv said.

"No way, he's undersized. And after that back injury, he's lost his edge down low. I think he's gone after this season. Knicks don't really have room for him anymore. He's barely gotten burn this year," Goukas shook his head.

"That's real."

Marv grinned. "Any team dreaming of a chip's gotta think about how they're matching up with the Knicks now."

---

Back in the Garden, Zhao Dong got a thunderous welcome.

"Sweep the Jazz! Sweep the Jazz! Sweep..."

The moment he entered, Madison Square Garden erupted.

The front row was packed with league legends and Hollywood A-listers—not something you'd see out in Salt Lake. And all of them were on their feet, roaring with the crowd.

As Zhao Dong walked to the sideline, he got high-fives from Magic Johnson, Shaquille O'Neal, Willis Reed, Walt Frazier, Larry Bird, Charles Barkley, Grant Hill, David Robinson, Tim Duncan, and more.

"Zhao Dong, be ready to face me in next year's Finals," Shaq said, grinning wide.

"Shaq, better worry about getting past the Spurs first," Zhao Dong shot back.

"No problem. We'll crush them," Shaq scoffed, tossing a glance at Robinson and Duncan.

Out of the four dominant centers in the league, Shaq had the best relationship with Hakeem. With the others? It was always smoke.

"That's a bold statement," Robinson muttered, not amused.

He had already stepped down from the Spurs' top dog spot. Now it was Duncan's team, and this Finals trip was meant to let the young big feel the pressure early.

Robinson didn't have many years left. His dream? Win a ring within the next two seasons—either as a lead or co-lead. Otherwise, he'd end up ring-chasing like Ewing.

That's why he was mentoring Duncan himself—hoping Zhao Dong would light a fire under his rookie.

"Brother Dong?"

A few seats away, Chenglong (a Chinese celebrity) waved at Zhao Dong enthusiastically.

Zhao Dong high-fived everyone on the sideline and went over to chat with him for a bit.

---

Ten minutes later, the game tipped off. The Jazz won the jump and got first crack at scoring.

The Knicks were locked into man-to-man coverage. Zhao Dong took the Karl Malone matchup.

He could feel it—the dude was boiling inside like a volcano. He was ready to blow.

What Karl Malone didn't know? Adidas was already making moves to deal him. But what had him fuming was Zhao Dong's declaration of being his "lifelong enemy"—a shot that could crush Utah's title dreams.

After using a pick from Russell, Malone popped into open space and caught a dime from Stockton. Zhao Dong stepped up.

Bang!

Malone spun his body mid-catch and threw a nasty elbow into Zhao Dong's left shoulder. The power behind it made Zhao grunt and lean back.

That was the space Karl needed—he went straight up for the mid-range.

Zhao Dong bit down and jumped to contest, fingertips barely missing the release.

Bang!

The ball clanked off the rim, bounced up—

"Drop in," Malone growled under his breath.

He had changed his release last second to dodge the block.

Under the rim, Big Ben and Oakley were fighting for the board. But the rock dropped in.

"Clean bucket! Karl Malone just hit a jumper right over Zhao Dong's head," Marv yelled.

"Classic move—used the elbow to carve out space. Now let's see how Zhao Dong answers back," Matt Goukas grinned.

---

Zhao Dong posted up on the left wing. Malone stuck to him tight.

Above the arc, Russell started rotating down early, eyeing the double. He was already lurking before the ball even got to Zhao Dong.

Billups passed it, and Russell jumped the lane hard—forced Zhao Dong to step out half a beat to snag the pass.

The second he had it, Zhao Dong took a dribble back to create some room. When both defenders lunged, he spun fast, split the double, and went straight at Malone.

Too fast.

Malone tried to step up, but he was a second late. He reached out and grabbed Zhao Dong's right arm on instinct.

Zhao Dong ripped through, shrugged him off, and took one long stride into the paint.

At the rim, Greg Foster—the same one Zhao Dong had dropped in Game 1—jumped to meet him.

But c'mon. Foster was a vertical leaper. Zhao Dong? He came in sprinting full speed.

Foster's head barely reached Zhao Dong's chest.

BOOM!

Zhao Dong exploded at the rim with a flat-out poster dunk that shook the backboard.

He cranked his legs mid-air and hammered down over Foster.

Bang!

Foster's back smacked the stanchion so hard his face twisted in pain and his eyes looked like they were about to pop out.

"YEAHHHHH!"

The whole arena erupted as the play-by-play screamed, "Flat rim dunk! What a savage throwdown! That's superstar Zhao Dong bringing the heat again!"

"Oh my god! That was nastier than anything we saw last season!" Matt Goukas shouted.

On the sidelines, Chenglong leapt to his feet, losing his mind.

Over near the Spurs seats, Tim Duncan's face twitched.

That dunk? It brought back trauma—reminded him of the first time he got bodied by Zhao Dong earlier in the season. That man had flattened him multiple times.

"Remember," Robinson leaned over, giving Duncan some tips. "When Zhao Dong drives, don't face him head-on. You'll get wrecked. Cut him off from the side. He's got freakish strength. People call Malone the strongest in the league? Nah, Zhao Dong's on a different level. Dude's a monster."

In the NBC broadcast booth, Marv Albert shouted, "This is exactly why Zhao Dong's pulling more and more fans every night. Power, violence, finesse—this dude's a walking highlight reel."

Matt Goukas chuckled. "Honestly, if you give him even two steps of space, he don't need to move like MJ. He just bulldozes whoever dares to contest him."

"But when you mix in that skill and control," Marv said with a grin, "that's when you get something truly dominant. He's straight-up unstoppable."

Over on CCTV, Zhang Heli was fired up. "That's a power forward and a small forward double-teaming him—and they're still too slow for Zhao Dong!

"Zhao Dong's got the handle and speed of a top-tier guard. Even in a tight space like the low post, you can't trap him. His reads are too quick, and he's just too mobile."

"If Utah really wants to slow him down," he continued, "they gotta shake up the defense. Russell should take the primary assignment, Greg Foster can help, and Karl Malone—their strongest rim protector—has to anchor the paint. If that don't work, go all-in. Abandon everyone else and throw the house at Zhao Dong."

"In the Eastern Conference Finals, the Bulls didn't go that route," Sun Zhenping added with a smile, "because Zhao Dong's too good at finding the open man. Try extreme defense, and he'll drop 15 assists on you like it's nothing."

Zhang Heli grinned. "Yeah, no other options left, huh?"

Poor Greg Foster got hurt again—taken out by Zhao Dong right at the start. The Jazz had to bring in Chris Morris off the bench.

Now Utah was back on offense. Karl Malone had just knocked down a shot and came in fired up this possession.

He ran a clean pick-and-roll, caught the ball, threw a sneaky elbow to carve out space, and was gearing up for a jumper.

But just then, Zhao Dong came flying in. He took the hit with his chest and swatted at the ball at the same time.

"Bang!"

"Bang!"

He absorbed the elbow, knocked Malone off-balance, and snatched the ball with one hand before switching to a firm two-hand grip. When Malone rushed back in, Zhao Dong spun and drilled him in the chest with his elbow.

Malone grunted and stumbled back a step.

"Yo! It's turning into a full-on elbow brawl out there!" the commentator shouted.

"Snort."

Zhao Dong snorted coldly and took off downcourt.

By the time he hit the three-point line, he was already hitting top gear.

Bryon Russell sprinted in from the top of the arc trying to cut him off, but Zhao Dong made a quick crossover and slammed into his shoulder.

Bang! Russell hit the floor hard.

"Wooo! Zhao Dong just broke him down like a guard and dropped Russell on his back!" the commentator roared.

Before the refs could even blow the whistle, Zhao Dong hit the gas again.

Malone, though—man, he wasn't done yet. The 35-year-old forward turned back the clock, hustling like a small forward to catch up and contest.

Zhao Dong powered ahead, dribbling to the right wing, one step outside the arc, then cut back in—Malone hot on his heels.

Squeak!

Malone jumped early, tried to spin into position under the basket.

But Zhao Dong was already in the air.

And Malone? He knew he was too slow. Vertical wasn't there. He didn't have the lift to contest this.

Across the arena, everyone's eyes locked in.

"You ain't stopping that, man," Marv Albert muttered to himself, watching it unfold.

The sprint was nearly twenty meters. That's a whole runway of power built up in one frame. Even Shaq wouldn't take that hit and stay standing—Marv was sure of it.

"Bang!"

Above the restricted area, Zhao Dong detonated into Malone's chest mid-air.

The force was brutal. Malone got launched.

Bang!

The rim shook as Zhao Dong crushed the dunk.

Bang!

Malone hit the hardwood hard, sliding into two photographers on the baseline. Cameras flew, and all three bodies tangled in a heap.

"Oof!"

Madison Square Garden erupted. The whole arena lost it—except for the thousand or so Jazz fans, who just sat in stunned silence.

Crack, crack, crack...

Cameras flashed like crazy.

"Damn," O'Neal muttered from the bench. "I might need to bulk up a bit more. My current weight ain't gonna cut it if I gotta stop him one-on-one."

He looked down at Malone lying on the floor and felt legit sympathy.

Zhao Dong landed, gave the mailman a cold glance, then walked to the baseline and stared right into the NBC camera.

"New York fans, you get it now? Our sweep is unstoppable!"

"SWEEP! SWEEP! SWEEP!"

The entire Garden chanted, every New Yorker in the house roaring in sync.

---

In the VIP suite, David Stern shook his head, sighing.

He wanted to stretch this series, get at least one more game at Madison Square Garden. A 4–1 finish would still be marketable. But with how things were going? Not happening.

That was millions of dollars in ticket sales down the drain.

The ref called for a stoppage. Malone was hurt, so the Jazz sent in Antoine Carr to replace him.

"Is it serious?" Jazz coach Jerry Sloan rushed over, worry on his face as he looked at the pale-faced Malone.

"It's okay," the team doctor said. "Just a light knock. No serious damage. He just needs a breather."

Sloan exhaled, relieved. "Good. He's built like a damn truck. If it was anyone else, they'd be in the hospital."

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