NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

Back on defense, Popovich made a quick adjustment. He ditched the backcourt pressure entirely and had all five Spurs retreat straight into half-court. His strategy was clear—contain Zhao Dong at all costs.

Instead of letting Zhao Dong isolate, Pop went for a double-team right at the perimeter. Small forward Sean Elliott and shooting guard Mario Elie were tasked with smothering Zhao. Avery Johnson, the young floor general, stayed on Sprewell. Robinson matched up with Barkley, and Duncan took Wang Zhizhi in the post.

This adjustment forced the Spurs into full man-to-man coverage—no more zone. Popovich had no choice. One-on-one, Sean Elliott didn't stand a chance against Zhao Dong's strength and versatility. Robinson and Duncan couldn't step out to guard him either; they didn't have the lateral speed. Letting Zhao Dong get downhill would be a guaranteed bucket.

To counter, Barkley drifted from the paint to the left wing, and Wang Zhizhi relocated to the right corner. The sudden spacing pulled the Spurs' interior defense apart. Fordson, left completely unguarded, dove into the paint. Duncan had to abandon Wang and shift back under the rim.

"Swoosh!"

Zhao Dong snapped a one-handed bullet pass across the court to the right corner.

Wang caught it clean—nobody within four meters. The closest defender was Avery Johnson, still stuck on Sprewell at the right wing.

"Swish!"

Nothing but net. Bottom corner three at zero degrees.

In the broadcast booth, Bob Costas jumped in.

"Bang! Corner triple! That's the danger of doubling Zhao Dong out top. His court vision is elite. He sees over the defense, and now that he's operating outside the post, his height disadvantage doesn't matter one bit."

Doug Collins added,

"The Bulls did a better job containing him on the perimeter in previous years. They had length, they had quickness—Jordan, Pippen, Ron Harper. Even after Pippen left, they brought in Kidd and McGrady. That's a lot of perimeter muscle."

Isaiah Thomas nodded,

"Exactly. That's why Chicago had the confidence to trap him outside. They were aggressive and still managed to recover. They pushed him back into the low post, where at least they could send help from both sides. But the Spurs? Nah. Their strength is inside, not outside. You double Zhao Dong on the perimeter, and he's gonna make you pay every single time."

Doug chuckled.

"Look at what he just did. Double-team? He swings it to a wide-open shooter. No double? He cooks Avery Johnson one-on-one. Either way, it's a lose-lose."

Score: 14–2.

The Knicks had jumped out with that fierce championship energy—lockdown defense, explosive offense. San Antonio looked rattled, unable to establish rhythm on either end.

Zhang Heli's voice came in from the China domestic broadcast:

"If Popovich can't adjust soon, this could be a long night for the Spurs."

Pop called timeout again.

He looked toward the bench and called out,

"Steve! You're our well. We need you to stabilize the offense and get us some buckets."

In the Spurs' locker room, they called a "well" the lifeline—a reliable scorer who could stop the bleeding.

Steve Kerr stepped forward confidently.

"Got it, Coach. I won't let you down."

But in reality, Kerr was having a rough year. A shortened season, nagging injuries, just 16 minutes per game, and his three-point shooting had dipped to 31%.

Still, Pop wasn't banking on stats—he was betting on guts. Kerr had stepped to Zhao Dong before and didn't flinch. Pop liked that. He needed someone with that kind of fire right now.

"You're guarding Zhao Dong on the outside. Lock in. Fight for half a second—we'll bring help."

Kerr nodded.

"No problem. I'll hold the line."

Truthfully, as a white player watching a Chinese phenom take over the league, something about it rubbed Kerr the wrong way. Deep down, he didn't want to see Zhao Dong dominate like this. Not on his watch.

Back on the NBC feed, Bob Costas blinked in surprise.

"Mario Elie's out. Steve Kerr's checking in? Looks like Pop's sending in the Tyrant slayer!"

Doug Collins laughed.

"Steve Kerr? Tyrant slayer? I think Pop might be overestimating his guy."

Isaiah Thomas cracked a smile.

"Hey, I love Kerr's heart, but this is a tall order. Zhao Dong's been surgical tonight."

Play resumed. Spurs ball, sideline inbound.

This time, Pop switched it up. Instead of using Robinson up high, he ran a low post set—the Double Tower.

Robinson received the pass and went right at Wang Zhizhi. He lowered his shoulder, gave a quick elbow, and powered in.

Wang absorbed the hit, held his ground. As Robinson spun into a turnaround jumper, Wang lunged to contest. He didn't block it, but it was enough to throw off the shot.

Duncan had already slashed toward the paint for a potential tip-in, but Fordson beat him there. He boxed out perfectly, claimed the rebound with two hands, and turned upcourt.

"Danny! Here!"

Zhao Dong was already sprinting past half-court, calling for the outlet.

On the left wing, Kerr hustled back, trying to cut him off near the arc.

"Whoosh!"

Fordson launched the pass. A perfect strike.

Zhao Dong caught it in stride, racing past the logo.

Squeak!

Zhao Dong hit the brakes hard at the top of the key, letting Steve Kerr rush right by him. The crowd held their breath.

Then, like a prime-time floor general, he went to work—dribbling between his legs with surgical precision, shifting directions on a dime. Two hard crossovers, a behind-the-back spin, then a full body turn—Kerr was on skates, sliding backward with every move.

He retreated all the way to the paint, eyes wide, backpedaling until—

"The showtime's here, folks!"

Bob Costas' voice jumped out as Zhao Dong made his final move.

"Ohhh!"

Doug Collins couldn't contain himself.

With one last jab step, Zhao Dong exploded off the ground. Kerr, caught deep in the restricted zone, had nowhere to go.

BOOM!

The rim shook violently as Zhao Dong hammered it down with both hands. The backboard trembled. Kerr let out a pained grunt and collapsed under the basket.

"That's a 6'9", 225-pound freight train going downhill on a 6'3" third-string role player! That's barbecue chicken!"

Isaiah Thomas exclaimed.

"A hundred times outta a hundred, this ends the same way," Doug Collins laughed.

"Zhao Dong just baptized Kerr."

Still hanging on the rim, Zhao Dong glanced down with ice-cold eyes. Kerr writhed beneath him, and there wasn't even a flicker of concern on his face. Instead, there was contempt.

He dropped down with a loud thud, one foot landing between Kerr's legs. Kerr flinched in fear. His mind flashed to PJ Brown, to that infamous scuffle. His face went pale.

"Feelin' yourself, huh?" Barkley came sprinting up to Zhao Dong, grinning ear to ear.

"Yo, that move? That wasn't just a highlight—that was a message. You just clowned every guard in the league!"

Zhao Dong scoffed and turned his head.

"Some nobody trying to guard me? What's his name again?"

"Hell if I know," Barkley shrugged. "Just another benchwarmer standing next to MJ."

That's when Kerr snapped.

"Chinaman!"

He spat the slur out, loud enough for the bench and first few rows to hear.

Zhao Dong froze. His expression darkened.

He had been in America long enough to know exactly what that word meant. And the fury in his eyes lit up instantly.

Barkley's face twisted with anger. He'd dealt with discrimination for years—even his white wife got heat from his own friends. He stepped forward—

"Let me handle this."

But it was too late.

SMACK!

Zhao Dong's open hand cracked across Kerr's face like a gunshot. Kerr spun and crashed to the floor, clutching his cheek and screaming in pain.

The entire arena went silent for a second.

Then—

"BOOOO!"

Jeers erupted from the home crowd. Trash rained down from the stands.

"He hit him! He hit him! Toss him out! Send him out!"

One local reporter, McCarty, jumped from his seat behind the baseline, screaming like a madman.

Other journalists looked at him like he'd lost his mind.

Was this guy serious?

It was the NBA Finals. Zhao Dong was the face of the league. Ratings, revenue, global influence—all of it rode on his back. You think they're ejecting him over Steve Kerr?

No chance.

Besides, there was context—racial slurs. As long as there was any reason, the league would protect its star. Just like when Reggie Miller got tossed while Jordan stayed in. That's how the game works.

"Zhao Dong, chill! Chill!"

BEEP! BEEP!

The refs swarmed in, blocking Zhao Dong from going after Kerr again.

"What the hell was that?!" David Robinson stormed over, furious.

"You trying to throw it all away?"

Zhao Dong's voice was low. Cold.

"If you wanna throw hands, I'll end your careers right here. Championship? NBA? I'll walk away from it all."

There was no yelling, no screaming. Just presence. Just pressure.

The kind that made your lungs tighten up.

Robinson's eyes twitched. He couldn't speak.

You don't care, he thought. You married a Wall Street tycoon. You bought Nike like it was nothing. But I care. I'm not ready to retire. Not like this.

Zhao Dong shoved Robinson aside casually.

"Move."

Then he turned to Tim Duncan.

"What are you looking at? You don't get to talk here. Back up."

Duncan, who had been getting dominated by Zhao Dong since he entered the league, didn't say a word. He nodded and stepped back quietly.

On the sideline, Barkley turned to the refs.

"Ref, you heard that slur. You know that's not allowed—anywhere, anytime. He should be banned. We're not playing with someone like that. That's a disgrace to this league."

The referee's face hardened.

"Racial slurs?"

This wasn't some small incident. This was Zhao Dong, the global icon, victim of blatant discrimination on national TV. The ref turned and looked at Kerr, who was still on the floor clutching his face.

His expression turned ice-cold.

Robinson and Duncan were stunned.

What the hell was Kerr thinking? The league protects Zhao Dong. You can't just go off like that on the NBA's golden goose.

And just like that, the decision came.

Steve Kerr was ejected on the spot.

Zhao Dong?

Not even a tech.

"Why?!"

McCarty, the local reporter, was fuming. He couldn't understand.

But he could do nothing.

The fans lost it. Loud boos filled the arena. Someone yelled "black whistle!"—the Chinese term for a biased call. Bottles and debris started flying onto the hardwood.

"You're outta your mind!"

Gregg Popovich exploded, charging toward the refs.

The crew chief didn't flinch.

"One more step, Pop, and I'm tossing you too."

"Greg…"

Robinson yanked him back and whispered urgently.

Popovich's face twisted in rage.

"This damn idiot…" he muttered, eyes on Kerr.

"I wouldn't dare say that to Zhao Dong. Why the hell would he? Doesn't he know who he's messing with?"

After Popovich figured out what had just happened, he was absolutely livid. He couldn't hold back his anger and cursed on the sidelines, visibly frustrated.

On the NBC broadcast, Bob Costas was speaking calmly through his headset with the production team. The director had just received some insider info from an NBC sideline reporter close to the action.

"This is unbelievable," Bob said. "Steve Kerr played the role of a tyrant-slaying warrior, and at first, it worked. He got some praise, gained some support... but after what just happened tonight? He's done. It's over. That fall from grace will be brutal."

Doug Collins shook his head in disbelief.

"Yeah, I agree. I bet his coaching future is on thin ice after this, and it's far from over. Zhao Dong isn't the kind of guy to just let something like this slide."

Isaiah Thomas leaned forward with a serious tone.

"Let's not forget what happened last year in London. Jordan made one comment, and Nike got snatched up by Storm Funds. What Kerr just said? Way worse. The Spurs and Kerr better brace themselves for the wrath of the Storm Fund… and Mrs. Lindsay."

Bob Costas added, "And we're not just talking about backlash. The Spurs' corporate sponsors—SBC Telecom, the title sponsor of this arena—they could get hit next. The Chinese have a saying: When a fire breaks out at the city gate, the fish in the moat suffer. This might just be the start."

Doug suddenly chuckled.

"Hey, let's not forget—Nike is also a sponsor of the Spurs. And Tim Duncan is one of their headline athletes."

Isaiah burst out laughing.

"Man, that's a conflict waiting to explode."

Right then, the game resumed. The Spurs, trying to stabilize the chaos, subbed in veteran guard Mario Elie.

The referee made the call official—a Flagrant 2. That meant two free throws and possession for New York.

Zhao Dong stepped to the line with ice in his veins.

Swish. Swish. Two clean makes.

20–2. Knicks ball.

Sprewell inbounded from the baseline. Zhao Dong caught it and immediately charged up the floor.

Avery Johnson stepped up to cut him off, but Zhao Dong spun right past him and exploded down the left wing.

"Stop him!"

Popovich's voice echoed across the court, desperate and angry.

Mario Elie stepped out to help, with Avery trailing for the double-team. But Zhao Dong wasn't fazed—he made a nasty crossover at the top of the arc, splitting them clean, and powered his way to the left elbow.

That forced Tim Duncan to slide up from the paint, and David Robinson had no choice but to abandon Barkley on the right block and crash the lane.

Zhao Dong kept coming, eyes locked on the rim.

Then—

He launched the ball off the glass.

"What the—?"

Duncan spun around, confused.

Zhao Dong was already airborne.

"OFF THE GLASS—SELF-LOB—ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"

Doug Collins nearly leapt out of his seat.

Zhao Dong caught his own pass mid-air, palming it with one hand, and unleashed a thunderous one-handed slam right over David Robinson!

BOOM!

The backboard shuddered as Robinson tried to contest it. But the momentum flipped him in the air, and as he came down, his feet twisted awkwardly and he collapsed to the floor.

"Oh my god! The Admiral just got baptized—again!"

Isaiah's voice cracked with shock and awe.

"Unbelievable!" Bob Costas shouted. "Zhao Dong throws it off the glass, catches it, and dunks it all over David Robinson! That's one of the most disrespectful plays we've seen in the Finals!"

"Coach Zhang! Robinson isn't getting up!"

Sun Zhenping's voice rang from the Chinese domestic feed.

"He's clutching his ankle—left foot. Must've twisted it on the landing," Zhang Heli confirmed. "That's a sprain for sure."

Back on NBC, Doug Collins was stunned.

"20 to 2. The Spurs have been demolished. And now, with Robinson down… it's a wrap."

Isaiah nodded.

"Ever since Zhao Dong took over the point guard spot, the Spurs haven't had an answer on the perimeter. This game's been over since tip-off."

Popovich stood frozen on the sideline. His once-dominant Twin Towers were crumbling. Duncan was still scoreless, and now Robinson was injured.

Minutes later, the Admiral was helped off the court. The diagnosis? A left ankle sprain. Not serious, but he wouldn't return tonight.

"Coach, I can still go," Robinson pleaded.

Popovich shook his head. "Play like this? Against him? You'll just get hurt worse. Sit down."

Even without the injury, the scoreboard showed it all: 2 to 20. This one was already lost.

From the broadcast booth, Bob Costas narrated grimly.

"Well, it looks like the Spurs have officially waved the white flag. Duncan is headed to the bench without scoring a single point tonight."

Doug Collins added, "Same move Pop made in Game 1. Once he sees no way to win, he doesn't waste energy. Pulls the starters, preserves them for the next."

Isaiah sighed.

"Problem is—when Zhao Dong also sits, ratings are gonna take a hit. The league won't like this."

(TL: The term "Chinaman" may seem like a simple combination of "China" and "man," but it is considered offensive and outdated due to its historical use in racist and demeaning contexts.

Historical Background:

In the 19th and early 20th centuries, during periods of anti-Chinese sentiment in Western countries like the United States, Canada, and Australia, "Chinaman" was used widely to refer to Chinese laborers and immigrants.

The term was often used in derogatory laws, signs, and literature, especially during the time of the Chinese Exclusion Act (1882) in the U.S.

It reflected the broken English that Chinese immigrants were mocked for, and was used to dehumanize and reduce their identity to a stereotype.

Modern Usage:

Today, the term is offensive because it carries the baggage of discrimination, violence, and social exclusion.

Just like terms such as "Negro" or "Oriental," it may have once been used in an official or neutral capacity, but it is now recognized as a racist relic of colonial and exclusionary eras.

Better Alternatives:

The correct and respectful terms are "Chinese person", "Chinese man/woman", or simply "Chinese" depending on the context.)

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End of Chapter

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