NBA: The Dynasty Crusher (Basketball)

"Humph!"

David Stern's expression darkened as he sat in his New York office.

He had just gotten off the phone with someone at the arena. The report was crystal clear—Zhao Dong, the Knicks' biggest star, had just been on the receiving end of racial slurs from a Spurs role player. Now the Spurs had waved the white flag, surrendering Game 3. Garbage time had officially begun. The game was dead.

And so were the ratings.

"This is a disaster," Stern muttered, massaging his temples. "The series could tank after this."

What frustrated him more than anything was how Popovich handled it. Pulling the starters? Letting the team fold so early? The league made money off the stars, off the battles, off the rivalries. If the Spurs wouldn't play ball—figuratively and literally—they weren't just hurting themselves. They were hurting the entire NBA.

He leaned back in his chair, thoroughly disappointed in the Spurs and their uncooperative head coach.

"Ding ding..."

His phone vibrated on the desk. When he saw the caller ID, he sat up straight.

He immediately answered with a respectful tone. "This is David Stern. Mrs. Lindsay, it's an honor to receive your call."

"Mr. Stern, I apologize for disturbing you at such a late hour." Lindsay's words were polite, but her tone carried a chill.

"No, not at all. I'm still working. Please, go ahead," Stern said, his voice filled with courtesy.

"Mr. Stern, someone just informed me that during tonight's game, a Spurs player used racial slurs against my husband. Is that true?" she asked coldly.

Stern sighed, but didn't hesitate. "Yes, Mrs. Lindsay. I've just received confirmation from the scene. The player was Steve Kerr."

Lindsay's voice hardened. "Mr. Stern, I don't meddle in NBA affairs—you know that—but there are certain lines that cannot be crossed. My husband will not share a league with someone like that. He must be punished—publicly and severely. Do you understand me?"

"Absolutely, Mrs. Lindsay," Stern replied quickly.

Ever since Storm Fund took control of Nike, the corporate interference in NBA affairs had disappeared. Stern had welcomed that. But now? Now it was back—and in a way that left him no room for negotiation.

Steve Kerr was just a thirty-something role player. He wasn't indispensable. There were hundreds like him in the league. Zhao Dong, on the other hand... he was the tyrant.

And when the Tyrant gets disrespected, heads roll.

---

SBC Center, San Antonio – 4th Quarter

Tim Duncan walked off the court quietly. The Spurs had thrown in the towel.

But Zhao Dong remained.

The battle, as far as he was concerned, had just begun.

"BOOM!"

In transition, Zhao Dong took off from nearly fifteen feet out, exploded into the air, and slammed a monster two-handed dunk through the glass—shattering the backboard into thousands of shards.

Spurs fans froze.

Silence engulfed the arena.

Zhao Dong stood tall amid the wreckage, chin raised, and roared toward the stunned San Antonio crowd:

"Spurs say they can slay a Tyrant? COME ON THEN—SLAY ME!"

The arena shook. On the Knicks' bench, fans jumped and shouted. Across New York and all over China, Zhao Dong's fans erupted in cheers.

"HE'S A DAMN MADMAN!" Gregg Popovich shouted, fists clenched and trembling with rage. "We surrendered already—and he still pulls that?!"

In the commentary booth, Bob Costas laughed under his breath. Doug Collins chuckled.

Isaiah Thomas, shaking his head, leaned into the mic. "Man... the Spurs might've quit, but Zhao sure didn't. You poke the beast, this is what you get."

---

In the VIP Suite of the SBC Arena...

Spurs President Peter Holt put his phone down with a pale face.

Nike just called.

Effective immediately, they were pulling their sponsorship from the Spurs.

Peter clenched his fists. He could've stood tall against Nike—maybe. But not against the Storm Fund backing them. He had no choice. He had to bow.

"Damn it, Kerr!" he roared, all of his fury funneled at one man.

---

Fifteen Minutes Later

The backboard had been replaced.

But only sixty seconds after the restart, Knicks center Fordson blocked the Spurs' backup big at the rim, and Zhao Dong launched into another coast-to-coast sprint.

NBC's broadcast lit up.

"Here we go AGAIN!" Bob Costas shouted.

Doug Collins stood up from his seat. "He's doing it!"

"BOOM!!"

Another ferocious two-handed jam. Another explosion of glass. Another shattered backboard.

Like paper.

Zhao Dong stomped over to the baseline and pointed straight at the San Antonio Express-News reporter, McCarty.

"YOU. TELL ME. HOW DO YOU BEAT ME?"

McCarty sat frozen, drenched in sweat, lips trembling. He couldn't say a word.

---

The SBC Center was silent.

And then... fans started leaving.

A mass exodus.

Bill Walton's voice returned on the NBC broadcast. "This... this is the consequence of angering the Golden Tyrant."

On the bench, David Robinson and Tim Duncan sat like statues. Blood dripped from their clenched fists. They could do nothing but watch their home court fall into ruin.

"Coach, I want back in." Duncan stood up abruptly.

"Greg—" Robinson rose too. "We can't let this happen."

"SIT DOWN." Popovich barked. "Don't act on impulse."

At that moment, Zhao Dong walked past them on his way to the bench. His cold eyes swept across the Spurs bench like a dagger.

Robinson and Duncan instinctively avoided his gaze.

Only Popovich stared back, eyes like a wolf—wild, fierce, defiant.

Zhao Dong smirked.

"As long as I'm in this league, the Spurs will never taste glory."

He turned, took two steps, then looked back at Robinson.

"Admiral—if you still want a ring before you retire, come to New York. I'll get you one. Or go ride O'Neal's coattails."

Popovich leapt from his seat. "Get back to your damn bench! This is Spurs territory!"

Zhao Dong turned slowly and said with deadly calm:

"Where I stand… is MY territory."

---

Fifteen minutes passed.

Another new backboard installed.

But this time, it barely mattered.

The SBC Center was nearly empty. All the Spurs fans had left. The 3,000 Knicks fans who made the trip from New York or flew in from China now filled the entire arena, chanting, waving banners, and celebrating like it was Game 7.

"This has to be the most embarrassing moment in Spurs history," Bob Costas said, his tone filled with disbelief. "They've got two Hall of Fame-caliber big men, and they're getting blown out on their home floor. Fans are pouring out of the building—and we're not even out of the first quarter."

Doug Collins followed up, shaking his head. "The Spurs tried , but Zhao Dong just ripped that sword right out of their hands. One quarter is all he needed to prove this narrative was a joke. Congratulations to Zhao Dong—he didn't just pull out the thorn, he shattered it."

By halftime, the scoreboard said it all: Knicks 68, Spurs 33. A 35-point beatdown in San Antonio.

Zhao Dong walked off the court, expression unreadable, but he didn't make it far before a wall of reporters surrounded him in the tunnel.

"Zhao Dong, will you continue to go after Steve Kerr?" one journalist asked, thrusting a recorder forward.

Zhao Dong's eyes narrowed. "A racist piece of trash. If he's in this league, I'm not."

The crowd gasped.

"Whoa…" a reporter muttered under his breath.

"Is he trying to end Kerr's career?" another said.

"He already ended it," someone added. "If Zhao Dong doesn't take action, the league will. Don't forget Nike. Don't forget the Storm Fund. Don't forget Zhao Dong Sports is now one of the league's major sponsors. Kerr is finished."

---

Meanwhile, Spurs head coach Gregg Popovich led the team silently into the locker room. Waiting just outside was team president Jack, face tight with tension.

"You guys head in," Popovich told Duncan and the others.

Once alone, he looked at Jack. "What's going on, Jack?"

Jack sighed heavily. "Nike just pulled their sponsorship."

Popovich's face darkened. "Jesus Christ."

"And the league called. They're hitting Kerr with a lifetime ban," Jack added, voice grim.

Popovich was stunned. "A lifetime ban?"

"It's a race issue—and Zhao Dong's involved. The league has no choice. I've got to start calling around, try to stop other sponsors from backing out. If we lose any more… the team could spiral financially. The owner already tried reaching out to Storm Fund, but let's be real—they're out of our league."

Jack left in a hurry.

"Damn it all!" Popovich growled, rubbing his forehead in frustration before stepping into the locker room.

The tension inside was suffocating. No one spoke. Kerr sat on the bench, head down.

Popovich looked at him. "Steve…"

Kerr stood up quickly. "Coach?"

Popovich's voice was low and calm. "You need to leave the locker room. Go talk with your agent. Figure out what comes next."

"Coach, I didn't know that word was racist. I didn't mean it like that!" Kerr pleaded, his voice shaky.

Popovich just shook his head. "You don't need to explain to me. I can't help you with this one."

"I got slapped and ejected—what more does that bastard want?!" Kerr snapped, his voice rising in frustration.

"You were impulsive, Steve," Popovich replied sternly. "We all know there are certain things you just don't say out loud—especially not when you're talking about someone like him. Sponsors don't play around with this stuff. Nike's already gone. If this gets worse, the team could be in jeopardy."

Then came the sentence that crushed Kerr's spirit:

"You're done here. You can't stay in this league."

Kerr stood frozen, mouth slightly open. The rest of the locker room sat in stunned silence. Even veterans like David Robinson and Tim Duncan were speechless. No one had expected the situation to spiral this far.

The Knicks wrapped up Game 3 with a statement:

110–65.

A 45-point road win.

Pure domination.

Even though it was late, the story broke across the nation within hours. From New York to China, headlines exploded.

The Next Morning – June 13, 9:00 a.m.

At league headquarters in Manhattan, Commissioner David Stern stood before a packed press room.

"Effective immediately, Steve Kerr is banned for life from participating in any NBA events or affiliated organizations," Stern announced. "Additionally, the San Antonio Spurs are fined three million dollars for conduct detrimental to the league."

It was one of the harshest rulings in league history—and it sent shockwaves everywhere.

Later that same day, Kerr and his agent held a press conference of their own.

"I didn't know it was a racist term," Kerr said, voice cracking. "I wasn't trying to discriminate against anyone. I'm sorry."

Supporters spoke up in his defense. Some media outlets questioned the league's decision, but nothing could reverse the hammer that had already fallen.

The NBA had made its stance clear.

---

Back in San Antonio, Kerr slumped on his couch, speaking quietly with his agent, Rhons.

"You're thirty-four," Rhons said, arms crossed. "If you don't want to play, that's one thing—but what now?"

Kerr stared blankly at the TV.

"I don't want to leave the basketball world," he muttered. "I like commentary. Maybe even coaching. Can you see if NBC needs anyone? Or if any team's looking for an assistant coach?"

Rhons sighed. "I'll make some calls."

---

That afternoon in Las Vegas, Michael Jordan was tracked down by reporters while attending an event.

"Michael, do you have any thoughts on Steve Kerr's situation?" one reporter asked.

"I saw the news," Jordan replied. "His brain must've short-circuited."

"Do you support the league's lifetime ban?"

"Absolutely. There's no room for that in this league."

"But you and Kerr had a fight back in the day—he hit you during practice. Doesn't that affect your view of this?"

Jordan cut the question off with a sharp look. "That was a long time ago. We've been cool for years. Don't mix personal stuff with societal issues. This is racial discrimination. That's a red line you don't cross."

The reporters changed topics.

"What do you think of Zhao Dong playing point guard?"

Jordan's eyes lit up. "He's Magic Johnson with a meaner handle and a deadlier jumper. Nobody in the league can match up with him at point. The only way to even slow him down is to trap him on the perimeter—and even then, he'll still torch you. Doesn't matter where you put him—inside, outside—he's a walking mismatch."

June 14th — Game 4 day.

At 7:00 PM, several reporters were allowed into the Spurs' locker room for pregame interviews.

"David, is your foot alright?" one reporter asked, quickly noticing David Robinson had swapped shoes.

"There are still some issues, but I can push through," Robinson replied calmly.

The atmosphere in the Spurs' locker room was still heavy. The crushing loss two nights ago had left a lingering cloud. Even now, the team hadn't fully bounced back.

"Coach Popovich, have you found a strategy to stop the Knicks?" another reporter asked.

"We're fully prepared," Popovich said flatly, his tone unreadable.

Meanwhile, in the visiting locker room, the Knicks were loose. Zhao Dong sat on the bench lacing his shoes when Yang Yi approached.

"Zhao Dong, still playing point tonight?" he asked with a grin.

"Of course," Zhao Dong chuckled.

"Think the Spurs will adjust?"

"Maybe. But how do you know if you don't test it? Their inside defense is elite, but their perimeter is shaky. Good tactics can work miracles, but even tactics have limits."

---

Starting Lineups Announced at 7:30 PM

New York Knicks:

Center – Wang Zhizhi

Power Forward – Danny Fortson

Small Forward – Charles Barkley

Shooting Guard – Latrell Sprewell

Point Guard – Zhao Dong

San Antonio Spurs:

Center – David Robinson

Power Forward – Tim Duncan

Small Forward – Malik Rose

Shooting Guard – Mario Elie

Point Guard – Avery Johnson

---

NBC Live Broadcast

Bob Costas: "The Spurs made a change tonight—Malik Rose gets the start at forward in place of Sean Elliott. Doug, how do you see this affecting their perimeter defense?"

Doug Collins: "Rose is bulkier, but slower. Sean may be smaller, but he could've offered more speed on the perimeter. The Spurs now risk getting burned in transition."

Isaiah Thomas: "Yeah, and Zhao Dong thrives in transition. You let him get downhill? That's a problem. Even Chicago couldn't contain him in the open floor, and the Spurs are having even more trouble."

Bob Costas: "So the key for San Antonio—score efficiently and control the paint?"

Doug Collins: "Exactly. They need to strike back with high-percentage offense and try to force New York to play a slower pace."

Isaiah: "But look at the stands. The arena's not even full. That blowout loss in Game 3 hurt the fans' confidence."

Bob Costas: "At least 20% of the seats are empty... But we're hearing ratings are still strong—over 30 million viewers tonight."

---

Tip-Off at 8:00 PM

Dazhi (Wang Zhizhi) jumped center against Duncan—Spurs ball.

Avery Johnson brought it up the court... but as soon as he crossed half, Zhao Dong stepped up.

Johnson hesitated the second he saw Zhao Dong in front of him. His confidence wavered. He quickly dumped it off to Mario Elie on the wing.

Duncan posted up immediately, signaling for the ball. But as Elie prepared to pass, Sprewell read it, darted in, and tipped the ball loose!

Zhao Dong was already sprinting.

He ran shoulder-to-shoulder with Johnson across midcourt. Sprewell hit him in stride with a fastbreak pass.

Johnson tried to tug Zhao Dong's jersey—Zhao slapped his hand away and kept going.

One dribble into the paint—no one was there.

"BOOM!"

A thunderous tomahawk slam from the free-throw line shook the rim.

Zhao Dong had just opened Game 4 with a statement.

On the Spurs sideline, Coach Popovich remained stoic—but inside, he was chilled. He knew their weakness—perimeter defense—was exposed again. No tactic could patch a system flaw that deep.

If Zhao Dong at small forward was already a cheat code, him running point guard was like putting a nuclear warhead on a rocket.

Mark Jackson and Sam Cassell made careers at the 1 with far less. Zhao Dong? He was a walking mismatch.

---

Two Hours Later…

It was over.

Zhao Dong torched Avery Johnson all game, slicing through the perimeter like a hot knife through butter. Then he attacked the interior.

Robinson, clearly still affected by his foot injury, got targeted early. By the end of the first quarter, he had picked up five fouls.

In the third, he fouled out. Duncan battled on, but he was on an island.

The Spurs tried to foul Zhao Dong with role players, hoping to slow him down at the line—but that plan backfired.

Zhao Dong shot 32 free throws, hitting 30. His efficiency at the stripe punished every attempt to hack him.

Duncan fouled out just three minutes into the fourth quarter. San Antonio was broken.

Final Score: Knicks 112, Spurs 85.

A 27-point blowout on the road. The Knicks now led the series 3–1.

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