The delay this time stretched to twenty-five minutes. The replacement of the shattered backboard was slow, and the workers weren't exactly working with urgency. Players from both sides had to keep jogging onto the court just to stay warm. No one wanted to cramp up during this high-stakes matchup.
Finally, the game resumed. Lakers possession.
"Yo, gimme the rock."
O'Neal was posted up on the left block, muscling Big Ben with his left arm while raising the right hand to signal Fisher.
Fisher zipped the ball inside. Shaq caught it one-handed and went right to work.
Zhao Dong didn't crash down for a double. Seeing this, O'Neal pounded the rock twice, bulldozing his way deeper into the paint.
Big Ben? Man was sturdy, but guarding Shaq was a whole different beast. No matter how strong Wallace's upper body was, he couldn't stop a force like O'Neal. His base was too low, and his lower body just couldn't anchor the weight. Every bump from Shaq was a freight train.
But right then, Barkley rotated in from the weak side and Zhao Dong cut off the top. In a flash, Zhao Dong slid into position, reaching out with his long arm for a swipe.
O'Neal spun—shark turn. Slippery and strong. He dodged Zhao Dong's steal, shoved Wallace aside with his right shoulder, and sent him crashing to the floor.
And then—BOOM!
The Big Diesel took flight and detonated a one-handed slam straight through the rim.
"Sh*t!" Barkley barked under the rim. "Again?!"
Another poster moment. He'd already been dunked on twice, and it was only the beginning of the game. He didn't even want to show his face.
At least this time, he had jumped and avoided getting whistled for a foul.
"The Flying Pig can't fly no more," Marv Albert said on commentary. "In his prime, maybe he blocks that. But now? O'Neal's just too much."
"Yo, kid! You see that power?" O'Neal hollered at Zhao Dong, puffing his chest out after the slam.
Zhao Dong smirked and fired back. "Talk to me after you replace my backboard."
"You better wait on that!"
—CCTV Broadcast—
Zhang Heli chimed in, "To defend a beast like O'Neal, you've gotta break his rhythm before he gets set. If he's locked into position, forget about it. That size and power—he's basically unstoppable."
"O'Neal's strength under the rim is like Zhao Dong's downhill momentum—unreal and unguardable," added Sun Zhenping.
"Has he ever been blocked?" Sun asked.
"Sure, last season Zhao Dong got him once," Zhang replied with a laugh. "But blocking Shaq is rare. And you can't expect Zhao Dong to dominate O'Neal like he did Karl Malone both ways."
Sun chuckled. "Would be amazing if they could cancel each other out."
Zhang continued, "If you want to stop him, step one is keeping him away from the rim. Ben's gotta front him hard. Step two, help defense has to come quick. If you wait till he's under the rim, it's over. The guy's huge, but agile like a shark in water. Even two or three defenders might not be enough."
"The 2-1-2 zone can slow him a bit," he added. "But Barkley's help is too slow, and Zhao Dong's still a step behind. You double him early? He's forced to take hooks and jumpers—low percentage compared to his dunks."
"But this is still the regular season," Zhang finished. "The defense isn't fully dialed up yet. O'Neal and Zhao Dong? They're both going at each other's throats. 'You break my board, I break yours.' It's about to get wild."
Back to the game. Lakers on offense.
Kobe took the ball on the right wing, eyeing Hu Weidong.
A quick first step. He beat Hu but ran straight into Zhao Dong sliding over for help defense. Hu recovered quickly, lunged from behind—clean steal!
"Hu Weidong with the steal!" Zhang Heli shouted.
Kobe spun, chasing after Hu, but Zhao Dong came streaking in from the backcourt. Hu made the smart play—quick dish to Zhao Dong.
Kobe tried to recover again—but Zhao Dong was gone.
Fisher and Glen Rice hustled back, getting to half court first. But once Zhao Dong crossed the timeline, there was no stopping that freight train.
He hit the left elbow, took one power step inside—and launched.
Both arms cradling the ball. Abs tucked. Eyes locked on the rim.
"No! Not my rebound again!" O'Neal screamed from the arc.
BOOM!!
The rim exploded.
Glass shattered everywhere, even spraying the front row.
The Great Western Forum erupted.
Magic Johnson leapt from his courtside seat. "NO WAY!" Hands on his head, total disbelief.
Behind the baseline, the Lakers cheerleaders let out a collective wail.
"Ugh! We gotta dance again?! We're dead!"
NBC Broadcast Booth
"Sweet mother of glass, he did it AGAIN!" Matt Goukas yelled.
"Somebody call a priest," Marv Albert added. "The backboard begged for mercy, and Zhao Dong said no!"
"Yo, Marv! You seeing this? Our ratings just broke 40 million. Forty freakin' million! This is history!"
"No Finals game ever cracked that before Zhao showed up," Marv added. "The people came for violence—and Zhao Dong delivered!"
"Shaq, you better stop me!" Zhao Dong shouted at center court.
Then he grinned like a maniac… and snarled:
"Or I'll break another one for you!"
"You damn monster, that's too far!" O'Neal snapped back.
Two boards shattered in a row—on his home court. O'Neal's face was thundercloud dark. He was pissed.
"Hell yeah, Zhao! Smash a few more of his boards tonight!" Barkley shouted, hyped. "Get payback for dunking on me!"
"That dude's not human," Kobe said, looking stunned. "Shaq, handle that!"
"I GOT THIS. Just give me the ball!" O'Neal roared.
Timeout. Third delay. Both teams hit the bench.
As Zhao Dong passed the Lakers sideline, he turned to Jerry West.
"Yo, Mr. West. You got enough backboards in the building tonight?"
Jerry smiled bitterly. "That's the arena's problem now. Don't look at me."
Meanwhile in New York—
NBA Commissioner David Stern picked up the phone.
"Mr. Stern, it's Locke," his assistant said. "The Knicks-Lakers broadcast just hit 43 million viewers. That's more than the NBA Finals."
Stern laughed, eyes still on the screen. "I know. I'm watching it right now."
Zhao Dong was hyped. Tonight's game hit different. No on-court brawls, no unnecessary beef—just pure basketball energy. The players locked in from start to finish. If all games were like this? Man, Zhao Dong wouldn't mind smashing ten backboards in a single night.
The league needed this kind of energy. After the long layoff, fans had been tuning out, turning to other sports. But tonight? This explosive show was enough to bring most of them right back in. The league was alive again, and it was a beautiful thing.
At the Great Western Forum, even with the game paused for over ten minutes, the crowd didn't lose a step. The buzz stayed electric. It was like the air itself was charged up with adrenaline.
But no one was more drained than the Lakers cheerleaders. After nearly an hour of keeping the vibes up through three separate timeouts, their energy was tapped. No more high kicks, no flips, just a few hand moves, some waist twists, a couple flirtatious looks, and a tired bounce of their chests.
They glared toward the staff at courtside, hissing under their breath, "Damn, can y'all hurry up? What are y'all doing back there, knitting the backboard from scratch?"
Fifteen minutes later, the new backboard was finally mounted.
"Ugh, finally!"
A group of exhausted cheerleaders let out weak cheers as they jogged off the court like survivors of a war zone.
The game picked back up, and the Lakers had the ball.
"Yo Zhao Dong, Shaq—y'all think you can go a few minutes without destroying something?" Marv Albert said with a grin in the broadcast booth. "It's only been four minutes and now we've lost an hour. We tryna wrap this game up before sunrise."
Matt Goukas laughed. "What I'm really worried about are the cheerleaders. They're running on fumes out there. Zhao Dong, Shaq—please, we've had enough halftime shows for one night. Let's get back to hooping."
The two of them laughed.
"Ball! Give me the ball! I'm dunkin' that rim into another dimension!"
O'Neal was roaring after his extended rest, yelling at Fisher like a beast ready to break free.
At the top of the arc, Zhao Dong had his eyes locked on Fisher. The second Fisher tried to dish the ball to O'Neal, Zhao exploded. Like a missile, he launched upward and smacked the ball out of the air with a thunderous slap.
"Ohhh!!"
The entire arena lost it.
"Can Zhao Dong actually fly!?"
Marv nearly bit his tongue.
"Is that even human!?"
Matt's jaw dropped.
But it wasn't that Zhao Dong had some insane vertical. He was only jumping about 110 cm. It was the way his height, wingspan, and timing came together that made it seem like he was floating above everyone else.
The deflected ball flew toward half-court. Billups, who was covering Fisher, made a quick cut, raced past, scooped it up, and broke down the lane in transition.
As he sprinted toward the basket, he glanced back and saw Zhao Dong trailing. Instead of going up himself, he pulled wide to the left and whipped a slick pass back.
Zhao Dong caught it in full stride at the arc. He surged forward like a freight train, took off from the free-throw line, and soared into the air like a mythical dragon. One hand gripped the ball high, and thunder seemed to roar behind him.
"It's over!"
Kobe, Fisher, and Glen Rice all knew what was coming—and they couldn't stop it.
"Zhao Dong, don't you dare!"
Shaq's eyes were blazing.
"Oh man, here we go again!"
Marv was in disbelief.
"Again!"
Matt shouted, on the edge of his seat.
"Again… again!!"
Nearly 20,000 Lakers fans screamed in unison—equal parts fear and awe.
Photographers behind the baseline snapped into action. Their shutters fired like machine guns as Zhao Dong hit peak elevation.
BOOM!
The rim cracked like a thunderclap, the backboard shattered again, and the hoop sank deep—like it had been dunked into the Earth.
"YEAHHHHH!!"
Even the Lakers fans couldn't contain themselves. They jumped up, screaming and waving their arms like they were celebrating a championship.
"Wait, are Lakers fans cheering for him!?"
Marv couldn't believe it. "Zhao Dong just trashed your house, and y'all are giving him a standing ovation!?"
"That's the power of a superstar," Matt said, standing up and gripping his mic. "That's the league's new icon, baby! That right there is history in motion. Lakers fans respect greatness—even when it's aimed at them."
Magic Johnson just sat there, stunned. It was like Shaq had been posterized by the entire city. Zhao Dong had ripped the pride off the Lakers' chest and stomped it on the hardwood.
Zhao Dong let go of the wrecked hoop and bolted to the baseline. All the cameras rushed up to him, and he shouted into every single lens:
"Yo! Backboard suppliers—you watchin' this?! Send a dozen more backboards ASAP! We're runnin' low!"
A furious cheerleader stormed over and shouted, "Why don't you ask for a dozen more dancers while you're at it?! We're dying out here! You wanna see more? Go dance yourself!"
Zhao Dong blinked, then cracked up and jogged off to join his teammates.
"That dude is the worst!"
A group of cheerleaders glared at him. "Three boards! He's taken out THREE of our boards tonight. This time he even dragged the hoop with him!"
On the Lakers bench, Kobe clenched his fists. "Shaq, we can't let this slide. We gotta clap back."
O'Neal was seething. He marched up to Zhao Dong and snarled, "You done for the night, punk?!"
"What's up, Shaq? You wanna go again?" Barkley stepped in between them.
"I'll crush you!" Shaq growled, shoving Barkley hard.
Barkley didn't play that. He was from the Bad Boy era—he'd brawled with tougher dudes than Shaq. But just as he was about to swing, Zhao Dong held him back.
"Yo, Chuck, chill," Zhao Dong said, holding him firm.
"What? Why?" Barkley blinked.
"Bro, if you fight him and get tossed, who am I gonna fight? These Lakers ain't worth it yet."
Barkley blinked again, then chuckled. "Damn… fair point."
O'Neal, meanwhile, looked lost. "What… what did he just say?"
Zhao Dong walked up and patted him on the shoulder. "Shark, do your thing, man."
"Huh? What thing?" Shaq blinked.
"What else? Go to the storage room and find a backboard that won't break so easy!"
Zhao Dong walked away, cackling.
"You—! YOU BASTARD!!"
Shaq lunged forward, fists clenched, but Kobe and a couple teammates held him back.
Back in New York, Commissioner Stern breathed a massive sigh of relief.
"Thank god. No fight."
In the NBC booth, Marv and Matt both let out matching sighs.
"No fight this time," Matt said.
"No throwdown?"
On CCTV, the two Chinese commentators—Zhang Heli and Sun Zhenping—sounded almost disappointed.
The Lakers cheerleaders dragged themselves back onto the court less than 30 seconds after walking off. Their faces were deadpan, but when the music hit, they kicked back into rhythm, bouncing with mechanical energy like they'd been rebooted.
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