7:30 PM – Madison Square Garden, New York City
The moment the clock struck 7:30, both teams' substitutes began warming up on the sidelines, and the starting lineups were officially announced over the booming PA system.
Philadelphia Starting Five:
Center: Theo Ratliff
Power Forward: Karl Malone
Small Forward: George Lynch
Shooting Guard: Allen Iverson
Point Guard: Eric Snow
New York Knicks Starting Five:
Center: Ben Wallace
Power Forward: Charles Barkley
Small Forward: Zhao Dong
Shooting Guard: Latrell Sprewell
Point Guard: Chauncey Billups
---
NBC National Broadcast Booth – Matt Goukas & Marv Albert
Marv Albert kicked things off:
"The Sixers are keeping their starting lineup intact. Same five from the regular season and their first-round sweep."
Matt Goukas followed up, nodding.
"But the Knicks? They've switched it up. Back in the Detroit series, Fortson was in the starting five. This time around, it's Barkley getting the nod at the four."
"Barkley didn't log many minutes in the regular season," Marv pointed out. "But he looks comfortable in New York. Much better fit than his time in Houston. If he stays healthy, he can still hold his own as a top-tier power forward."
Matt chimed in with a skeptical take:
"Sure, but let's talk defense and rebounding. The Philly Team's got strong inside presence—Ratliff and Malone can both crash the boards and hold the paint. If we're talking about the Knicks with Fortson starting, it's neck-and-neck. But Barkley? At his age? His defense and rebounding aren't what they used to be."
Marv smirked. "Better hope he doesn't hear you say that. You'll never hear the end of it."
---
CCTV Broadcast (China)
Zhang Heli analyzed:
"Starting Barkley is clearly to boost the interior scoring. Right now, New York's only consistent offense at the four spot comes from Zhao Dong and Billups. Billups averaged about 17 a game in the regular season on 40.5% shooting—a step up from last year. But in the first-round series? He dropped to 37% and 15 points a game. Not exactly stable scoring."
Sun Zhenping replied, "Zhao Dong dropped three triple-doubles last round. Think he's gonna keep that up?"
Zhang responded, "Against the Pistons, he had more freedom to facilitate. But this time it's Philly—they're elite offensively. Zhao Dong needs to focus on scoring first."
---
Backcourt Tunnel – Pre-Tip Confrontation
As the two squads crossed paths at the tunnel, tension snapped in the air.
Zhao Dong squared up to Karl Malone, eyes cold.
"Mailman, the only thing you're delivering this series is a sweep."
Before Malone could even reply, Iverson stepped in, chest puffed, chin high.
"Hell no. This is the playoffs. We ain't the same team you saw in the regular season. We're takin' this series. You? You goin' home. We're headin' to the Eastern Conference Finals."
Zhao Dong ignored him completely, turned to Barkley with a smirk.
"Chuck, what's up with your boy?"
Without missing a beat, Barkley shrugged.
"Man's dreamin'. Daydreamin'."
Zhao Dong, Sprewell, and Billups all cracked up laughing. Even Ben Wallace, usually straight-faced, let out a dry chuckle.
Iverson clenched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white. He had nothing to throw back. He just turned and stormed off, pissed and fuming.
Madison Square Garden – Game Intro
When the visiting team stepped onto the hardwood, the roar of boos was deafening. It wasn't just a normal playoff crowd—it was war.
This was dynasty business.
The New York fans booed so hard it felt like the whole Garden was shaking. Some looked ready to cough up a lung, faces flushed, fists raised, veins bulging.
"Back in the day, Jordan's United Center was the league's loudest," Marv Albert laughed. "But the '90s are almost over—and MSG might be the new nightmare for visiting teams."
Matt Goukas chuckled.
"The New York Gentlemen, huh? Suits and all. Even their dress code's contagious—other teams tryin' to copy the Knicks' drip now."
"DYNASTY! DYNASTY! DYNASTY!"
As the Knicks took the floor, the arena exploded in a frenzy. The noise reached a fever pitch. MSG wasn't just a stadium—it was a battlefield.
When the energy finally settled just a bit, Zhao Dong stepped up and took the mic from the host. What he said wasn't long. Wasn't complex. Wasn't rehearsed.
He just leaned in and shouted one word:
"SWEEP!"
A beat of stunned silence. Then—chaos.
"SWEEP! SWEEP! SWEEP!"
The chant spread like wildfire, bursting from the stands like a sonic bomb. It wasn't just noise—it was declaration. MSG sounded like a volcano erupting. The energy surged through the walls and spilled into the streets of Manhattan.
Back on the visitors' side, Karl Malone's hands clenched into fists, the veins on his arms popping. Iverson's face twisted into a snarl, fire in his eyes.
He couldn't believe it.
They swept their first-round opponents and came in confident, only for Zhao Dong to publicly declare a sweep on them? This wasn't just trash talk. It was war.
"Eastern Conference Finals! Eastern Conference Finals!"
The three thousand away fans screamed as loud as they could, fighting back with their own chants. But their voices got swallowed by the ocean of noise from the seventeen thousand strong.
They were just whispers in a storm.
---
CCTV Booth (China)
Zhang Heli shouted over the noise:
"They haven't even tipped off and we've already got fireworks!"
Sun Zhenping added more cautiously, "The Knicks should still be careful. Sure, Philly didn't win a single game in the regular season against them, but playoff teams level up. The Philly now is way more dangerous than they were a few months ago."
Zhang smirked. "Doesn't matter who's around the Mailman. If Zhao Dong beats him down on both ends, that's all that counts. Karl's iron elbows? Worthless. Zhao's his natural counter. This version of Philly feels just like Utah to me—pretending to be elite."
Coach Don Nelson stood up and yelled across to his team, loud and direct:
"Don't sleep on 'em! The Email Combo is tougher than the Black and White Duo!"
Zhao Dong heard him, nodding slightly.
He knew Nelson was right.
This 76ers had something Utah didn't—Iverson. Stocktin? Not here. But Iverson brought scoring explosiveness Stockton never had.
In his previous life, the Black and White Duo led their team to the Finals twice—only to be shut down by Jordan both times. At crunch time, Stokes couldn't create offense, and he couldn't take the pressure off Karl Malone. Once Malone was locked up, their offense stalled completely.
Another big problem? The Black and White Duo didn't have strong ball-handling scorers. That was a huge hole for a team built around them.
A combo that relied only on teamwork and had no real shot creators—once the defense locked down one of them, the whole structure collapsed.
But now, this Philly squad? Allen Iverson fixed all of Utah's old problems.
Sure, the Knicks had swept the regular season series 4-0, but that was the regular season. The playoffs? That's the real test.
Zhao Dong knew one thing for sure—in this lockout-shortened season, the Email Duo wasn't going all-out during the regular season.
Their only mission? A ring.
The Sixers won the tip and took the first possession.
"The Knicks are sticking with man-to-man!" Zhang Heli yelled as soon as Zhao Dong matched up with Karl Malone. "No double-teams, just straight up defense!"
Sun Zhenping leaned forward and said, "Philly's spacing out the floor. Their bigs pulled out, and Iverson's moving off the ball on the right wing…"
Iverson sprinted off a curl, then cut hard and suddenly changed direction. Just like that, he shook off Latrell Sprewell and caught the pass on the right wing.
He blew by the closeout and attacked the paint.
Sprewell tried to recover, but George Lynch stepped up and set a clean screen—Philly running that high-IQ pick-and-roll to perfection.
Big Ben came over to help at the rim, but Iverson hit the brakes, crossed over, and slipped past him. Just as the help defense collapsed, he dished it out to Eric Snow, who cut into the lane and took it straight to the cup.
Zhao Dong rotated just in time, covering the rim—but Iverson saw it. Calm as ever, he kicked it back to Malone, wide open mid-range.
Swish!
Money.
"You go home—we're headed to the Eastern Conference Finals," Iverson shouted, chin raised, eyes locked on Zhao Dong as he backpedaled to defense.
"You talkin' crazy for a little dude," Zhao Dong barked.
Matt Goukas chuckled in the booth. "That's the fire of the Email Duo. Way scarier than the old Black and White combo. Iverson's got that gravity—he draws doubles and breaks down defenses. Stockton never had that kind of threat."
Marv Albert added, "You could sag off Stockton. Not with Iverson. That dude's a walking blow-by. Their chemistry's been building all year, and now it's scary smooth. No way the Knicks are sweeping this."
Goukas laughed. "Honestly, if the Knicks win this series, they better thank the basketball gods."
"Zone defense, triple coverage on the low block!" Zhang Heli shouted as he saw Philly's formation. "Is Larry Brown serious? Iverson's guarding Zhao Dong at the three?"
Down low, Ratliff held the paint. Malone took the left block, while Lynch shaded the right.
Up top, Iverson and Snow camped at the elbows, guarding the wings. It was a 2-3 box—an old-school wall.
Billups walked it up and pulled up at the top. Right on cue, Iverson and Snow pinched in on him.
Billups shook them and kicked it to Zhao Dong on the left wing.
Zhao caught it—Iverson instantly lunged at him.
Malone stepped up too, ready to trap if Zhao tried to drive. And behind them was Ratliff, sitting in the paint like a brick wall.
Philly's message was clear:
Take that outside shot—but you ain't getting into the lane.
Even though the Knicks had three shooters on the arc—Zhao Dong, Billups, and Sprewell —Philly still only committed Iverson and Snow on the perimeter.
Larry Brown was going all in on interior defense. His biggest fear? Zhao Dong's elite mid-range and paint efficiency. That's where the Knicks made their money.
But with this setup, New York now had a 3-on-2 advantage on the perimeter—and Zhao Dong had a major mismatch.
Malone didn't rotate to help. He knew if he left, Billups or Sprewell would get an easy drive, and Zhao could thread that dime no problem. So he stayed disciplined.
Zhao didn't hesitate. He sized Iverson up, felt the rhythm—then let it fly.
A high-arcing three, right in Iverson's face.
Iverson leapt to contest—but the height gap was too much.
Clang!
Off the rim. Ratliff grabbed the board.
They tried the same tactic again. Iverson ran the same set—but this time, Sprewell stuck with him.
Iverson reset up top, took a handoff from Snow, and drove hard from the right elbow.
Sprewell got clipped on the screen. Billups switched, but Iverson's first step was lethal—he turned the corner and slashed into the paint.
A simple off-ball curl, a single dribble attack—yet it shredded the Knicks' D.
Zhao Dong stood on the left wing, floating near the paint. He gave Malone space, stayed ready to help. His eyes were locked on Iverson—but his body kept the Mailman in check too.
As soon as Iverson burst past Billups into the paint, he didn't hesitate. He exploded toward the rim, slicing through the lane with one powerful step.
Zhao Dong immediately stepped up. He had been reading Iverson's movement all the way, and the moment the Answer's vision was cut off by Billups, Zhao Dong slid into help defense.
Iverson suddenly noticed—Zhao Dong was only two meters away. That was one step for someone like him. And worse, when Iverson looked past Zhao Dong, he realized Karl Malone was completely blocked off. There was no passing lane between them. The only option was a slow lob, and Zhao Dong would eat that alive.
So Iverson didn't hesitate—he punched the gas and went straight to the rim.
No pass. If the window wasn't open, he'd handle it himself. And this season, his handle and finishing were sharper than ever.
Big Ben stepped up to protect the basket. Iverson took off, straight into him. But in mid-air, the Answer spun—twisting, gliding, slipping around Big Ben's block and even dodging Zhao Dong who was chasing from behind. He curled to the right side of the rim and laid it in with a soft flick.
Swish!
"Damn… he's stronger now. Stronger than he was in my past life."
Zhao Dong's eyes lit up, even though he'd just gotten scored on. In his previous life, Iverson was known for his handles and quickness, but his finishing at the rim hovered just over 50%. His body control was elite, but his finishing wasn't always clean.
This play? It was different.
The aerial ability, the mid-air adjustment, the footwork—it all screamed evolution.
Zhao Dong lived for these moments. He only felt truly alive when challenged by greatness.
"I told you, we're going to the Eastern Conference Finals. You? Go home!" Iverson shouted, hyped, eyes burning with intensity.
Zhao Dong laughed, shook his head, and fired back: "Man, I must've spoiled you too much."
"Wooo! That was a beauty! Damn near perfect!" Matt Goukas hollered.
"One-on-two? That was slick," Marv Albert added, chuckling.
On the Chinese broadcast, Zhang Heli warned, "Zhao Dong can't underestimate Iverson. He's clearly leveled up this season."
On the sidelines, Yao Ming watched wide-eyed, admiration in his gaze. "A guy that small… finishing like that over Brother Dong? The NBA's top guards really are monsters."
Knicks Ball.
After missing his first shot, Zhao Dong didn't waste time testing his jumper again. No need—his game wasn't just about jump shots.
He ducked into the low post immediately, choosing brute force over finesse. Let Philly try their zone defense—he didn't believe anyone could stop his inside game.
Zhao Dong curled from the wing, cutting toward the block. Karl Malone shadowed him immediately.
Zhao Dong spun, sealed the Mailman on his back, and reached out for the ball.
Malone gave him a nasty elbow to the lower back. It stung, but Zhao Dong didn't budge.
Billups fired the pass in.
Iverson, standing just above Zhao Dong on the left elbow, exploded downward. The second Zhao Dong caught the ball, Iverson was on him—forming a quick double-team.
This was different from last season. Iverson wasn't just playing offense now—he was defending with heart. If he wanted to take Zhao Dong down, he knew he had to play both ends.
"Nice double! Great use of Iverson's speed," praised Matt Goukas.
But fast as it was, the double-team couldn't slow Zhao Dong. He caught, dropped his shoulder, and faked baseline.
Malone bit, shifted back to recover.
That was all Zhao Dong needed.
He immediately countered with an up-and-under, brushing past Malone's hip, and rose above Iverson.
Bang!
The ball kissed the glass and dropped in.
Cheers erupted from the crowd. The Knicks were on the board.
76ers Possession.
Zhao Dong barked toward the perimeter. "Sprewell! If you blow this assignment again, your investor cut's gone!"
That hit hard.
Sprewell—Zhao Dong's wild-card teammate—had spent a whole season proving himself just to earn Zhao Dong's trust on an investment deal. Losing that shot? That would be like getting tossed out of heaven.
He'd heard the stories—Fordson followed Zhao Dong's calls last year with just 500K and made three times his money.
There was no way in hell he'd miss his chance now.
"The hell I am! I'll chase Iverson to the grave!"
Fueled by desperation (and pride), Sprewell stuck to Iverson like glue—grabbing, tugging, hell, practically trying to bite him.
Snow waited and waited, but Iverson couldn't shake free.
Karl Malone couldn't get separation either—Zhao Dong was stonewalling him.
With the clock running down and no open options, Snow forced a shot.
Clang!
The shot bricked. Big Ben snagged the rebound and the Knicks pushed the pace.
Back to Knicks.
Zhao Dong posted up again, left block. Barkley rotated out to the wing.
The ball came down to Zhao Dong. This time, George Lynch jumped in with a hard double.
Zhao Dong didn't hesitate. He kicked the ball out to Barkley, wide open at the mid-range.
Splash!
"Leaving Barkley open? That's a death wish," Sun Zhenping said skeptically.
"Philly's trying to lock down the paint. They're betting we miss from outside," Zhang Heli analyzed. "They won't double the perimeter. But Barkley's mid-range? That's gotta be contested. Leave him open, and you're asking for trouble."
76ers Ball.
Iverson sprinted without the ball. Sprewell chased like a man possessed. Iverson finally managed to shake a little room and caught the pass—but Barkley was right there, cutting off his lane.
No space to drive. Iverson had to stop and pop from the elbow.
Missed.
Zhao Dong soared in, grabbed the board, and led the Knicks into transition once more.
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