📅 November 13, 2024 – TD Garden, Boston
The hallway outside the visiting locker room smelled like popcorn and floor polish.
Zoran didn't say much during pregame. Neither did anyone else. No banter. No energy games. Just quiet focus as they stretched, taped up, and walked out into the teeth of it.
Boston wasn't Milwaukee. Milwaukee was muscle. This? This was intelligence. Precision. The Celtics didn't close the door on you with power—they squeezed until the air left your lungs.
Zoran had watched hours of their film the night before. How they baited bad spacing. How they rotated two steps early, not one. How Jrue Holiday shifted behind the action like a ghost.
He knew tonight wouldn't be a numbers game.
It would be survival.
He didn't check in until the three-minute mark of the first. Orlando was already down eight.
Coach Mosley didn't say much—just his name and a nod. Zoran took off his warmup and slid onto the floor without making eye contact with anyone.
First trip: stagger screen action. Zoran popped to the wing. Franz hit him with a clean pass. Jrue was already there. Hands up. Feet calm. No lean. No reach. Zoran jabbed, held, reset.
Second trip: flare from the corner. Open again. He caught it. Hesitated just half a second—enough for Derrick White to recover. Closeout in his face. Pass out. Swing. No shot.
Boston didn't gamble. They smothered.
He ended the quarter with zero points, zero shots, and zero mistakes.
The Celtics led 29–21.
Second quarter. 8:12 on the clock.
Mosley waved him back in. Orlando trailed by double digits.
Zoran got his first good look off a second-side screen from Wendell Carter Jr.—15-foot pull-up. Back rim. He didn't shake his head. Just ran back.
Next play: Paolo collapsed the defense, kicked out. Zoran caught in rhythm. Release. Clean.Splash.
Back on defense, he stayed attached to Sam Hauser through two off-ball cuts. Denied the catch. The Celtics reset.
Then came a run.
Suggs ripped a lazy pass from Horford and pushed the break. Zoran filled the left wing. One step, two, gathered through Porziņģis' chest, and finished off the glass.
No whistle.
Still good.
Three minutes later, he read a passing lane perfectly, jumped it, and took off again—this time finishing with a soft reverse under Tatum's contest.
At halftime:
Celtics 54, Magic 42
Zoran: 8 points, 2 rebounds, 1 steal, 4-of-6 shooting
Quiet numbers. But efficient.
In the locker room, nobody singled him out. Good or bad.
Which was fine. Zoran didn't expect praise. He wasn't here for applause.
He sat with a towel over his shoulders, watching Mosley diagram matchups. Watching Suggs stretch his wrist. Watching Paolo flex his ankle. All while mentally replaying the missed read he made on a flare screen two minutes before the half.
No music played. No jokes cracked.
Just silence and whiteboard markers.
Third quarter.
Boston came out sharp. Tatum hit back-to-back threes. Jrue forced a turnover. The crowd was loud now. 63–47.
Zoran didn't look up when Mosley called his name. He just stood, pulled off his top, and checked in.
Immediately: pressure.
Jrue pressed him off the inbound. Zoran broke the press with one clean crossover and kicked it up to Franz for a dunk. Assist. Next trip: same press, this time he hesitated, split it, pulled up from midrange.
Bucket.
Next defensive possession, he rotated late to stop White's drive—got his chest in, arms back, absorbed the hit. Charge. Orlando bench clapped once. Quiet.
Then came a run.
Celtics misfired twice. Zoran slipped a cut, caught it midpaint, pump-faked Horford, stepped through, and laid it in.63–53.
Next: a stop, a push, Wendell found him again off a high handoff.
Pull-up three.Good.
Timeout Boston.
Score: Celtics 63, Magic 56.
When play resumed, Boston ran a tight stagger for Tatum. Zoran switched, stuck with him through the curl, forced a pass.
On the other end, the ball swung back to Zoran on a broken set. He drove left, pulled back, fired from the elbow.
68–59.
End of the quarter.
Three quarters in:
Zoran: 17 points, 4 rebounds, 2 assists, 1 steal
FG: 7-of-10
Magic trailing by 9
He sat with his elbows on his knees. Towel draped across the back of his neck. Didn't say a word.
Isaac leaned in beside him. "Nice stretch."
Zoran just nodded.
The crowd buzzed above. Boston fans felt the tension.
Nine points wasn't much. Not against Boston. Not here. Not with everything riding on inches and rotations.
Zoran looked up at the scoreboard once.
He wasn't playing for it.
He was just playing.