Jordan couldn't keep up, but his left hand still had time.
His left hand curled into a fist. Seemingly without a care, it brushed past the left side of Wang Yi's lower back.
Wang Yi felt a sharp pain in his lower back.
He had already been a little off balance when he released the ball. This time, his shot hit the back of the rim and bounced out, and Jordan grabbed the rebound.
Back on offense, Jordan dribbled beyond the three-point line and looked at Wang Yi.
His eyes held a taunting glint, as if to say, You can't even handle a little trick like that?
Wang Yi couldn't help admiring him.
By the rules, that was definitely a foul, but Jordan's fist had only brushed Wang Yi's lower back for an instant.
In the heat of the game, it was hard for the referee to notice.
Without a replay, it was almost impossible to see.
At the thought, a smile appeared on Wang Yi's face.
As expected of an old-school player from that era. He really knew a thing or two.
Now he understood why the mid-range shot had become Jordan's signature.
Back then, the moment you started dribbling from the perimeter, you faced all kinds of hard contact.
By the time you fought your way to mid-range, you had already spent a great deal of energy.
If you then forced your way into the paint, you'd inevitably lose some momentum.
And if the contact was already that intense on the perimeter, just imagine what it would be like if you dared to drive all the way to the basket.
Back in the day, Jordan had faced countless malicious fouls whenever he drove inside.
If he dared enter the paint, things like trip wires, elbows, gut shots, and