Albert shook his head. "This is gambling. Crazy gambling. Hanburen put three interior players on the floor at once to solve one problem—who would guard Li Fei? Luc Longley is too slow, Kukoc is too soft, Ewing is too old. So his answer is to have Malone defend him."
Walton's expression turned serious. "This isn't an ordinary matchup adjustment. This is an all-or-nothing gamble. Malone is the Bulls' best interior defender—his strength, his experience, the way he uses his hands—he's the only one on this team who can wrestle with Li Fei physically. But what's the cost? The cost is that the Bulls' lineup becomes three bigs. Their speed, perimeter defense, and rotations all have to be readjusted."
Harlan looked at Malone warming up on the court. "The Mailman looks calm. But I wonder what he's thinking inside. He spent so many years in the Western Conference, facing Li Fei every year. He finally came to the Eastern Conference, thinking he could avoid him. Then the coach tells him—you're playing small forward, and you're guarding Li Fei."
Albert laughed. "That's fate. The more you try to hide, the less you can escape it."
Walton added one last remark. "Whether this adjustment works or not, one thing is certain—tonight's game will be very, very interesting."
On the court, warmups were over.
Li Fei stood near the center circle, looking at the Bulls across from him.
His gaze swept past Harper, Jordan, Kukoc, and Ewing before finally settling on Malone.
Karl Malone stood near the three-point line with his hands on his hips, his expression as calm as a rock.
He wore the Bulls' red road jersey, "BULLS" printed across his chest, "MALONE" and the number 32 on his back. But tonight, he was not playing the power forward position he had