At halftime, an indefinable mood hung over the Chicago Bulls' locker room—not despair, but the calm that came with knowing how it would end.
Jordan sat in front of his locker with ice packs on his knees and a cup of water in his hand, saying nothing. His jersey was soaked, and sweat dripped from his temples onto the floor, but he did not wipe it away.
Malone sat beside him, eyes closed, leaning back in his chair as though doing something only he understood—erasing this game from his mind, erasing this series from his mind, erasing everything from his past year in Chicago.
He had already decided to leave. Once this season ended, he would be gone. Not because he did not care, but because he cared too much.
In the third quarter, the Bulls tried to mount one last stand. Jordan scored six straight points, Malone scored on a low-post move against Li Fei, and Kukoc knocked down a corner three.
But the Knicks answered even faster—Li Fei scored on three consecutive low-post possessions against Malone, Sprewell finished an and-one on the break, and Houston hit a three from the right corner.
The gap did not shrink. It grew.
At the end of the third quarter, the score was 82–58, with the Knicks ahead by 24.
The fourth quarter became pure garbage time.
Hanburen kept both Jordan and Malone on the bench and sent out an all-reserve lineup.
Jordan sat on the bench with a towel over his knees, watching the court without expression.
His jersey was soaked, his knees ached, his shoulders hurt, and his lungs burned, but his expression was as still as stagnant water.
The final buzzer sounded, freezing the score at 108–82. The Knicks routed the Bulls by 26 at home, eliminated them four