The lights at Madison Square Garden slowly brightened.
The home fans still refused to leave, their thunderous cheers echoing through the arena.
The cleaning staff had already come in and begun picking up the discarded drink cups scattered across the floor.
Players from both teams headed toward the tunnels, drenched in sweat.
Every member of the Philadelphia 76ers looked dejected.
Iverson walked at the very back, clutching his number three jersey.
His head hung slightly, his footsteps heavy. There was no sign of rage on his face after the defeat.
Only a stubborn bitterness lingered in his expression.
The postgame mixed interview zone was already packed with reporters.
Cameras and recording equipment were all in place, waiting for the stars to appear.
Iverson was the first to stop, and reporters immediately surrounded him.
He had exhausted every ounce of energy tonight, yet he still could not stop his team from suffering a crushing defeat.
Many of the reporters' questions carried a note of sympathy.
An ESPN reporter held a microphone out to Iverson.
"Allen, you struggled all game against Michael Jordan's defense tonight. How would you assess the way he contained you?"
Iverson wiped the remaining sweat from his face, his chest still heaving.
"Michael is one of the greatest players in history. There's no arguing that."
"His footwork, his anticipation, his physicality—every time he crowded me, I could barely breathe."
"I tried every offensive move I had. Crossovers, separation moves, pull-ups. But he was always right there in front of me."
His voice was calm. He offered no excuses.
"I'm not going to blame the loss on any one matchup. The entire Knicks team is just too strong."
"Li Fei anchors the paint, Jordan controls the perimeter, and every one of their role players is dependable."
"Our rotation depth