The boos from the more than 15,000 home fans in Miami Arena found an outlet instantly, like a massive black tsunami.
Garnett's face was expressionless; he was just clenching his teeth so tightly that his jawline looked like it was about to break.
Starting point guard Sam Cassell, clutching a throbbing rib, retreated from the free-throw line. As he passed Garnett, he lightly bumped him with his shoulder, his voice low and menacing. "Don't mess around, shut up."
"I know what to do." Garnett glanced at him sideways, stepped across the sideline, and entered the field.
On the sidelines, Miami Heat president and head coach Pat Riley stood with his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on Garnett with a venomous glare.
This is exactly what Pat Riley and all of Miami wanted to see... a rising superstar who had just been provoked by a malicious foul and whose mind was filled with raging anger.
If this 20-year-old loses control again, even if it's just by retaliating with a sneaky elbow, Miami can use their most adept off-court tactics to pull the entire series back to their familiar rhythm.
But just half a minute later, Pat Riley's smirk froze.
The three referees had just finished watching the replay at the technical table. Everyone knew that if this nationally televised Game 7 continued to degenerate into a brawl, the league office would definitely call everyone in for questioning the next day.
The scale of the whistle changed instantly.
Any off-ball pulling, waist grabbing, or underhand bumping that goes beyond basketball rules will be immediately stopped by a sharp whistle.
In the next possession, Heat big man Brian Grant attempted to repeat his tactic on the weak side. He used his forearm to brace against Garnett's waist, trying to pin him down beyond the three-point line.
However, just as Garnett stepped back and started moving, and Grant pulled his arm in the same direction...
"Beep--!"
The linesman blew his whistle without hesitation. A foul for pulling an opponent off the ball.
Lin Qi stood behind the away team's bench, his hands in his trouser pockets, watching the scene calmly.
Pat Riley had calculated everything, except for the consequences of his actions. He tried to steer the game off course with a violent confrontation, but instead forced the referees to control the game with a relentless whistle. The gray area on which the Miami Heat depended for survival vanished in an instant.
When defenders dared not pull him so recklessly anymore, athletic monsters like Kevin Garnett were finally freed from their constraints.
The Boston Celtics inbound the ball from the baseline.
Sam Cassell dribbled the ball across half-court and lobbed it to Garnett was positioned high up.
Garnett stretched out his long, spider-like arms on the right side of the free-throw line. Standing there, he had a clear view of the Heat's entire paint area.
Grant didn't dare to pull him down, Mourning in the penalty area didn't dare to rush out rashly either.
In the brief half-second of hesitation by the Heat's defense, Boston shooting Eddie Jones understood perfectly and used Mutombo's screen to make a ghostly cut back from the baseline.
With a flick of his wrist, Garnett sent the basketball flying precisely through the narrow gap between Grant and Mourning.
Jones caught the ball and took off, completing a one-handed dunk in the heart of the Heat's empty paint!
"Boom!"
The rim trembled violently, and the deafening boos from the Miami Arena abruptly stopped.
Garnett made no provocative celebrations; he simply turned and sprinted back to defense.
The Heat went on offense in the very next possession.
Mourning got into a very deep position in the low post and backed down Ben Wallace.
"Bang!"
Pure muscle impact.
Big Ben felt a tightness in his chest from Mourning's fierce shoulder slam and stumbled back half a step, but he gritted his teeth and used his amazing core strength to push Mourning's most comfortable shooting point inch by inch out of the three-second zone.
With time running out, Mourning could only grit his teeth, lower his shoulder again, and forcefully complete the turnaround layup.
But just as he lifted the ball, Garnett's long, slender figure, which seemed to blot out the sky, had already swept over from the weak side without a sound. That unreasonablely long arm stretched out in the air, like a black iron gate that had suddenly descended.
"Bang!"
The basketball bounced high off the front of the rim, Mutombo calmly grabbed the defensive rebound amidst the crowd.
The first quarter ended with the score at 24-19, the Celtics leading by five points on the road.
Pat Riley, standing on the sidelines, was so dark his face was almost dripping with gloom. As a renowned manager, he knew all too well what this meant...
The Boston Celtics are taking over the narrative that will define this Game 7.
Entering the second quarter, the Heat were forced to tighten up their play, attempting to break the deadlock with a cleaner, more structured offense.
But once they're no longer engaged in physical, wrestling-style battles, they have to face the Celtics ' speed, height, and terrifying defensive coverage on the defensive end.
Garnett, on the other hand, became an unsolvable equation for the Celtics' offense.
With four minutes left in the second quarter, Garnett received the ball again at the high post. Grant, who was guarding him, instinctively took a half-step back because he was wary of Grant's first step to the basket.
Garnett didn't even bother with any extra dribbling; he simply took off and delivered his signature high-post long two-pointer.
"Swish!" The basketball grazed the mesh and swished through the net.
Before the Heat could recover from the blow, on the next possession, Garnett grabbed a rebound in the backcourt and initiated a fast break. The 2.11-meter giant drove like a point guard, dribbling at full speed across the center circle.
Garnett dribbled the ball all the way to the free-throw line, successfully drawing three Heat defenders to surround him, and then, while moving, he strangely flicked his wrist to the left.
Finley, unmarked in the corner, receives the ball, jumps, and lands.
"Swish!" Another precise three-pointer.
The Miami Arena fell into a deathly silence.
Pat Riley, his face ashen, immediately requested a pause.
The Heat players returned to the bench, Pat Riley stood among them, his voice deliberately low but unwavering. "Stop sending the Celtics to the free-throw line with your stupid off-ball defense!"
But the five Miami Heat looked at each other blankly, and none of them said anything.
If you don't give them space, the defense has to stick close. Once they stick close and engage in physical contact, it's very easy to get called a foul tonight.
But if they don't foul, who in the Heat's frontcourt can keep up with Garnett's terrifying first step?
This is the most frustrating and unsolvable situation in Pat Riley's coaching career.
At halftime, the Celtics led the visiting team's locker room 47-42.
There was no cheering in the room after taking the lead. Sam Cassell lay pale on the massage bed as the team doctor wrapped thick bandages tightly around his large, reddened ribs.
Garnett sat alone in front of the locker in the far corner, head down, breathing heavily.
Lin Qi walked up to him, looking down at him. "How did you feel at halftime?"
Garnett slowly raised his head, his once volatile eyes now filled with calm. He grinned, revealing a set of white teeth. "They don't dare to make a move now. As soon as I start, Grant retreats like he's seen a ghost."
Lin Qi patted him on the shoulder. "Don't waste the space the referee gave you."
Garnett was silent for a moment, then suddenly laughed—a knowing smile born from the brutal experience of the playoffs, "I understand."
At the start of the third quarter, Boston made a complete change to their lineup, placing Garnett at the heart of their offense.
He became the pivot point near the free-throw line. Holding the ball high up, he didn't need any fancy dribbling; just standing there forced Miami's entire defense to sway from side to side.
In the sixth minute of the third quarter, a scene unfolded that utterly devastated the Miami fans in the arena.
Garnett received the ball at the top of the arc beyond the three-point line, and the Heat's overall defense instinctively took a step back.
Without any warning, he jumped directly at the top of the arc, facing the defender, and launched a three-pointer.
The ball flew from his extremely high release point, tracing an exaggerated arc.
"Swish!" It hollowed out and burrowed into the net.
In that instant, the entire Miami Arena seemed to have its power suddenly cut off, falling into absolute silence for two seconds.
The NBC commentator's voice cracked as he exclaimed, " Kevin Garnett! This 20-year-old giant is tonight punishing Miami on their Miami turf with every move he has in his Stephen Curry!"
Garnett clenched his fist tightly after landing.
As they passed by Mourning, their eyes met in mid-air.
At that moment, Pat Riley slowly sat back down on the bench. He realized with despair that on this stage, forcibly purified by the rules, standing before him was an all-powerful monster unleashed to its fullest potential.
With five minutes remaining in the fourth quarter, the score was 78-75.
The decisive Game 7 has finally returned to the most brutal and primitive stage of attrition warfare.
The Miami Heat weren't completely finished. Hardaway, dragging his almost numb legs, forced his way through the defense and made a floater. Mourning also relentlessly attacked Ben Wallace in the low post, ultimately keeping the score close with free throws.
The score is tied at 81-81.
All 15,000 fans in the Miami Arena stood up, and the deafening shouts almost lifted the arena's dome.
Sam Cassell slowly dribbled the ball across half-court, raised his left hand and pressed it down firmly, signaling the team to stabilize the rhythm. At this critical moment, he passed the ball again to Garnett in the high post.
Garnett received the ball, Grant immediately closed in as if facing a formidable enemy, his arms fully outstretched.
Garnett held the ball behind his head with both hands, his hawk-like eyes sweeping across the Heat's defense in a flash.
The next second, just when everyone thought he was about to turn around and shoot a jump shot, he suddenly slammed the ball to the ground.
Smash the ground, then pass it inside!
Mutombo, lurking on the weak side baseline, quietly cut in. The African Mountain received the ball, took off, and slammed it into the basket!
"Boom!" 83 to 81.
Turning around, the Heat went on offense.
Hardaway delivered a superb lob pass in mid-air, finding Mourning cutting down the court.
Mourning received the ball in the paint, gripped it tightly with both hands, and prepared to ignite the entire arena with an unstoppable dunk.
But just as he was about to slam the ball into the basket, that long arm that had been the nightmare of all Miami that night once again flew out of the shadows on the weak side like lightning.
With remarkable anticipation, Garnett slapped the basketball directly with his hand.
"Smack!"
With a loud bang, Garnett snatched the basketball from Mourning's hands in mid-air. Eddie Jones threw himself to the floor, managing to save the ball back onto the court with one hand just before his body went out of bounds.
Sam Cassell gets the ball, Hardaway behind him has no choice but to step forward and commit a tactical foul.
Sam Cassell walked expressionlessly to the free-throw line, dribbled the ball, adjusted his breathing, and raised his hand.
First free throw, made.
The second free throw went in cleanly into the net again. 85-81.
With 27 seconds remaining, the Heat had possession of the ball.
Hardaway held onto the ball tightly at the edge of the penalty area, while the seconds on the clock above his head ticked away relentlessly.
Sixteen seconds, thirteen seconds, ten seconds...
Hardaway a very realistic shoulder drop and change of direction, and just as his body was about to make contact, he flicked the ball across to the left corner.
Dan Majerle was now completely open. He caught the ball, jumped, and launched a textbook three-pointer.
"Bang!"
The basketball slammed heavily against the back of the rim and bounced high into the air.
At the highest point, that colossal hand looming over the penalty area— Dikembe Mutombo.
The African Mountain held the defensive rebound tightly in mid-air.
"Beep----!"
The long, sharp final whistle rang out throughout the stadium.
The Boston Celtics won Game 7 85-81 at Miami Arena, their formidable home court.
Garnett stood there alone, his jersey completely soaked with sweat. He slowly lowered his head, his hands gripping his knees tightly, greedily panting for breath.
Sam Cassell walked over and slapped Garnett hard on the back. "Alright, stop holding it in. Now you can let loose, kid."
Garnett slowly raised his head and let out a roar that had been suppressed for four quarters. The rough, violent sound instantly pierced through the entire arena, tearing apart the last remaining boos in the Miami Arena.
Mutombo clutched the precious match ball tightly, turned around, and slowly and unequivocally raised his signature index finger to the Miami crowd, which was now completely silent.
Pat Riley stood alone in front of the home team's bench.
His slicked-back hair and suit were still impeccably tailored, but his eyes, which were used to looking down on everyone, now had a sinister look that sent chills down your spine.
Pat Riley stared intently at Garnett, his clenched jaw twitching slightly.
He knew he had lost.
The outcome is decided.
Lin Qi stood behind the away team's bench, slowly adjusting the cuffs of his suit, then gently exhaled a breath of stale air.
This Boston Celtics, which he personally built and is excessively young, has finally crawled out of the blood-soaked, muddy swamp of Miami tonight.
We won.
Boston Celtics advance to the Eastern Conference Finals!