United Center, Game 2 of the Eastern Conference Finals.
The moment the Boston Celtics stepped onto the court, the previously deafening boos in the United Center momentarily ceased for a second. The starting lineup, averaging nearly 2.08 meters tall, the " Death Five Bigs," lined up in half of the court, filling half the court with long green arms and broad shoulders. A suffocating sense of static oppression filled the air.
On the sidelines, Chicago Bulls head coach Phil Jackson, who was usually as steady as a rock, finally put his legs down, leaned forward involuntarily, and slowed down his chewing of gum. He leaned back in his chair and muttered in a voice only he could hear, " Rick ( Adelman ), you've really raised a bunch of monsters."
In the opening possession, Scottie Pippen had the ball at the top of the key. He took several probing steps in an attempt to drive to the basket, but as soon as he looked up, he was met not with an open defense, but with a black wall erected by Kevin Garnett.
Pippen lowered his shoulder, and the two bodies collided violently in mid-air, producing a dull thud of muscle impact. Garnett stood his ground, his two deformed arms, seemingly able to touch the ceiling, tightly covering all of Pippen's passing lanes.
"Get moving! Pass the ball!" Phil Jackson yelled from the sidelines.
With only three seconds left on the 24-second shot clock, Pippen was forced to pull up for a jump shot while almost losing his balance, leaning back to the extreme.
Snap!
A giant black hand, like a thunderclap from a clear sky, slapped the ball away in mid-air, sending it hurtling towards the stands.
Garnett landed, his chest heaving violently. Instead of retreating on defense, he roared like a beast at the Chicago Bulls ' bench, his fists clenched tightly, veins bulging on his forehead. The cheers that had been rising in the throats of the 20,000 Chicago fans were abruptly silenced by this massive block.
The Chicago Bulls' prized Triangle Offense was shattered by Boston's near-abnormal switching speed and terrifying wingspan. By the end of the first quarter, the Celtics had taken control and held a commanding 6-point lead at the United Center.
But this is Chicago, Chicago Bulls not only have gods, but also the most cunning and unscrupulous "scoundrels" in the entire league.
In the third minute of the second quarter, Jordan pulled up for a turnaround jump shot, the ball bouncing high off the rim. Inside the paint, P.J. Brown and Mutombo had already locked up their positions, seemingly poised to grab the defensive rebound.
Just then, a figure with striking green hair slid sideways towards them.
In the referee's absolute blind spot, Dennis Rodman's right foot hooked tightly around Brown's ankle, while secretly exerting force, delivering a hidden elbow strike to Mutombo's ribs.
"Ugh!" Mutombo groaned, while Brown lost his balance and collapsed to the ground.
Dennis Rodman used the momentum to jump, twisting his body in mid-air to grab the offensive rebound. The moment he landed, he delivered a powerful elbow strike to Garnett's face without warning.
Slap! Garnett instinctively covered his face.
beep--!
The piercing whistle finally blew, and the referee rushed over, his right arm swinging decisively... pointing to Garnett's defensive foul.
"Are you blind?! He elbowed my face!" Garnett ripped his hand off his face, his eyes red-rimmed, half his cheek swollen, and roared at the referee, pointing at Dennis Rodman.
Dennis Rodman, however, stood there as if nothing had happened, shrugged, tilted his head, and stuck his tongue out at Garnett, his eyes full of triumphant provocation and mockery. Then, he even provocatively patted the baseline cameraman on the shoulder and said to Garnett in a voice only those on the court could hear, "Welcome to the playoffs, (voiced), the Chicago floor bites."
From that moment on, the United Center began to display its unique "majesty." Every normal physical struggle and delay by the Boston team on the defensive end was met with a sharp and urgent whistle.
Before the third quarter was even over, Mutombo had his fourth foul and P.J. Brown his fifth. The Celtics' once-proud interior defense was torn apart by the relentless whistles. Thanks to a steady stream of points from the free-throw line, the Chicago Bulls had taken a nine-point lead with four minutes left in the fourth quarter.
20,000 Chicago had already started to stand up and cheer, and some in the stands had even started opening champagne.
Behind the away team's bench, General Manager Lin Qi's face was so dark it seemed to drip water. He loosened his tie and walked straight to the scorer's table without expression. Head coach Rick Adelman, sitting next to him, was startled and didn't have time to stop him.
"Mr. Lin, please return to your seat, or I will..." Upon seeing this, the assistant referee immediately blew his whistle in an attempt to stop him.
"Get out of here."
Lin Qi shoved aside the obstruction and plunged his right index finger into the first referee's chest. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a chilling ruthlessness. Because he was so close to the scorer's table, his words were clearly amplified through the microphone, echoing across half the stadium.
"38 to 14 free throws in a single game. Michael ( Jordan ) traveled four times tonight, Dennis ( Dennis Rodman ) elbowed five times in the paint. What, Mr. Referee, is the United Center floor tonight covered with the Chicago Bulls ' pay stubs?"
The referee's face instantly turned a deep purplish-red, and his finger pointing at Lin Qi trembled.
Beep--! Beep--!
Lin Qi was ejected from the game after receiving two consecutive technical fouls.
Amidst the chaotic flashbulbs and the overwhelming jeers of 20,000 Chicago, Lin Qi stopped at the player tunnel entrance. He turned around, looked at the group of young Celtics players on the court, their eyes filled with frustration and even despair, straightened his suit, and left with only one sentence.
"Why are you looking so dejected? Lift your head up."
The Chicago Bulls held on for two home games, winning 98-89, and taking a 2-0 lead in the series.