After losing the third game, Michael Jordan did not show any anger at the press conference.
He simply took off his sunglasses and spoke to the camera in a calm, almost unsettling tone.
"They played very hard, but they ran out of cards. It's like a group of naive kids who won a plush toy at an amusement park, but they'll soon find out that the park is closing tonight."
Meanwhile, Phil Jackson privately leaked information through the media, claiming that the Celtics ' defense "relies entirely on dirty moving screens and Ireland fans intimidating the referees."
In an interview with the Chicago Tribune, the Zen Master, with a cryptic smile, slowly stated, " Rick ( Adelman's ) teams are always energetic, but they look more like a bunch of Boy Scouts fighting for badges at summer camp..."
Before he could finish speaking, the familiar Black reporter raised an eyebrow knowingly and, in an almost flippant, teasing tone, precisely added the word.
"Boys."
As soon as the words were spoken, the old man and the young man exchanged a glance and chuckled knowingly.
Half an hour before Game 4 was about to begin, in the home team's locker room at the Boston FleetCenter Arena, Lin Qi slammed the newspaper down on the table, pointing intently at the word "boys."
In United States basketball culture during the 1990s, "boy" was a highly humiliating term on the court.
It's stripping you of your adult status. Old-school bullies use it to imply that your opponent is an immature child, a brat unfit to sit at the table, or that you're just a softie who can be easily manipulated.
"In the eyes of Chicago, we're just a bunch of Boy Scouts in green jerseys." Lin Qi loosened his tie, his voice low but filled with suppressed anger.
"Let's go to the court tonight and show those arrogant Chicago old men how the Boston 'boys' will devour them alive."
From the very first second, the game completely transcended the realm of pure basketball.
In the fifth minute of the first quarter, the Chicago Bulls' signature Triangle Offense unfolded, with Jordan backing down Eddie Jones in the low post. He repeatedly dropped his shoulder and faked out Jones, before sinking his signature fadeaway jumper with Jones practically blocking his eyelids.
As he retreated on defense, Jordan deliberately walked past the Celtics ' bench.
He suddenly stopped in front of Lin Qi, tilted his head, and stared at Lin Qi for a full three seconds with his bloodshot eyes, which were filled with extreme excitement, without any expression.
There was no anger in those eyes, only a morbid, bloodthirsty desire belonging to apex predators.
On the sidelines, Phil Jackson sat calmly on the bench, rubbing his temples.
Halftime score: 46-44, Boston leads by a narrow margin of two points.
In the second half, the Chicago Bulls finally showed the ruthlessness of the defending champions. In the third quarter, Jordan unleashed his unstoppable individual mode. He no longer battled Jones, but instead used mismatches to constantly isolate and attack the Celtics ' interior.
Every time he completed a 2+1 play, he would coldly say to the Boston player guarding him, "Next."
With two minutes remaining in the third quarter, the Chicago Bulls went on a 12-2 run, taking a 7-point lead. It wasn't until Garnett made a near-suicidal block on a fast break, slamming Pippen and the ball to the ground, that the Boston Celtics ' momentum was finally halted.
The dramatic climax erupted with three minutes remaining in the fourth quarter.
Boston leads by only one point, 90-89.
The 20,000 Boston fans in the arena had completely lost their voices, and the roof of the FleetCenter seemed ready to collapse at any moment. The Chicago Bulls were on offense, and Jordan's signature mid-range pull-up jumper bounced high off the front of the rim.
"Mine!!"
Dennis Rodman's face contorted in rage as he twisted his body in mid-air with all his might, attempting to force his way over Mutombo from behind.
However, Garnett seemed to have inexhaustible energy tonight. He leaped up from the side, his long arms rising an extra ten centimeters above Dennis Rodman's head, and with an almost predatory gesture, he slapped the ball into his arms!
The instant he landed, Garnett used his elbow to protect the ball.
Bang!
Dennis Rodman couldn't dodge in time, and his chest slammed into Garnett's elbow. He staggered back two steps and landed hard on his backside on the anti-collision pad at the bottom of the basket.
The 20,000 Boston fans in the arena erupted in deafening boos.
However, Dennis Rodman, who was sitting on the ground, did not immediately jump up to argue with the referee as usual. Instead, he suddenly pulled up his Chicago Bulls jersey with the number 91 on it and covered his entire face with it.
His entire body trembled violently beneath his clothes, his shoulders heaving, and his hands gripping his scalp tightly. From the stands and the camera angles, the heavily tattooed villain who once intimidated the league looked like a defeated man utterly broken down by a profound sense of frustration, burying his face in his hands and sobbing uncontrollably.
The entire TD Garden fell into an eerie, deathly silence for a moment.
On the sidelines, Phil Jackson stopped chewing his gum. Garnett stood there holding the ball, his eyes red-rimmed, his chest heaving, looking somewhat lost.
However, only three seconds passed.
"Ha... haha... hahahaha!"
A dull, nervous, hoarse laugh, faint yet clear, escaped through the Chicago Bulls ' jersey fabric.
Dennis Rodman suddenly ripped off the jersey covering his face!
Sweat mixed with blood seeping from his forehead wound smeared his face, but his mouth was stretched into an exaggerated grin, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. Beneath his dark green hair, his eyes were wide open in extreme excitement, filled with a relentless ferocity and murderous intent.
He wasn't crying just now, he was laughing, a morbid, maniacal laugh because he had found an opponent who could drive him to the brink of defeat!
"Roar!!"
Dennis Rodman let out a roar like a demon from hell, leaping up from the floor on all fours. Without even wiping the blood from his face, he charged at Garnett like a bloodthirsty zombie, his murderous aura palpable!
The scalps of all 20,000 fans in the stadium instantly tingled!
This was the Chicago Bulls of the 90s. They were a group of madmen infected by Jordan with a morbid competitive spirit, who would bite your throat even if their bones were broken!
"Come on!! You little brat!!" Dennis Rodman pressed his chest firmly against Garnett, the killing intent in his eyes almost tangible.
Faced with this suddenly "resurrected" and murderous monster, the fleeting blankness in Garnett's eyes was instantly swallowed up by the most extreme rage.
His inherent wolfish nature was fully activated, burning him with rage.
Retreat? Fear? Screw that!
Garnett didn't budge an inch. He held the ball firmly in his arms with one hand like an iron clamp, and with the other hand, he grabbed Dennis Rodman's collar and yanked him forward!
Bang!
His forehead slammed heavily into Dennis Rodman's bleeding brow bone. Their noses were pressed together, and they could smell the strong stench of sweat and blood on each other.
"I'm right here!! You washed-up circus clown! Come and kill me!!"
Garnett's eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging on his forehead, and he let out a heart-wrenching, inhuman roar at Dennis Rodman's demonic face.
The two most terrifying defensive beasts in the league completely shed all their tactical pretenses at this moment.
This is no longer basketball; it's a pure mental struggle and confrontation.
Anyone who flinches even slightly in this moment is a coward who has lost everything.
"Beep----!"
The referee's sharp whistle was almost drowned out by the two men's roars.
On the sidelines, Lin Qi slammed his hand on the scorer's table. His tie was already askew, and the back of his suit jacket was soaked with sweat. Ignoring the referee's whistle, he turned around, raised his hands high, and waved wildly at the stands, signaling to the 20,000 Boston fans to use their loudest voices to break down the Chicago Bulls ' mental defenses.
"That's it! Kevin! Kill him!!"
Ultimately, both teams received a technical foul, but Boston retained possession of the ball.
As Dennis Rodman retreated on defense, he licked the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his eyes still as cold and venomous as a viper's. Meanwhile, the moment Garnett received the inbound pass in the frontcourt, he entered a state of utter, ruthless slaughter.
With one minute left in the fourth quarter, the Chicago Bulls had their final possession. Jordan faced a towering tackle from Garnett beyond the three-point line, forced a fadeaway jumper, and the ball bounced high off the back of the rim.
Under the basket, Dennis Rodman, his face covered in blood and radiating a murderous aura, once again frantically battled for position.
But this time, Garnett made a near-suicidal lateral movement in mid-air, grabbing the precious defensive rebound just before Dennis Rodman's iron elbow came crashing down, and the two men collapsed to the ground simultaneously.
beep----!
The final whistle blew, the score was 92-91.
Garnett pinned Dennis Rodman down, his hands gripping the basketball tightly, and let out a final, triumphant roar at Dennis Rodman beneath him from the floor.
The score is now 2-2.
Jordan's psychological tactics failed in Boston.
Next, we'll see who prevails at Tianwang Mountain.