FleetCenter Arena, Boston.
Game 6 of the Eastern Conference Finals.
The Chicago Bulls hold match point, leading the series 3-2.
But the moment the Celtics players walked out of the home team tunnel, there wasn't a trace of despair in the entire FleetCenter Arena. Instead, the 20,000 Boston fans in the stands went wild, erupting with a bang as if they wanted to tear the arena upside down.
Because Kevin Garnett was standing at the very front.
He wore a completely black protective mask, with a thick white adhesive tape over his nose, and a bandage wrapped around his shoulder under his green jersey.
When the big screen cut to a close-up of Garnett, the entire stadium instantly stood up.
"KG!"
"KG!"
"KG!"
The cheers grew louder and louder. Garnett stood in front of the scorer's table, but instead of pounding his chest and roaring as usual, he slowly raised his head and stared intently at Michael Jordan in front of the Chicago Bulls' bench through the two cold, dark holes in his mask.
Jordan was looking at him too. The Chicago Bulls' number 23 calmly chewed his gum, his eyes showing no mockery or contempt, only an absolute calm that sent chills down your spine. This calmness was more oppressive than any trash talk.
Lin Qi stood behind the bench, loosened his tie, and placed the statistics folder on the table.
As soon as the opening whistle blew, the Celtics pushed the pace to its limit.
Wearing a mask, Garnett positioned himself at small forward, relentlessly guarding Scottie Pippen. Inside, P.J. Brown and Mutombo used their chests and elbows to push Dennis Rodman and Luc Longley out of the paint. Eddie Jones employed a tenacious defense to stick to Jordan, while Sam Cassell combined fast and slow shots to constantly attack the Chicago Bulls ' defense.
In the seventh minute of the first quarter, Garnett had the ball at the high post, Pippen immediately applied close pressure.
Garnett didn't force a shot. Instead, he used his height advantage to raise the ball with both hands, scanned the paint, and threw a powerful bounce pass with one hand. The ball grazed Dennis Rodman's knee and entered the paint. Mutombo caught the ball and rose up to slam it down with both hands.
"Boom!"
The home stands were instantly ignited.
Turning around, the Chicago Bulls quickly launched a half-court offense. Jordan called for the ball on the right low post, Eddie Jones held the floor, Horry faked a double-team from the strong side, and Garnett was ready to block the driving lane on the weak side.
Jordan didn't force a shot. He backed down Jones and, just before Horry double-teamed him, flicked the ball with his wrist toward the open top of the key.
Steve Kerr receives the ball, jumps, and shoots a three-pointer.
"Whoosh."
The Chicago Bulls' first blow tonight wasn't delivered by Jordan himself, but rather by the opportunities he created for his teammates using his gravity.
But the young Boston players didn't lose their composure tonight. Sam Cassell immediately responded on offense, backing down Harper in the low post and sinking a turnaround mid-range jumper. The next possession, veteran Chris Mullin came off the bench, received the ball in the left corner, and swished his signature left-handed three-pointer over the bar.
The first quarter ended with the Celtics leading 28-21 at home, a seven-point advantage thanks to their more concentrated shooting opportunities.
At the Chicago Bulls ' bench, Phil Jackson remained silent, simply redrawing a triangle route on the whiteboard. Jordan sat beside him, pulling off a towel to wipe the sweat from his face, his expression still completely unchanged.
Returning for the second quarter, the Chicago Bulls began to exert their strength.
This time, however, Jordan didn't try to break down the Celtics' defense with a lot of fadeaway jumpers like he did in the previous two games. He started to dismantle the Celtics ' defense in a more ruthless way.
Whenever the Celtics dared to double-team, Jordan would pass the ball out in the blink of an eye.
On the defensive end, if you leave Harper even a half step open, Harper will immediately cut to the basket and score a layup after receiving a pass from Jordan.
The defense went to cover for Kerr on the perimeter, and Tony Kukoč received the ball at the high post to make a second pass.
As soon as the Celtics collapsed into the paint, Pippen made a cut from the weak side, received the ball, and easily laid it off.
One round, two rounds, three rounds.
Despite the Celtics strictly adhering to Adelman's pre-game plan on every defensive possession, the Chicago Bulls always managed to deliver the ball accurately to Boston's most vulnerable open players in the final one or two seconds of the 24-second shot clock.
Adelman stood on the sidelines, his face gradually darkening.
Jordan used his intimidating presence to precisely control the entire offensive machine of the Chicago Bulls dynasty.
The score was 49-48 at halftime, with the Celtics ' lead reduced to just one point.
The away team's locker room was deathly silent; no one could laugh. Sam Cassell sat on the physiotherapy bed, panting heavily, and muttered under his breath as he untied his shoelaces, "Damn it, that Lao Liumang's been passing the ball like crazy tonight."
This statement made the atmosphere in the locker room tense again. They weren't afraid of Jordan's shots, because every shot misses sometimes; but when Jordan started playing in the most rational and calm way, the game became a pure contest of understanding and execution of basketball.
Thibodeau stood in the center of the locker room and tapped the clipboard. "Don't be afraid of him passing the ball."
Everyone turned to look up at him.
"He's started passing the ball frequently, which means our double-teaming and localized interference have completely cut off his initial offensive drive. Keep forcing him to make choices, and don't let him hesitate on the defensive end just because he made one right pass." Thibodeau's voice was calm, yet powerful.
Garnett sat in the far corner, a black mask covering most of his face. He looked up, his voice muffled behind the mask. "What... what if he passes the ball correctly every single time after that?"
A moment of silence.
The third quarter began, and the Celtics, with their eyes blazing, launched another furious attack.
Tonight, Garnett seemed oblivious to pain, relentlessly sprinting and sweeping across the entire defensive end while wearing a mask. When Pippen drove to the basket, Garnett took long strides to block the defensive line; when Dennis Rodman bent over for the offensive rebound, Garnett turned ahead and used his chest and positioning to forcefully push the opponent out of the paint.
Jordan drew a double team and passed the ball to Kukoč on the perimeter. Just as Kukoč raised his hand to shoot, Garnett had already taken a big stride from the weak side and blocked his face. That black mask looked as cold as a piece of raw iron under the bright lights of the arena.
With six minutes remaining in the third quarter, Garnett grabbed a defensive rebound amidst a crowd of defenders in the backcourt and dribbled the ball up the court himself.
Pippen fought and retreated, while Dennis Rodman pounced from the side, trying to force him to stop with his body. Garnett didn't slow down at all while moving, charging towards the front of the free-throw line against the two toughest defenders of the Chicago Bulls, and without warning, he stopped abruptly, took off, and completed a mid-range shot.
"Whoosh!"
The basketball swished through the net, and the roar of the FleetCenter Arena exploded.
In the next possession, Jordan missed a difficult mid-range shot, and Mutombo grabbed the rebound in the scramble. Upon landing, he immediately passed the ball to Sam Cassell, who led a fast break. Sam Cassell then made a long pass to Eddie Jones on the right flank, who pulled up for a three-pointer and made it!
The Celtics extended their lead to 7 points again, 67-60, with two strong fast breaks.
Phil Jackson finally couldn't sit still any longer and waved for a timeout.
The live broadcast immediately cut to a close-up of Michael Jordan.
He stood on the sidelines with his hands on his hips, large drops of sweat dripping down his bald chin.
There were no complaints, no throwing of the towel, and not even an angry expression on his face.
He simply looked up quietly and glanced at the scoreboard on the home team's big screen above him.
Upon seeing Jordan, Lin Qi, standing behind the home team's coaching bench, suddenly felt a pang of unease.
He knew very well that the familiar, suffocating feeling was about to return.
That was Michael Jordan's expression when he started to get really serious.