At the start of the second half, Boston changed.
They didn't change their tactics, they just pushed their defensive intensity to the limit.
As soon as Iverson crossed half-court, Gary Payton immediately closed in. Almost simultaneously, Bruce Bowen double-teamed him from the wing. The two were positioned on the left and right, like two closed iron gates. Iverson lowered his center of gravity and probed: trying to break through on the right, but Bowen's lateral movement directly cut off his path. Trying to force a drive on the left, Gary Payton had already blocked his way with his torso and knee.
Iverson was forced to stop the ball, raised it high, and scanned the two players' arms towards the halfway line...
Mutombo guarded the paint. Garnett roamed on both sides of the free-throw line, ready to delay and tackle at any moment. Eddie Jones used his long arms to completely cover Thomas in the corner. The other four players from Philadelphia, under Boston's high pressure, couldn't even create half a step of passing space for Iverson.
With only five seconds left on the shot clock, Iverson had no choice but to force a pull-up jumper from mid-range, facing a double-team from Gary Payton and Bowen that almost completely blocked his face.
The basketball slammed against the front edge of the rim and bounced out.
Garnett grabbed the rebound, and Boston immediately launched a long pass on the fast break. Gary Payton received the ball, made a quick layup, and scored easily.
44 to 44 tie.
The Philadelphia stadium, which had been bustling for half the night, fell silent for the first time.
This is how Boston actually closed the net.
They no longer expected to shut down Iverson with one-on-one defense... The entire first half proved that it simply wouldn't work. The Celtics unleashed their most ruthless rotation strategy, with Gary Payton leading the defense the entire game, and Bowen and Eddie Jones taking turns as the second line of defense, specifically targeting the moment Iverson had the ball or started his drive to collapse and surround him. Boston wasn't afraid of him making those unreasonable shots; what they wanted was to force him to push his physical and defensive limits every time he scored.
Then, by utilizing the team's overall rotation depth, they gradually squeezed Iverson dry.
This is the cruelest rule in competitive sports: a person's physical abilities always have an end.
The defensive depth on Boston's bench is unfathomable.
With six minutes remaining in the third quarter, Boston took the lead.
Garnett received a pass from Gary Payton at the top of the arc, and taking advantage of Hill's slight delay in helping out, he launched a three-pointer. It swished through the net.
79 to 76, Boston.
Larry Bird Brown stood up in front of Philadelphia's bench.
He didn't call a timeout. He was waiting for someone.
Iverson took over the game.
The Philadelphia 76ers have lost their tactical coordination.
He was a lone figure, carrying the entire team forward amidst Boston's encirclement.
In the first possession, he took a half-step past Bowen and drove straight to the basket. Ben Wallace and P.J. Brown simultaneously collapsed to close the gap. Iverson, facing the impact of the two, forced a jump, his body completely tilted in mid-air, but he still managed to throw the ball out before landing. It went in off the backboard.
In the second possession, he was forced to stop in the mid-range by Gary Payton. With no space to pass, he simply jumped and leaned back against Gary Payton's tight defense. Gary Payton's finger almost touched the bottom of the basketball as he blocked it, but the ball still swished through the net.
In the third round, he was cornered, surrounded by Bowen and Eddie Jones, their four arms blocking all angles. Thomas on the weak side had already raised his hand to receive the pass.
He didn't send it.
Despite being guarded by two players, Iverson managed to forcefully throw the ball towards the basket through a very narrow gap.
The ball bounced twice on the rim before falling into the Nets. Iverson, however, lost his balance and fell out of bounds, crashing heavily onto the advertising boards.
The 20,000 fans at Philadelphia's home stadium had already lost their voices from shouting, and their cheers had now turned into hoarse roars.
Every time Boston gained momentum and tried to widen the score gap, number 3 would use the most unreasonable methods to suppress the momentum.
End of third quarter. 84-84.
The final quarter was pure hand-to-hand combat.
Both teams seemed to have ripped away the last shred of dignity.
Every round devolved into a dull positional battle, with each attack grinding down to the last few seconds of the attack time.
In Boston, the offensive system continued to function well. Gary Payton backed Snow in the low post and made a turnaround jumper. Garnett inbounded the ball from the high post and assisted Jones on a cut to the basket for a layup. Horry patiently waited for his opportunity in the corner and calmly sank an open three-pointer.
In Philadelphia, there's only Iverson.
No one else could break the deadlock except him. He could break through, stop suddenly, lean back, or force himself into the air to draw a foul and get to the free-throw line.
His jersey was completely soaked with sweat, clinging heavily to his body. After each intense challenge, he stood up more slowly than before, his breathing becoming heavier and heavier.
The broadcast camera panned across Philadelphia's bench, which was deathly silent. Larry Bird Hughes draped a towel over his head, staring intently at the back of the number 3 player on the court. It was a feeling of utter helplessness, as if he couldn't do anything about it.
The game has entered its final minute.
Philadelphia leads by 1 point.
Gary Payton received the ball again in the low post with his back to the basket.
He ground Snow down, chiseling his way in until he reached the depths, then delivered a simple, unadorned hook.
Goal!
103 to 102.
Boston took the lead.
The referee blew the whistle, and Philadelphia requested a timeout.
The last forty seconds.
Philadelphia has possession.
When the timeout ended, everyone in the stadium knew who would get the ball and what he was going to do.
The ball crossed half-court and was passed to Iverson.
Gary Payton immediately closed in on the defense. This time he didn't utter a sound, and throughout the entire second half, this notoriously loudmouth didn't spout another word of trash talk. He simply lowered his center of gravity to an extremely low position, his feet firmly planted in defensive stance, his eyes fixed intently on the basketball. Garnett on the weak side had already folded in advance, leaning forward, ready to close the gap the moment Iverson drove to the basket.
Iverson controlled the ball on the perimeter, running down the clock.
35 seconds.
30 seconds.
He kept feinting and probing, but Gary Payton was completely unfazed, his footwork perfectly locking onto the space in front of him.
25 seconds.
The 20,000 home fans all stood up and remained completely silent.
Without warning, Iverson accelerated sharply to the right...
Garnett immediately stepped forward to help defend.
Just as Garnett shifted his weight to the side, Iverson executed a lightning-fast crossover, pulling the ball back to his left hand while simultaneously stepping back, creating a half-body space in front of Gary Payton.
With just half a body length of space, Iverson took a pull-up jump.
Gary Payton's block attempt was aimed directly at his face, while Garnett's long arms came from the side. Before the two defenders could completely block his vision, Iverson released the ball.
The basketball flew past their fingertips and into the air.
The entire stadium fell into a deathly silence for half a second. Twenty thousand people simultaneously tilted their heads back and held their breath.
"Whoosh."
A crisp, clear sound of a net being swished.
The deathly silence was instantly shattered by a deafening roar.
The Philadelphia bench erupted in cheers, with all the players who hadn't yet played waving towels wildly behind the sidelines.
103 to 104.
There are 18 seconds left in the game.
The referee blew the whistle, Boston called a timeout.
The final 18 seconds.
Boston's two attempts to turn the tide were both thwarted by the same player.
Iverson stamina should have been completely exhausted long ago, squeezed out the last bit of instinct from his body on the defensive end. He first anticipated Gary Payton's passing route and made a steal; then, in the ensuing scramble, he positioned himself in advance and drew an offensive foul from Boston.
A tactical foul was committed, Iverson went to the free-throw line.
Both free throws were made.
The red light comes on, and the final whistle blows.
103 to 106.
When the technical statistics were transmitted to the commentary booth, the veteran commentator remained silent for a long time in front of the microphone.
Iverson, 48 points.
The rest of the Philadelphia team combined for 58 points.
One person carried nearly half of the team's output.
The Boston players walked toward the away team's tunnel with their heads down.
Gary Payton walked last.
At the tunnel entrance, he stopped and glanced back at the center of the court. The crowd swarmed around the number 3, the noise almost frenzied. Iverson was being lifted high by his teammates, his jersey ripped out of shape. He didn't smile much, just tilted his head back, his chest heaving as he greedily gasped for breath.
Gary Payton looked at it for two seconds.
He shook his head.
He had to admit that some people, on certain nights, were indeed unpredictable.
He turned and walked into the dimly lit players' tunnel.
The Philadelphia locker room should have been a place of celebration.
But the moment Larry Bird Brown pushed open the door, the room was eerily quiet.
The players slumped haphazardly in their chairs. Most didn't even want to speak, just gasping for breath. Ice packs covered their knees, shoulders, and wrists—the marks of intense competition. Larry Bird Hughes buried his face in a towel, his shoulders heaving with each heavy breath. Geiger stared blankly at the shoes on the floor, while Hill leaned against the cabinet door, eyes closed and silent.
This victory drained them of their last bit of energy.
Larry Bird Brown stood in the center of the locker room, his throat bobbing, but ultimately he said nothing.
Only Iverson was still standing.
He leaned against the locker, still wearing his soaked jersey. Sweat dripped from his chin and splashed on the floor. He stared up at the ceiling, his chest still pounding, his breathing still ragged even long after the final whistle had sounded.
We won.
Looking around, it seemed that he was the only one in the locker room who still maintained that tense feeling from the battle.
Iverson knew better than anyone that this game had pushed him to the limits of his abilities.
One person can snatch a game away from the Boston Celtics.
But one person cannot compete against the depth of an entire team throughout the entire series.
He lowered his head, his fingertips trembling, as he unwrapped the bandages from his knee.
Outside the stadium, the Philadelphia night sky was filled with cheers.
But the series score on the whiteboard in the locker room served as a stark reminder to everyone.
One victory is not enough.
Boston remains in the lead, 2-1.