The short two-minute break was barely enough for these players to calm their racing hearts.
No one spoke in front of the Boston bench. Big Ben slammed an ice pack into his almost cramping thigh, while Pierce braced his knees with his hands, sweat dripping from his nose onto the floor.
"Guys," Rick Carlisle's hoarse voice sounded strained in the noisy arena, "In the last five minutes, whoever's will breaks first will lose."
"Beep!!!"
Overtime begins.
Those five minutes were the ugliest five minutes of the entire series.
Both sides' physical exhaustion severely hampered their movements. The first three minutes of overtime were filled with missed shots, mistakes, and fierce scrambles to the ground.
Garnett's turnaround jumper hit the rim. O'Neal, while establishing position in the low post, was even forced to stumble by Big Ben's powerful shot. Jordan's turnaround shot from the right corner bounced off the edge of the backboard.
Two minutes passed, and the score only fluctuated twice.
85 to 85.
There are one minute and forty-five seconds left.
At this moment when everyone's legs felt like lead, Boston had possession of the ball. Billups dribbled the ball across half-court and passed it to Grant Hill at the right 45-degree angle.
Hill was defended by Sean Marion, who was also exhausted.
Hill held the ball with both hands, keeping his center of gravity low. His jersey was already soaked with sweat and clung tightly to his body. He glanced at the paint; Garnett and Big Ben were battling for position with O'Neal and Barkley, leaving no space to receive the ball.
In this suffocating moment when no one dared to make a move, the man who was once hailed by the entire league as " Jordan's successor" took a deep breath.
Lin Qi stood on the sidelines, staring at Hill's ankle.
Hill's gaze instantly became extremely focused. Facing Marion, he suddenly and violently slammed his right foot onto the wooden floor.
"Squeak!!!"
The sneakers screeched as they rubbed against the floor.
This was an all-out attack! No holding back, no regard for his ankle. Amid Marion's sluggish reaction, Hill's first step displayed a desperate explosiveness, forcefully squeezing past Marion's left side!
Hill cut into the penalty area in an instant.
As O'Neal came over to help defend, he roared and raised his arms. But Hill calmly contracted his body in mid-air, facing the 300-pound body. At the moment of contact, relying on his powerful core strength, he completed a mid-air dodge and flicked the ball toward the basket with one hand.
"Whoosh!"
A gentle cue ball, and it goes in perfectly!
87 to 85!
The air in the New Garden seemed to ignite instantly, and a deafening roar erupted.
The Lakers immediately launched a counterattack. Kidd passed the ball to O'Neal in the paint, Big Ben fouled out, picking up his sixth foul of the game.
O'Neal stepped to the free-throw line, and amidst deafening boos, the Big Shark made one of two free throws.
The score was 87-86, with 52 seconds remaining in the game.
Wang Zhizhi replaced Big Ben in the game, and Boston had possession of the ball.
This time, the basketball naturally fell into Grant Hill's hands once again.
When a genius who had been dormant for two years rediscovered his unstoppable first step in the overtime of Game 7 of the NBA Finals, he became the most dangerous killer on the court.
Marion dared not stay close anymore. He subconsciously took half a step back, trying to guard against Hill's breakthrough. Even Jordan on the weak side moved two steps towards the free-throw line, ready to help defend at any time.
Hill looked at Marion, who had stepped back, his eyes as calm and undisturbed as a still well.
He started dribbling, and the basketball bounced faster and faster on the floor.
Suddenly, Hill adopted that starting stance for his breakthrough again. He lowered his left shoulder and powered through with his right foot.
Marion, like a startled bird, scrambled backward, trying to block Hill's path to the basket. O'Neal, in the paint, also instinctively shifted his weight.
But in the very instant Marion retreated, Hill's body, which was leaning forward at high speed, came to a sudden stop in an extremely short moment, as if defying the laws of physics.
"Squeak!"
Another ear-piercing scraping sound.
From extreme motion to extreme stillness.
Hill instantly regained his balance, and jumped with both feet a step inside the three-point line at the top of the arc, his posture as straight and graceful as a textbook example.
Marion lunged desperately, but it was too late. He could only watch helplessly as the basketball slipped gently from Hill's fingertips.
Jordan, mid-air, watched Hill's graceful stop-and-shoot pose, and for the first time ever, a flicker of disbelief crossed his usually icy eyes.
He seemed to see his younger self in him.
"Whoosh!"
The crisp sound of the net rubbing against the net, though loud in the bustling New Garden, was as clear as the death knell.
89 to 86!
The point difference has reached three points!
There are only 28 seconds left in the game!
In the most breathtaking moment of overtime, Grant Hill scored four points in a row with a drive and a killer pull-up jumper!
After landing, Hill calmly turned around and looked at Michael Jordan, whose eyes held a complex expression.
The Lakers called a final timeout.
After the timeout, this is Los Angeles ' last stand.
Kidd inbounds the ball from the sideline. Boston's defense has spread out considerably.
The ball was passed to Jordan with great difficulty.
He was still being guarded by Gary Payton.
There are eight seconds left in the game.
Jordan didn't call for a screen; facing Gary Payton's aggressive defense, he resolutely drove hard to the right.
With each step he took, his face would twitch from the excruciating pain, but he still stubbornly pushed past Gary Payton, driving to a position just outside the right three-point line.
There are only three seconds left.
Jordan stopped abruptly and jumped.
This should have been that classic, defenseless, game-winning move. Over the past decade, he has used this move to bury countless opponents.
But in the instant he leaped into the air and tried to stay suspended, the intense spasms caused by pain finally destroyed his seemingly superhuman control over his body.
His body tilted slightly by half an inch in mid-air.
Just this half inch.
The basketball left my hand, tracing a high arc.
With all 20,000 eyes fixed on the basketball, Lin Qi on the sidelines even forgot to breathe.
"Clang!"
The basketball bounced off the right side of the rim and rose high into the air.
Garnett roared, using the last of his strength to grab the game-winning rebound over O'Neal's head.
"Beep!!!!!!!!!!"
The red light flashed. The buzzer signaling the end of the game, with its sharp, drawn-out blast, ripped the dome of the New Garden apart!
89 to 86!
A shower of green and white confetti rained down from the stadium like a blizzard.
We won!
The stadium erupted into a frenzy.
Pierce collapsed to the floor, covering his face and wailing.
Garnett, clutching the basketball, charged towards the scorer's table like a madman, roaring to the sky, "Anything is possible!"
Hill stood still, letting his teammates rush over and pin him down.
Amidst the boundless revelry...
Michael Jordan stood beyond the three-point line, panting heavily, his jersey already soaked with cold sweat.
The omnipotent " God of Basketball " finally revealed his mortal age and weariness in this sea of green.
Lin Qi stood on the sidelines, letting the confetti rain down on his well-tailored suit.
He looked at the jubilant Boston players and fans, then glanced at the lonely figure of number 23.
It's finally over.
An era has come to an end.