Two hours before G3 began, the area outside the Boston FleetCenter was completely flooded with a black and green frenzy.
Countless fans were wearing Lin Qi's newly released limited-edition hoodie, which had just sold out. The shirt featured a striking "47-35" on the chest, while the back bore the slogan that had gone viral among Boston's youth: "WE CRAWLED OUT".
Trailing 0-2, Boston returned from Chicago in defeat, facing the 72-win Chicago Bulls who had swept the nation. Rational voices across the country urged Boston to accept reality and concede with dignity. But in this old-school, tough-as-nails city, the word "defeat" was never in their vocabulary.
The sales report for the trendy brand, which reported a single-month turnover exceeding seven figures in April, lay on the general manager's desk, but Lin Qi didn't even bother to glance at it. He flung open the blinds and looked down at the raging crowd of black and green people below.
Even Lin Qi himself didn't anticipate that these clothes would escalate into such an out-of-control frenzy. In the original business plan, it was just a routine merchandise marketing campaign to coincide with the playoffs. However, the immense humiliation of Boston fans losing two games in a row and being dominated by Jordan unexpectedly collided with the slogan on the back of the clothes at this moment.
This accidental chemical reaction ignited the proudest competitive spirit in this basketball mecca. They bought more than just clothes; they bought an indomitable will, an indomitable spirit that refused to bow down or bend its spine, even knowing that 72 wins Mountain ahead.
Lin Qi gazed at the vast expanse of dark green, and he knew that this garment, through a series of coincidences, had somehow united the emotions of the entire city. Now, with no way out, the Boston had adopted it as their battle armor. Facing the towering mountain of Michael Jordan, this group of young soldiers, fresh from the mud, were about to begin their formal charge.
The atmosphere in the locker room was as tense as a bowstring that could snap at any moment.
Garnett sat on a bench tying his shoelaces, his black and green hoodie hanging beside him. Sam Cassell glanced at the slogan, spat out his gum, and sneered, "In Chicago, I swallowed two bitter pills. Tonight, on our own turf, it's our turn to catch our breath."
Garnett looked up abruptly, his eyes bloodshot.
Sam Cassell patted the 19-year-old on the shoulder, his tone laced with the ruthlessness of Lao Liumang: "Tonight, we'll tear a piece of flesh off Michael Jordan."
Head coach Adelman stood in front of the tactical board, his expression as calm as a still lake. He didn't roar with a red neck, but instead surveyed everyone in the locker room with an extremely imposing calmness.
Don't expect the Chicago Bulls to make mistakes tonight.
Adelman tapped the whiteboard lightly with his knuckles, his voice low but clear enough to reach everyone's ears. " Dino, we need your output. But tonight, don't try to huddle Dennis Rodman in the low post. Use your mid-range to draw him out, high post, elbows, short cuts—I want you to play smarter than in the last two games."
Radja took a deep breath and nodded gravely.
Adelman turned to Eddie Jones, who was sitting in the corner. " Eddie, Michael Jordan will probably still get his 30 points per game tonight. Don't expect to completely shut him down. So, your task tonight isn't to shut him down, but to relentlessly harass and wear him down on every defensive possession. Cut off his passing lanes, and make every point he gets a drain on the Chicago Bulls' entire system."
Finally, his gaze fell on Garnett, who was sitting on the edge of the bench, his hands clenched into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
Kevin.
Garnett's bloodshot eyes suddenly met those of the head coach.
" Dennis Rodman would use every dirty trick in the 90s, whether it was allowed or not. He wouldn't argue with you like a nagging wife. He would poke your waist and tug at your shorts when the referee wasn't looking, and he would press his sweaty face against your neck like a ghost you couldn't shake off."
Adelman leaned down slightly, staring into the eyes of the nineteen-year-old high school student. "His only goal is to rob you of your sanity in this disgusting way. He wants you to punch him, wants you to lose your temper and get a technical foul, and then get ejected from the court by the referee. Stop your pointless yelling... Before the final buzzer and the last rebound hits the ground, I want you to stay on this floor more sober than that lunatic."
The Mark made its final scratching sound on the tactics board. Adelman put the pen away. The locker room fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the suddenly heavy, yet incredibly intense breathing of the young men.
The moment the jump ball sounded, the roof of the entire FleetCenter was almost blown off by the roar of 16,000 people.
The Chicago Bulls remained shockingly calm. In the first possession, Jordan backed down shooting Jones.
Bang, bang.
After two probing shoulder strikes to gauge Jones ' defensive focus, Jordan gave Jones no chance to adjust. With a flick of his shoulder, he launched himself into the air amidst gasps of surprise—his signature turnaround fadeaway!
The basketball traced a cold arc and swished through the net.
Jordan's face remained expressionless, without even a celebratory gesture; he simply turned and retreated on defense. He used this most ruthless and practiced method to remind these young Boston players that he was still sitting on the throne.
But tonight the Celtics didn't crumble as easily as they had in the previous two games.
Sam Cassell dribbled past half-court, and Garnett set a solid off-ball screen to shield him from Harper's suffocating defense. The ball flew high to the post, where Radja received it. Dennis Rodman swarmed him like a mad dog, but Radja faked a shot with one hand and then passed the ball to Jones, who was cutting in from the weak side.
Jones, facing Pippen's help defense, forced his way to the basket and scored!
The FleetCenter was completely shattered. This basket not only stopped the bleeding but also announced to the entire nation that the Celtics would not repeat the same dead-end path as the previous two games; they were fighting tooth and nail against this 72-win monster.
In the first quarter, the Chicago Bulls maintained a 25-23 lead thanks to Pippen's steal and fast break, and Kerr's corner three-pointer.
But Radja burned through his physical reserves in this quarter. High-post jump shot, low-post turnaround, with only three seconds left on the shot clock, he caught Sam Cassell's pass, his whole body was completely deformed by Luc Longley's collision in the air, but he still managed to slam the ball into the basket in an extremely awkward way!
"Good shot, Dino!" Sam Cassell roared.
Radja didn't even have the energy to celebrate. He was bent over, panting heavily, and dragging his right leg, which was already full of injections and wrapped in a thick knee brace, as he ran back desperately. Tonight, he wasn't playing a game of tactics with the Chicago Bulls; he was fighting for his life.
The second quarter saw the bench rotation, a crucial period when the Celtics had collapsed in the previous two games. Phil Jackson kept Pippen and Kukoč on the court, attempting to end the game with a run.
But this time, Michael Finley stepped forward.
This first-round pick received the ball on the wing, facing the 2.11-meter-tall Kukoč. Without any fancy probing steps, he lowered his center of gravity and used his superhuman explosiveness to forcefully create half a body length in the paint with his first step. The moment he entered the paint, Luc Longley's massive body loomed over him like a tidal wave.
Finley didn't dodge at all, actively seeking contact in the air. He lost his balance upon impact, but managed to tip the basketball towards the backboard before landing! Goal! Bonus free throw!
"Come on!!" Finley rolled off the floor and roared at the Chicago Bulls ' bench, almost a cathartic outburst.
Person, Persson received a pass from Sam Cassell in the corner, and despite Kerr's close defense, drained a three-pointer. 48-47, halftime, Boston trailed by only one point.
In the locker room, everyone was breathing heavily, like bellows. Jones ' shoulder was badly bruised from Jordan's impact, and Radja slumped into a chair, huge ice packs immediately strapped to his knees by the team doctor. Lin Qi looked at Radja's slightly trembling muscles, his eyes darkening. He knew Radja was nearing his limit, but Adelman simply walked over, pressed down on the Croatia's shoulder, and uttered five words: "Hold on for another twenty-four minutes."
In the third quarter, the game turned into Jordan's personal dissection room.
Every time the Boston Celtics made a spectacular basket, Jordan would immediately shut down Boston's momentum with an audacious back-to-the-basket mid-range jumper. Just after Garnett delivered a massive block on Luc Longley inside, Jordan instantly drew a triple team on the next possession, then skillfully passed the ball to Kerr in the corner for a three-pointer.
Leading by 6 points, the Chicago Bulls, with their suffocatingly low margin for error, slowly eroded the young Boston Celtics ' confidence, and their defense began to falter.
In the crucial moments, Garnett awakened on the defensive end.
Kerr's three-point attempt missed again, and Dennis Rodman, like a cannonball, hurtled from the baseline towards the backboard. In the previous two games, this rebounding the Madman had completely disrupted these kinds of plays, but this time, Garnett lowered his center of gravity and used his back and elbow to take a sneaky attack from Dennis Rodman. Just before Dennis Rodman jumped, Garnett soared into the air, his long, black arms spreading like a roc's wings, and at the highest point, he slammed the ball into his arms!
"Get the hell out of my way!" Garnett landed, elbows protecting the ball, and roared angrily at Dennis Rodman, baring his teeth.
Seeing this, Sam Cassell immediately launched a fast break, and with one second left in the third quarter, he lobbed the ball to the corner despite being double-teamed. Person hit another three-pointer! 72-70, the Celtics were like an unshakeable leech, stuck to the Chicago Bulls ' heels.
In the decisive fourth quarter, not a single one of the 16,000 fans at the FleetCenter sat down for a full six minutes.
With two minutes remaining, the Boston Celtics led 92-90.
Jordan received the ball on the right side of the backcourt, faked a shoulder, turned, and executed a backflip. Jones and Garnett, who were helping on defense, had their hands in front of his face, but the basketball still grazed the rim and fell into the net with an unstoppable arc. 92-92. The gods were still reaping the game.
In a nail-biting possession, Sam Cassell drove into the paint with the ball after a screen from Radja, and Jordan and Pippen immediately collapsed into the defense. In a blind spot, Sam Cassell delivered a long, over-the-top pass to the left corner.
Jones received the ball, Jordan quickly moved to the side to close in on him.
Everyone thought Jones would rush to shoot a three-pointer, but the young wing showed composure beyond his years. He made a very realistic Buddhist-style fake move, and in the blink of an eye when Jordan's center of gravity was half an inch off balance, he dribbled in a step and pulled up for a mid-range jumper.
The basketball traced a smooth parabola, and swish, it pierced the net!
94 to 92. Jones clenched his fist tightly as he retreated on defense.
In the Chicago Bulls' final possession, Jordan was double-teamed by the Boston Celtics. He coldly passed the ball to the open Kukoč. Kukoč launched a three-pointer, but Garnett's 2.26-meter wingspan was like a giant black net, completely obscuring Kukoč's vision.
Hoo! The basketball bounced off the rim!
Dennis Rodman once again squeezed through the crowd to try and force a putback, but the nineteen-year-old Garnett wouldn't give an inch tonight. In mid-air, he used his chest to block the impact, and with a long arm, he scooped the ball over Dennis Rodman's head and deflected it to the other side! Radja landed on the wooden floor, scrambling to catch the priceless ball in his arms.
The whistle blew, Chicago Bulls were forced to commit a foul.
Radja made one of two free throws, making it 95-92. The Chicago Bulls grabbed the rebound and called their final timeout with 21 seconds remaining.
After the timeout, the Chicago Bulls deployed a deadly offensive lineup. Jordan received the ball at the top of the key, drove into the paint, and forcefully drew a double team from Garnett and Jones. He then delivered a behind-the-back pass, precisely finding the cold-blooded assassin lurking in the corner— Steve Kerr.
An open three-pointer. Takes the shot.
At that moment, Lin Qi sat on the sidelines, his heart almost skipping a beat. This was the most desperate thing about the 72-win Chicago Bulls: Jordan could not only kill himself, but he could also hand the knife to the most accurate shooter in the entire league.
The ball traveled a long trajectory through the air before slamming hard against the back rack!
"Rebound!!" Lin Qi shouted, losing his temper for the first time since the start of the game.
Finley sprinted back from the side, getting ahead of Pippen, and used his body to protect the long rebound, drawing a steal foul from Pippen in the process.
Finley's hands trembled slightly as he stepped to the free-throw line. First shot, thud, the basketball bounced off the front and flew out.
A deathly silence fell over the FleetCenter. Sam Cassell walked over and slapped Finley hard on the backside. "Kid, you scored!"
Finley took a deep breath, dribbled the ball, and shot.
Swish.
With the score at 96-92, a four-point deficit, the Chicago Bulls had completely lost any chance of a comeback. As Jordan's final long-range three-pointer missed, the buzzer sounded, and the game ended.
The Boston Celtics, playing at home, snatched a victory from the 72-win Chicago Bulls, 96-92.
The FleetCenter was completely overrun in an instant. The players on the bench rushed onto the field crying and shouting. Sam Cassell waved a towel and roared like a madman. Radja supported his swollen knees with both hands and collapsed onto the wooden floor, exhausted.
The instant the whistle blew, nineteen-year-old Garnett went completely berserk. Without hesitation, he whirled around and slammed his broad forehead into the foam cushioning under the basketball hoop!
Bang! Bang!
After two loud thuds, he whirled around, clenching his fists and pounding his chest, his knuckles white from gripping his jersey. His facial muscles were almost contorted as he roared at the arena ceiling, letting out the loudest, most ferocious roar he had ever let out since entering the league!
1 to 2.
They were still behind in the series. They were still standing at the foot of that Mountain called the Chicago Bulls. But this group of young men proved one thing tonight—the 72-win Chicago Bulls are not gods; they can bleed too.
At the players' tunnel, Jordan paused before stepping into the darkness. He turned back coldly, taking one last look at the almost frenzied sea of black and green in the arena.
For the first time, those eyes, which were once so haughty, now held the look of someone looking at an opponent.