Salt Lake City - Media Interviews
The Jazz had just landed in Salt Lake City, and the media wasted no time swarming them.
"Karl, any thoughts on what Zhao Dong said about you?"
Karl Malone, missing his two front teeth, looked pissed. "Man, that's weak as hell. He's just tryna mess with us mentally. Ain't gonna work."
"He called you a fake superstar. Any response?"
Malone snorted. "Check my career points, my shooting percentage, my rebounds. Who the hell is a rookie to judge me?"
"He said you can't create your own shot and don't draw double teams. Your thoughts?"
Malone's frustration boiled over. "That's just how we play! John runs the offense, I don't need to iso. How am I supposed to get doubled without the ball? Man's straight-up disrespecting me!"
"So, will you try ball-handling offense in Game 3?"
Malone hesitated. "That's on Coach. He calls the plays, I just execute."
Deep down, he knew the truth—if he tried going one-on-one against Zhao Dong, he'd get stuffed ten times and stripped just as much. Holding the ball against him? Not happening. Even if Sloan lost his mind, he wouldn't run the offense through Malone like that.
That afternoon, the Jazz held a strategy session. The atmosphere was tense.
"Jerry, be real with me," team owner Larry Miller said, his voice serious. "Do we have a shot at tying this series?"
Miller, a Salt Lake City native who built his fortune selling cars, had bought the team for $20 million in '85. He wasn't ready to give up yet.
Coach Jerry Sloan was silent for a moment. Miller exhaled, already knowing what that meant.
After a pause, Sloan spoke. "It's simple. We can't stop Zhao Dong.
"When we double him, he dishes it out. When we send help inside, he splashes jumpers. When we pressure him outside, the Knicks run cuts and torch us.
"Unless we take him out the game with… unconventional means, there's no stopping him. But I ain't about that. The Chinese don't play, and Karl already caught hands last time."
Malone clenched his fists. "I ain't quitting. I'll give it another shot."
---
Game 3 - Delta Center
Jazz Starters:
Greg Ostertag
Karl Malone
Bryon Russell
Jeff Hornacek
John Stockton
Knicks Starters:
Zhao Dong
Charles Oakley
Larry Johnson
John Starks
Charlie Ward
"Matt, both teams sticking with their usual lineups. Think the Jazz will switch up their game plan?" Marv Albert asked from the NBC broadcast booth.
Matt Goukas chuckled. "Their offense ain't changing. The Jazz live and die by the pick-and-roll, and Karl's game is built around it."
Marv smirked. "So, you're agreeing with Zhao Dong's take on Malone?"
Matt laughed. "Look, I think Zhao's just playing mind games. That's part of basketball, right?"
Marv leaned in. "But if Malone wasn't allowed to use his elbows, would he still be an elite two-way superstar?"
Matt hesitated. "Uh… the intimidation factor would take a hit for sure."
Marv grinned. "Would his skill level drop a tier or two?"
Matt sighed. "Man, you setting me up. But yeah, he'd still be a star."
Marv chuckled. "Okay, so maybe not a 'historic' superstar, but still a star."
Matt shook his head. "Man, you trying to get me in trouble."
---
Game Time
As the Knicks took the floor, the Delta Center erupted in boos.
Zhao Dong, last to be introduced, stepped under the spotlight and felt the full force of the Jazz fans' hatred.
The arena shook. The noise was deafening. The atmosphere rivaled the United Center in Chicago.
"Zhao Dong, you suck!"
"Damn Chinese, you ain't sweeping us!"
"Mailman's coming for you tonight! You're leaving in a body bag!"
Middle fingers everywhere. Pure venom.
Zhao Dong smirked. "That's all y'all got?" He strutted past them like a king, unbothered.
This wasn't Madison Square Garden. No stars, no glitz—just 20,000 screaming fans wanting his head.
–
From the tip-off, the Jazz struggled to contain Zhao Dong. He dominated on both ends, but Malone went full WWE with the elbows, trying to throw him off his rhythm.
Still, at halftime, the Knicks led 48-42.
Zhao Dong's First-Half Stats:
7/13 FG, 5/6 FT
19 Points, 8 Rebounds, 6 Assists, 2 Steals, 2 Blocks
1 Turnover, 2 Fouls
His efficiency dipped slightly, but the Knicks stayed in control while limiting Malone's impact.
Inside the Jazz locker room, tension filled the air.
"We can't keep playing like this," Malone muttered.
Sloan just stared at him. No words needed.
Stockton glanced at Malone and gave a small nod.
Two minutes into the third quarter, chaos erupted.
Charlie Ward went up for a jumper—and came down screaming, clutching his leg.
"You, that was dirty!" Allan Houston yelled, pointing at Stockton.
"I GOT THIS!" Larry Johnson roared and charged in.
Stockton dipped behind Malone and backed away.
"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!" The refs blew their whistles like crazy, but no one cared.
"SECURITY! GET SECURITY!"
Van Gundy's face turned pale. "Shit, this is bad."
Thibodeau jumped up, guarding the Knicks' bench to stop players from storming the court.
Sloan stood emotionless on the other sideline.
Zhao Dong had planned for something like this—one guy swings, the rest cover.
But as Larry Johnson lunged, a Jazz player tripped him, sending him crashing down. Before he could react, a Jazz benchwarmer pounced, pinning him down and throwing punches.
"HELL YEAH!"
"DOWN WITH THE KNICKS!"
Jazz fans lost their minds, cheering for the brawl.
Zhao Dong clenched his jaw.
"Nah, we ain't letting that slide."
He stepped forward. If the Jazz wanted a war, they were getting one.
"Zhao Dong, what the hell are you doing?" Karl Malone tried to stop him as he rushed forward.
"Get the hell outta my way!"
Zhao Dong leaped up and drilled a flying kick straight into Malone's chest, sending him flying two meters back. The Mailman hit the floor hard and couldn't get up.
Dead silence. The entire Delta Center was in shock.
"Man, f*** it!"
With Karl Malone down, Zhao Dong wasn't stopping now. He turned and charged toward the Jazz bench, delivering a brutal kick to the substitute player who had Larry Johnson pinned.
BANG!
His boot crashed into the dude's shoulder, sending him sprawling.
Larry Johnson finally found his moment. He jumped up, pounced on the guy, and let his fists fly. His rep as a boxer was no joke—just a few punches, and the dude was out cold.
Meanwhile, Allan Houston wasn't about to let Stockton get away with his dirty play. He went straight for him, and the two started scrapping.
On the other side, Oakley squared up and put the Jazz's center on the ground. But before things got worse, security rushed in, breaking it up.
By the time the dust settled, four of the five Jazz players were laid out. Only Stockton was left, tangled up with Houston.
For the Knicks, Larry Johnson was bruised and battered, but still standing. The others were fine, except for Charlie Ward—he was still down, clutching his ankle.
Inside the VIP Room
Upstairs, in the VIP section, NBA execs were losing their minds.
"This is the f***ing Finals! The whole world's watching, and this is what they do?!"
League vice president was fuming.
In the room sat the owners and GMs of both teams.
"The Jazz are dirty as hell!" Ernie Grunfeld snapped. "They know they can't win straight up, so they pull this BS? But they messed with the wrong team. The Knicks ain't going out like that!"
On the Jazz side, their owner and GM just sat there, faces pale. They couldn't argue—hell, they couldn't even win a fight.
They never expected the Knicks to go this hard. And worse? The Mailman couldn't even take one kick from Zhao Dong.
---
Back on the Court
Team doctors from both squads ran onto the floor.
Charlie Ward was helped off, and Larry Johnson was getting checked out on the sidelines.
Malone finally sat up, clutching his chest, his face pale as hell. After a quick check, the doc figured he'd be alright—Zhao Dong's boot landed on his stomach, but the Mailman had enough muscle to absorb most of it.
The Jazz sub who got kicked? Different story. His right arm was busted, and Larry Johnson gave him a concussion on top of that.
The refs huddled up to decide the penalties. After a long-ass debate, they handed down their verdicts:
For the Jazz:
Stockton got hit with a defensive foul.
Chris Morris (the dude who caught a concussion) got a Flagrant 2.
For the Knicks:
Zhao Dong, Larry Johnson, and Oakley all got Flagrant 2s.
That meant four guys—two from each side—were ejected.
When they walked off the court, the Jazz crowd roared for Chris Morris like he was some kind of hero. Meanwhile, Zhao Dong and the Knicks got booed like villains.
---
Back in New York
Lying in a hospital bed, Patrick Ewing watched everything unfold on TV. His face was twisted in frustration.
"My championship is f***ing gone..."
He already felt some type of way about how these Finals were going. Even if they won, he knew it'd be because of Zhao Dong, not him. Now? With their squad gutted, even the ring was slipping away.
As they walked into the tunnel, Zhao Dong's face was dark. "We got played. The Mailman didn't even try to fight back after I kicked his ass. They baited us into this."
Oakley and Larry Johnson looked pissed. "So what do we do now?"
"Depends on the league. If they spread out our suspensions, we still got a shot. We just gotta hope they don't hit us all at once."
The two nodded, but their frustration was clear. The Jazz played them, using Larry Johnson as bait, knowing the Knicks would retaliate. Trading a no-name sub for one of their main guys? That was a win for Utah.
Commentators from CCTV couldn't believe what they saw.
"The Knicks are in serious trouble now," one of them sighed. "Three key players are ejected, and the core of the team—Zhao Dong—is gone. If they get suspended, it's game over."
"Not to mention Charlie Ward's injury. That means four starters are out!"
"Exactly. The only one left is Allan Houston. And he's locked in a fight with Stockton, so even he might not be 100%."
---
NBC Broadcast
Matt Goukas broke it down:
"Look, the Jazz just guaranteed themselves a win in Game 3. No question. But Game 4? That's where things get tricky. It all depends on how the league handles suspensions. If they stagger them, the Knicks might survive. But if they wipe out all three guys at once? It's a wrap."
Marv Albert chuckled. "Either way, the league office must be loving this. This guarantees at least a six-game series."
The two exchanged looks and laughed.
With half the Knicks' roster out, the Jazz easily took Game 3.
Afterward, both teams' press conferences turned into heated debates.
Zhao Dong didn't hold back.
"A team like the Jazz doesn't deserve to win s**t."
The reporters ate it up.
"If the Jazz win this championship, what message does that send? That in the NBA, if you can't win, just play dirty? Sneak in a cheap shot and take out your opponent's best players? That's what the Jazz are telling the world. That you don't need skill—you just need to injure your way to a ring!"
His words were raw, straight fire, and by the next morning? They were everywhere. Headlines, TV debates, sports radio—Zhao Dong just set the whole NBA world on fire.
David Stern reacted quickly, holding a press conference in New York at noon on the 7th to announce the league's decision on the brawl.
Penalties Announced
Utah Jazz:
The Jazz were slapped with a $1 million fine.
Chris Morris was suspended for two games (out for Game 4 and Game 5) and fined $10,000.
John Stockton received a flagrant foul and a $20,000 fine—but no suspension.
New York Knicks:
Larry Johnson was fined $10,000.
Charles Oakley was suspended for one game (out for Game 4) and fined $10,000.
Zhao Dong was fined $10,000 but received no additional suspension.
The league was clearly leaning a bit in favor of the Knicks, keeping Zhao Dong eligible. But the Jazz still had the advantage. Stockton got off easy, and losing Oakley hurt the Knicks.
In an interview, Magic Johnson broke down Game 4:
"The Jazz's main lineup is still intact, while the Knicks lost two key guys. Charlie Ward is out for the rest of the Finals, and Oakley is suspended for this game. That puts the Knicks at a real disadvantage."
"The good news is, Zhao Dong avoided a suspension. As long as he's on the floor, New York still has a fighting chance. But it's not gonna be easy—the Jazz can tie up the series tonight."
On the morning of Game 4, David Stern sat in his office in New York, looking at the TV ratings from Game 3.
Game 1: 17.0 million viewers
Game 2: 17.8 million viewers (+800,000)
Game 3 (First Half): Peaked at 18 million
Game 3 (Second Half): Dropped sharply to 11.2 million
Seeing those numbers made his headache worse. The Jazz's dirty play caused the fight, and now millions of viewers had tuned out. That was bad for business.
On his desk, a copy of the New York Times had a bold headline:
"If the Dirty Jazz Win, the NBA's Future Will Be Dark and Corrupt."
That was not the image Stern wanted for the league. He picked up the phone and called his VP.
"Russ, keep a close eye on the Jazz. I don't want any more problems in this series."
"Got it, Mr. Stern."
At 8:00 PM, the starting lineups were announced:
Knicks: Zhao Dong, Larry Johnson, Allan Houston, John Starks, Chris Childs.
Jazz: Greg Ostertag, Karl Malone, Bryon Russell, Jeff Hornacek, John Stockton.
In the NBC booth, Marv Albert checked the ratings.
"What's the count?"
"16.5 million," the producer responded.
Matt Goukas nodded. "Not bad. Looks like the fight didn't scare off too many people."
"If Zhao Dong was suspended, those numbers would've tanked," Marv said, smirking.
"Yeah, no one's tuning in to watch Karl Malone hit pick-and-roll jumpers. The Black and White Duo were never fan-favorite superstars."
Matt laughed. "The league knew what they were doing. No way they were gonna bench Zhao Dong."
As both teams walked through the tunnel, they locked eyes. Zhao Dong glared at Karl Malone. Malone stared right back, fists clenched.
Then, BAM!
Zhao Dong threw a punch—straight to Malone's jaw.
Malone staggered back, shocked. "You motherfu—"
Before he could react, Zhao Dong kicked him in the ribs. Malone hit the ground.
"FUCK THEM UP!"
Larry Johnson and John Starks rushed in, swinging. The Knicks were ready for this fight.
The Jazz weren't.
The security guards scrambled to break it up.
Zhao Dong pointed at Malone and shouted loud enough for the whole arena to hear:
"Karl Malone, you wanna pull some dirty shit? You ain't winning shit. If you think I'm letting you take this ring, you're outta your goddamn mind!"
Malone, bleeding from his nose, screamed back:
"We ain't done, Zhao! Not by a long shot!"
Stockton, who just caught a punch from Larry Johnson, grabbed Malone. "Calm down, man! We still got a game to play!"
The referees knew they couldn't stop a fight outside the court. They let security handle it and prayed this wouldn't turn into another PR nightmare.
Zhao Dong smirked, wiped his knuckles, and turned to his team.
"Let's go. We got a game to win."
(TL: "Caked Eater"
This term originally comes from Minnesota hockey culture, used to mock players from wealthier areas. It implies that someone is soft, spoiled, or privileged, like they've had everything handed to them. In trash talk, calling someone a caked eater is basically saying they're not tough enough for real competition.
Think of it like calling someone a silver spoon rich kid who can't handle the grind. Not the harshest insult, but it can definitely get under someone's skin—especially if they pride themselves on toughness.)
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