Jermaine O'Neal was an honest, straightforward kid, the kind of player who could easily be manipulated by savvy management.
His agent, Bill Mason, wasn't so naïve. But Mason had his own agenda.
For Mason, keeping O'Neal in Portland wasn't about loyalty—it was about networking. He wanted to use O'Neal to get closer to Zhao Dong.
After all, look at those former Knicks players who played alongside Zhao: nearly all of them became millionaires through investment opportunities Zhao introduced. If Jermaine O'Neal eventually followed the same path, Mason would profit too.
"Just wait," Mason kept advising O'Neal. "Don't make any rash decisions. Opportunities are coming."
As a man reborn with knowledge of the future, Zhao Dong understood O'Neal's potential—and his flaws.
O'Neal was a player with psychological barriers but undeniable talent.
At his best? A potential superstar.
At his worst? Still a solid starter.
After four years of development, Zhao believed O'Neal was ready to shine if given the chance. Letting him leave would be a mistake.
The same applied to Bonzi Wells—a borderline starter, but a perfect sixth man, the kind of aggressive "bench bandit" every contender needed.
Zhao didn't hesitate. During his roster meeting, he directly instructed GM Bob Whitsitt:
"Mr. Whitsitt, keep both Jermaine and Bonzi. Especially O'Neal—he should be our starting power forward next season."
"The starting power forward?" Whitsitt was taken aback.
To him, O'Neal was just a young backup with little experience.
"Zhao, we already have Brian Grant at the four. Maybe you're not familiar with our roster. Brian had some injuries last season, so his stats dipped. But he's healthy now, and he's only 28. In 1998–99, he averaged 11.5 points and 9.8 rebounds. That's solid production."
Zhao leaned back casually, his tone firm but calm.
"Mr. Whitsitt, those are backup numbers. Grant should come off the bench."
"What?" Whitsitt froze.
Then it hit him—he was talking to Zhao Dong, the greatest player on the planet, the man who dragged the Knicks to four straight championships. If anyone had the authority to judge talent, it was him.
Zhao continued, his voice steady, like he was laying out undeniable facts.
"We need depth on the bench, and Grant can anchor that second unit alongside Bonzi Wells. But as our starting power forward, we need someone stronger, someone who can grow into a star. O'Neal can be that guy. Trust me."
Whitsitt nodded after a brief pause.
"Alright, Zhao. We'll do it your way."
He remembered how Zhao had once recommended several key players to the Knicks, all of whom exceeded expectations. Zhao's eye for talent was famous around the league.
Portland's billionaire owner Paul Allen had already made his position clear:
"Give Zhao full respect. Build the team around him. If he says it's the right move, we do it."
Zhao was the new face of the franchise. The future of the Trail Blazers would revolve entirely around him.
Later that evening, Zhao reviewed the potential starting lineup in his head:
PG – Damon Stoudamire (Flying Squirrel)
SG – Steve Smith
SF – Shawn Marion
PF – Jermaine O'Neal
C – Zhao Dong himself
The backcourt was clearly weak—Stoudamire and Smith would get eaten alive by elite guards like Iverson, Kobe, or Marbury.
But Zhao wasn't worried. He was versatile enough to adjust his position if needed.
If I need to, I can play center or even slide to guard. We just need to add one more main-level star at any position, and we'll have a contender.
He told Whitsitt his general vision but didn't micromanage the trades.
"Make the necessary moves. Just make sure Jermaine and Bonzi stay," Zhao said.
Whitsitt nodded. Reinforcements would begin immediately. Zhao's versatility gave them freedom—they didn't need to target a specific position.
Zhao also made one more request.
"Sign Chris Fordson. The Knicks let him go, and he'll be easy to sign."
Fordson had been a gritty rebounder and interior defender for the Knicks during the Finals. Though injuries limited him, Zhao valued his toughness.
"Even if he doesn't start, he adds bench depth," Zhao explained.
Whitsitt agreed without hesitation.
With Zhao officially in Portland, media coverage exploded.
The Portland Sports Daily led the hype:
"Even if the Trail Blazers only had Zhao Dong, they'd still be a championship contender."
The city's media machine began pushing a narrative to attract more players to Portland.
On TNT, Charles Barkley laughed as he praised Zhao:
"It doesn't matter where he plays. Put Zhao Dong on any team, and they instantly become the top title favorite."
Jordan, however, gave a more measured analysis:
"Portland has to move fast. Give Zhao a solid group of role players, and he'll get them to the playoffs with ease. But if they want a title? They need to bring in at least one or two stars—especially a big man to help inside."
Meanwhile, in New York, the media ignored Portland entirely.
Every major outlet was focused on tearing apart James Dolan and the Knicks management for letting Zhao leave.
---
With Zhao's trade finalized, Tim Duncan finally started planning his future.
He had been waiting for Zhao to choose first. Duncan didn't want to play in the same conference as Zhao—facing him in the playoffs would drastically lower his chances of reaching the Finals.
Now that Zhao was in the West, Duncan's options narrowed to the East.
The Lakers were immediately ruled out. His focus shifted to three teams:
The Orlando Magic
The New Jersey Nets
The Philadelphia 76ers
Both the Orlando Magic and the New Jersey Nets went all-in to lure Tim Duncan, offering contracts far beyond what the Spurs could afford.
The Magic, however, had a weak roster. Meanwhile, the Nets had a perfect foundation: China's Yao Ming, already peaking in his rookie season, and top-tier guard Stephon Marbury running the perimeter.
According to the God-Slaying Lineup Theory, a dominant inside presence that could also stretch the floor would open up driving lanes for perimeter players, increasing offensive efficiency. But without good guards, even the strongest big men couldn't win titles—just like Duncan's Spurs, who repeatedly fell short against the Lakers due to their lack of elite guard play.
The Nets, with Marbury outside and Yao Ming inside, fit the God-Slaying blueprint perfectly.
So Duncan made his choice.
The Nets offered him a five-year, $73 million deal. The Spurs simply couldn't match it. And just like that, Duncan became a Net.
The announcement sent Spurs Nation into chaos. Furious fans stormed team headquarters, hurling insults at the front office. Owner Peter Holt and GM/Coach Gregg Popovich bore the brunt of the anger.
"Cheap bastards!" one fan screamed outside.
"You let the franchise die!" another shouted as fans burned Duncan jerseys in the parking lot.
In Portland, Zhao Dong was stunned when he heard the news.
"Damn, he didn't go to Orlando—he chose the Nets?" Zhao muttered, shaking his head.
A combination of Duncan + Yao Ming was terrifying. In fact, Zhao knew that tandem was already better than the Spurs' old Twin Towers.
"Even Shaq will have nightmares facing them," Zhao thought grimly.
With Duncan, Yao, and Marbury, the Nets were clearly going all-in for a championship.
Not wasting time, Zhao grabbed his phone and called Yao Ming.
"Yao, the East is yours next season. Take down the Philly 76ers for me," Zhao said, half-joking, half-serious.
"Wait—what? Are you serious?" Yao was confused.
"You haven't heard? Duncan's coming to join you. Check the news."
When Yao finally processed it, he was ecstatic.
"Duncan? Really? With him next to me, we can beat the 76ers. We can definitely reach the Eastern Conference Finals!"
Zhao laughed. "Good. Handle the East, and I'll handle the West."
Duncan's decision to move east created a massive power shift.
For years, the Eastern Conference had been stacked, with the Bulls dominating the '90s and the Knicks carrying the torch afterward. But the rise of the Lakers and Spurs in recent seasons had brought balance.
Now, with Zhao moving to the West and Duncan heading East, the old guard was collapsing:
The Knicks and Spurs were about to fall from contention.
The Trail Blazers and Nets were rising fast.
The league was balanced again, East vs. West.
ESPN analysts were quick to react:
"The new season will be like a mini Final Four. Expect the Nets and 76ers in the East, and the Lakers and Trail Blazers in the West to dominate the league."
Most experts agreed.
A few skeptics, however, pointed out that Portland's roster was still incomplete.
"Even with Zhao Dong, the Blazers aren't ready. Without key reinforcements, they're not on the same level as the Lakers," one analyst argued.
In Hawaii, David Robinson sat on a beach chair, staring blankly at the ocean.
Duncan—his partner, his hope for another title—was gone.
"What now? Who can help me win before I retire?" he muttered bitterly.
The Spurs had just traded for Keith Van Horn from the Nets, but Robinson knew Van Horn wasn't the kind of player who could lead a team to a title.
Among the NBA's legendary centers, Robinson was falling behind:
Hakeem Olajuwon (The Dream) had already won two rings.
Patrick Ewing had gotten one with Zhao Dong's help.
Shaquille O'Neal was still young, with years to chase titles.
Robinson, now 35, had no time left. He didn't want to retire ringless. He didn't want to be like Ewing, getting a pity ring as an aging benchwarmer.
He wanted to win as a starter—one last time.
After two sleepless nights, Robinson finally made a decision. He picked up the phone and called Popovich.
"David, do you want to kill me?" Popovich roared when he heard Robinson's decision.
"Greg," Robinson said softly, almost pleading. "The Spurs are my home. I wanted to retire here. But I can't wait anymore. I'm old, and I need a real shot at a title. Please… help me."
Popovich was furious.
"David, are you serious? We built this team around you! I let Duncan leave because of you!"
But Robinson's mind was made up. His contract had expired, and he was leaving as a free agent.
After hanging up, Popovich slammed his desk phone so hard it cracked.
"You could've left earlier! Now Duncan's gone, and you're leaving too?!" he yelled in frustration.
When news broke that Robinson was leaving, Spurs fans were crushed all over again.
The team had prepared a massive contract for him—three years, $35 million, the largest of his career.
But Robinson turned it down.
At 35, his numbers had been declining for two seasons. He was no longer a 20–10 machine. But despite the offer, he chose to chase a ring elsewhere.
And the fans understood why.
Perhaps it was because Duncan's departure had already broken their hearts, but Spurs fans weren't overly emotional about David Robinson leaving. Some fans even sent him blessings, wishing that the Admiral could finally win a championship elsewhere.
Robinson still had gas left in the tank. Last season, he played 80 games, averaging 32 minutes, 17.8 points, and 9.6 rebounds. Though no longer the dominant force of his prime, he was still a top-tier center. So, when he entered free agency, several contending teams immediately pursued him.
Among them, the Portland Trail Blazers, who had just acquired Zhao Dong and lacked a reliable starting center, were the most eager. The moment their front office heard Robinson was leaving San Antonio, they went public with their interest.
---
David Robinson had left the Spurs for one reason—a championship. He wouldn't join any team without a real shot at the title.
Whether it was the Lakers, the Nets, or even the Philly 76ers, everyone knew that any team with Zhao Dong was a legitimate championship contender.
Even though Portland's roster wasn't complete yet, ESPN still ranked them among the league's top four. No one dared underestimate a team led by Zhao Dong.
But Robinson still needed to carefully evaluate Portland's chances.
That evening, his agent Bill Austin brought him an offer.
"David," Austin said, handing over the paperwork, "Portland's offering two years, $15 million. Do you want to do it?"
The deal was smaller than the Spurs' three-year, $35 million offer, but Austin knew Robinson cared more about winning a title than making money at this point.
"Zhao Dong, huh?" Robinson murmured, taking a deep breath. "I'll think about it."
Austin pressed on, "Their main center just got traded to the Knicks. If you go, you'll definitely start. This is exactly what you wanted."
The two spent the night analyzing Portland's roster.
"If Zhao plays small forward, they're short at power forward, and their backcourt isn't strong enough," Austin pointed out. "If you face the Lakers, the guards will get eaten alive. And inside, without another solid big man next to you, Shaq will destroy them."
Robinson sighed. "So even if I join, we might not even make it out of the West."
"Exactly. No title means no point in signing," Austin said flatly.
Robinson looked disappointed. "Any calls from the Lakers, Nets, or the 76ers?"
Austin shook his head. "Not yet. Their rosters are loaded, and their cap space is tight. They might not even be able to offer what Portland's offering. What are you gonna do, take the vet minimum?"
"Vet minimum?" Robinson laughed bitterly.
He had played 11 seasons and only earned over $10 million annually for two of them. His career earnings were around $70 million—still far less than many modern stars. Did he really have to take the minimum just for a shot at a ring?
"Why don't we wait a few more days?" Austin suggested. "If no one calls, maybe we reach out to the Lakers or Nets ourselves."
Robinson nodded reluctantly.
He truly wanted to retire as a Spur. Before Duncan left, he had begged the younger star to stay, hoping they could chase one last title together. But Duncan chose the Nets, and now Robinson had no choice but to leave for a chance at glory.
Meanwhile, the Los Angeles Lakers were deep in trade talks. Jerry West, Phil Jackson, and the front office were trying to improve their roster to counter the new power shift in the league.
The first plan was to trade Ben Wallace and bring in a two-way power forward. Their target? Rasheed Wallace. The Chicago Bulls were reportedly shopping him after a locker-room feud with Tracy McGrady.
But the Bulls still wanted to contend. They weren't impressed with Big Ben's offensive limitations and preferred to keep Rasheed. The trade fell through.
That's when West and Jackson turned their eyes to Robinson.
Even though Robinson was a center, his ability to stretch the floor made him a perfect fit for Jackson's system. Unlike Shaq, Robinson could shoot from mid-range, which fit perfectly with Jackson's triangle offense.
The plan was clear:
Shaq would anchor the strong side, dominating one-on-one in the post.
Robinson would stay on the weak side, pulling defenders away and punishing double-teams with his shooting.
The height and passing of the twin towers would tear apart tight defenses.
But there was one big issue—money.
Could they afford another eight-figure contract? The Lakers' payroll was already massive. But West knew they had to try. If the Nets had Duncan + Yao, the Lakers needed to counter with their own twin-tower lineup.
At 9 a.m., Jerry West picked up his phone and dialed Austin.
Austin's tone instantly brightened when he saw the caller ID.
"Jerry," Austin greeted warmly. "Good to hear from you."
"No time for pleasantries, Bill," West replied. "We're interested in David. Let's talk numbers."
Austin grinned. "You just made my day."
For Robinson, this was the call he had been waiting for.
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