That afternoon, the Trail Blazers held a full tactical meeting. Everyone—management, coaching staff, players—gathered in the war room, including owner Paul Allen himself.
Head coach Larry Bird stood before a digital board, calmly analyzing the situation.
"Our interior is at an absolute disadvantage," Bird said, pointing to a chart comparing both frontcourts. "The playoffs aren't the regular season. Everything tightens up. The paint becomes a battlefield. We'll face relentless pressure from O'Neal and David Robinson down low."
He paused, letting the weight of the words settle.
"If we don't adjust... if we don't counter this interior gap with tactical shifts, we'll lose. No question."
He turned to Zhao Dong.
"What's your take, Zhao?"
Zhao Dong leaned back in his chair, arms folded.
"The coaches handle the game plan—I execute," he said. "But if you're asking me... maybe it's time to run that goddamn God-Slaying lineup again. Stretch the floor. Flip the game upside down."
He wasn't the kind of player to draw up Xs and Os—but he was the guy who made them matter on the court.
Larry Bird cracked a smile.
"You're right, Zhao. Let's unleash it."
He turned to the roster board and began announcing the starters.
"O'Neal and David Robinson are two towers under the rim. So, we drag them out. We go small but lethal inside—Brian Grant, Jermaine O'Neal, you're in the starting five."
"Yes, Coach!" The two stood up, visibly pumped.
"Number 3—Marion," Bird continued.
"Yes, sir!"
Shawn Marion stood up, his excitement barely contained.
After two years of hard work, he'd blossomed into a Swiss army knife—offense, defense, hustle, rebounding. His averages this season spoke volumes: 16 points, 10 rebounds, nearly 2 assists, 1.6 steals, 1.3 blocks, and a 37.5% clip from three. Efficient, explosive, and everywhere at once.
He wasn't just cutting for dunks anymore. He was spacing the floor and doing it all.
Larry Bird nodded at him. "Defense will be key. You'll rotate down low, help crash the glass. We need every rebound."
"Got it!" Marion responded, eyes burning with fire.
As for the backcourt, Bird didn't even need to name them. It was already set in stone—Zhao Dong and Eddie Jones.
He moved straight into strategy.
"We open up the paint. Pull their bigs out. Three guys on the perimeter—Zhao, Eddie, and Marion—slash in from different angles. No hesitation. If we can't stop their twin towers, then we outscore them. We make this a shootout. Like last year's Finals between the Knicks and Lakers."
Zhao Dong grinned.
"If we can't defend, then we outgun 'em. Super center duo or not—we blow 'em up from the outside."
The room erupted in energy. The players were hyped, management fired up. Paul Allen even stood and shouted:
"Attack! Let's crush the Lakers!"
"Crush the Lakers!" The chant filled the room.
---
May 19 – Game 1, Western Conference Finals
Hollywood stars swarmed into Portland that day. NBA legends filled the VIP boxes. The Rose Garden Arena buzzed like a movie premiere.
"Babe, I've never seen this many celebrities in one arena," a male fan yelled.
"Forget the stars," a woman next to him shouted. "I just wanna see Zhao drop 100 again!"
At 7:30 p.m., the arena dimmed. The starting lineups flashed on the jumbotron.
Lakers: Shaquille O'Neal, David Robinson, Rick Fox, Kobe Bryant, Ron Harper.
Trail Blazers: Jermaine O'Neal, Brian Grant, Shawn Marion, Eddie Jones, Zhao Dong.
TNT was on the national broadcast with Charles Barkley and Kenny Smith courtside.
Barkley wasted no time.
"Look, Ron Harper's been hurt all season—missed 36 games. Now he's gotta guard Zhao Dong? Man, that's asking for a miracle."
He leaned in, voice lowering.
"If Zhao brings his usual pressure and Harper can't keep up, the Lakers' perimeter defense is gonna fall apart."
Kenny Smith shrugged. "It doesn't matter who guards him. Even in the Olympics, Zhao cooked Jason Kidd and Gary Payton. Prime Harper wouldn't have stopped him. So whether it's Harper or someone else... they're all gonna get torched."
Barkley chuckled. "Fair enough."
Meanwhile, over at CCTV, Zhang Heli and Su Qun broke down the matchup for Chinese fans.
"This year's Western Conference Finals will be fireworks," Zhang said. "Portland can't defend the Lakers' frontcourt. So they'll go all-in on offense—just like the Knicks did last year. Neither team will defend; they'll just trade haymakers."
Su Qun nodded. "Coach Zhang, I actually like the Blazers' lineup. Marion's better than Fox, and the guard matchup is closer than people think. Eddie Jones can go toe-to-toe with Kobe. And Zhao Dong is Zhao Dong."
Zhang smiled. "If Marion were on another team, he'd get more minutes. Here, he's a little suppressed—but he's efficient. And with fewer minutes in the regular season, his legs are fresher for the playoffs. Last year, he and Ginobili gassed out early."
Su Qun grinned. "Good point. He's only in his second year—lots of room to grow."
Back in the arena, the starting lineups were announced.
The Lakers, returning after sweeping the Blazers last year, were met with a thunderous chorus of boos.
"Sweep the Lakers! Sweep the Lakers!" the fans screamed.
When the Blazers were introduced, the building shook with raw energy. Every seat seemed to vibrate.
On the broadcast, Barkley laughed.
"Zhao Dong led this team to a 74–8 record. The city believes. The energy is crazy. But sweeping the Lakers? That's a tall order."
Smith added, "Last year, the Knicks swept them because Ben Wallace locked down the paint and O'Neal was double-teamed every possession. But this time? Not the same. Portland's going to stretch them out and pull the bigs away from the rim. It's smart."
Barkley nodded. "That's what the God-Slaying Lineup does—completely empties the paint. You create lanes. You destroy traditional center schemes."
He smirked.
"By the way... you know who came up with the God-Slaying Tactic?"
Kenny raised an eyebrow. "You?"
"Damn right!" Barkley grinned. "That was my segment. My show. My name. Genius."
Kenny Smith gave Barkley a side-eye and pointed at the Finals ring on his finger.
"You seriously wear that thing in public?" he said with a sneer. "You're still investing with Zhao Dong, and now you're out here bragging about inventing the so-called 'God-Slaying Tactic'? Man, you're just asking to get kicked out of his circle."
Barkley nearly jumped out of his seat. "No, no, no, hold up now! That show was all entertainment. Zhao Dong knows that. He won't hold a grudge…"
Smith smirked. "You sure? If the Blazers get bounced this round, I guarantee you're off that investment list, real quick."
Barkley suddenly looked uneasy, mumbling to himself, "It's been a year. He wouldn't still be mad… right?"
Down on the court, Commissioner David Stern was in the building, flanked by Blazers owner Paul Allen. With a broad smile, Stern presented the season's MVP trophy to Zhao Dong under the spotlight, drawing thunderous cheers from the Rose Garden Arena.
8:00 PM – Tip-off.
O'Neal and the younger O'Neal—Blazers center—jumped for the ball. Lakers possession.
The two behemoths, Shaquille O'Neal and David Robinson, stormed the paint immediately.
Brian Grant, subbing in, tried to hold his ground against Shaq. At 116 kg, he could manage for a moment, but Shaq bulldozed him with ease, carving out prime position under the rim. Grant had no choice but to circle around for fronting defense.
Shaq, now bulked up to 115 kg per team directive, was heavier than ever. Meanwhile, David Robinson, same weight but years older, got boxed out by the younger Blazers O'Neal, keeping him further from the hoop.
This maneuver created just enough separation to prevent the Lakers' Twin Towers from stacking under the basket—an intentional adjustment by the Blazers' coaching staff.
The Blazers rolled out a 2-1-2 zone defense.
Marion, with his elite athleticism, anchored the middle, while Zhao Dong and Eddie Jones took the wings, focusing on preventing Kobe's penetration.
Kobe didn't even get a touch initially. The Blazers immediately double-teamed Ron Harper, who was bringing the ball up. Forced to pass, Harper swung it to Kobe, only for Zhao Dong and Jones to crash down on him next.
Then came the wrinkle—David Robinson stepped out to the top of the key and flashed his hands for the ball. Kobe hit him with a laser pass in stride.
Robinson didn't hesitate. Instead of shooting, he lobbed the ball toward the rim—
"BANG!"
Shaquille O'Neal exploded upward, catching the lob in stride and throwing down a thunderous alley-oop slam.
Grant got tossed aside like a practice dummy, and Marion's help defense was a second too late.
The Blazers' commentator groaned. "You just can't stop that beast in the paint!"
Up in the TNT booth, Barkley leaned forward. "On paper, Portland's starting five is solid defensively. But the Lakers have three guys who demand double-teams—Shaq, Robinson, and Kobe. That puts the Blazers in a serious bind. They can't cover everybody."
"Kenny, Shaq's one of the rare bigs who draws double-teams without the ball," he added. "And when he's three feet from the hoop? Forget about it."
Smith nodded. "The Blazers' 2-1-2 leaves Fox open on the wing. Marion's playing safety in the paint, so there's a window. But the real question is whether Fox can hit enough shots to punish the defense."
"Doesn't matter," Barkley said, waving him off. "No coach is drawing up plays for Rick Fox when they've got the Twin Towers inside. Attack the rim. That's where the money is."
Blazers' possession.
Grant and O'Neal stretched the floor, stepping out toward the three-point line—both within shooting range. It was clear: the Blazers were running the God-Slaying tactic—space the floor, break from the outside, collapse the D.
Phil Jackson saw it coming.
He had the Lakers sit in a 2-3 zone, prioritizing the paint. He knew from experience—Zhao Dong couldn't be stopped one-on-one. He wasn't betting on it.
Instead, the plan was clear: let Zhao shoot jumpers under pressure or bait him into the teeth of the defense. If he drove, collapse with help.
Zhao Dong dribbled up past halfcourt, reaching the top of the arc. Kobe and Harper stepped up, forcing a double-team immediately.
Phil Jackson's theory was holding. Zhao had torched teams with jumpers before—but usually against single coverage. Under a double-team? The analytics weren't in his favor.
And yet, Zhao didn't hesitate.
"Screech!"
With a violent skid of his sneakers, Zhao stepped hard between the two defenders. But Harper and Kobe immediately pinched in, cutting off the lane.
In that split second, Zhao spun off Harper's hip, tore across the free throw line, and blew into the paint.
"Nice move!" Su Qun shouted on the Chinese broadcast.
Waiting at the rim: Shaq.
The Big Diesel had seen enough. He squared up and launched off the ground with both hands, fully committed to stopping Zhao Dong's drive.
But Zhao wasn't slowing down—not even a little.
"BOOM!"
Shaq ignored the ball completely and grabbed Zhao Dong mid-air, yanking him down.
"BEEP!"
The whistle screamed.
"WHOA!"
The fans erupted in boos.
Middle fingers flew like confetti.
The Rose Garden exploded in fury.
"That's dirty!" the Blazers' local announcer roared. "That's a flagrant! He didn't even try to contest—he wanted to take Zhao out!"
Grant, O'Neal Jr., and Jones rushed in to check on their captain.
Zhao Dong exhaled hard, then climbed up from the hardwood, waving off his teammates.
"I'm good."
Shaq loomed over him. "I'm not going easy on you."
Zhao Dong looked him in the eye and shot back coldly, "Did I ask you to?"
Shaq felt a chill run down his spine.
This man wasn't backing down.
If anything, he was gearing up for a war.
From the CCTV booth, Zhang Heli chuckled nervously. "O'Neal won't let anyone dunk on him, not even in scrimmages. Zhao Dong's going to have to be careful tonight."
Su Qun added, "He's never been injured before. Let's hope that streak continues."
"His build is absurd," Zhang agreed. "He's built like a tank."
Back on the court, Zhao Dong calmly stepped to the free throw line.
Swish.
Swish.
He nailed both, tying the game.
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