The future and the past collided violently in the fourth quarter, sparks flying.
LeBron Jas charged at the basket with a frenzy, showing everyone what the most talented body in NBA history looks like.
Michael Jordan made a jumpshot after getting past his opponent, then hit a fadeaway over a defender, stopping in his tracks before sinking another fadeaway...leading the Hawks to equalize ti and again.
The Philips Arena trembled as if engulfed in a sea of madness and fire.
Jas and Jordan were relentless, pushing tonight’s story to an explosive climax.
With only 26 seconds left in the ga, LeBron attempted a drifting shot from the left — he had been forced to the point where he couldn’t shoot or drive to the basket, relying on a thod he wasn’t skilled at.
Pippen exerted every ounce of effort to disrupt it, hoping to jump just a bit higher, high enough to block it cleanly.
However, his physical peak had been spent on the dynasties of Chicago and Atlanta, leaving little energy left to draw on.
The basketball bounced three or four tis on the rim before finally falling through the net!
"The Chosen One leads his team to the brink of victory in the final 26 seconds, offering a beacon of hope to push the Cleveland Cavaliers into the playoffs!" Mike Breen appreciated tonight’s LeBron Jas, who was finally the LeBron Jas everyone had been anticipating.
Kevin Garnett wiped off his sweat: "It’s over!"
"Shut up, Kevin!"
"Oh."
The Hawks called for a tiout, with the score at 38 points for LeBron and 37 for Michael Jordan.
With only 26 seconds remaining, the Hawks were teetering on the brink.
But in the arena, the fans’ cheers grew louder. The old veteran had fought to this extent; there was nothing left to prove.
No one could disrespect the Michael Jordan of tonight.
Jordan sat on the bench, his knees throbbing painfully.
Most players as they age develop various physical issues, so with knees, so with backs, others with groins.
Machines wear down with long-term use, let alone humans.
Pippen knew well how frequently Michael Jordan had to drain fluid from his knees this season, on par with Jeff Hornacek during his retirent season.
Hornacek, however, was just a role player averaging less than 20 minutes per ga, struggling even under such circumstances.
anwhile, Michael Jordan was the team’s primary scorer!
Hawks coach Terry Stotts looked at Michael Jordan, drenched in sweat and panting so hard he could barely speak, unsure of what more he could do.
He hesitated, unsure whether to assign the last play to Marion or the utterly exhausted Jordan.
Just then, after finishing a Gatorade, Jordan raised his head: "Give the ball!"
Win or lose, Michael Jordan would bear the final responsibility.
His career had peaked in 1993, only to spiral downward that sa year. Since entering the league with number 14, Michael Jordan had nearly beco synonymous with "failure."
He couldn’t stop the rise of the previous prodigy; he accepted it and admitted his defeat without complaint.
But damned if so Chosen One would trample over him?
To hell with that!
If Michael Jordan was destined to lose to soone, destined to have soone he couldn’t defeat, it could only be Roger.
Everyone else? To the sidelines!
"Terry, give the ball! Set the play!"
The buzzer sounded, and both Roger and Garnett stood up, as if transported to the scene.
Michael Jordan stepped onto the court, the surge of adrenaline making his breathing smoother.
Michael Jordan entered the court with a vengeance brewing, determined to make those who doubted him pay the price.
The Hawks’ tactic was to get the ball to Jordan for a quick two-pointer, but the play failed because LeBron Jas imdiately closed in, giving Jordan no room to shoot.
Jordan calmly lowered both hands, signaling for everyone to clear out.
Number 23 looked as if he was ready to kill another Number 23 head-on!
"Iso? The stubborn old man!" Roger teased.
"You’re just the sa."
"Shut up, Kevin!"
"Oh."
Jordan bent low, dribbling, letting the ti tick away.
He looked at the number 23 on Jas’s chest, shaking his head: "You’re not worthy of number 23."
"You aren’t worthy now, either."
"Ti will tell it all. You and your team seek to surpass greatness, but you’re no warrior. I can see it in your eyes, your actions — you can’t compete with Ro—"
"Don’t ntion that na again. I’m not like you; I won’t be overshadowed by him for life."
"You don’t understand Roger Leblanc, you don’t know that bastard. He’ll suck you dry, skin you alive, drag you into the abyss, make you worthless. He’s my curse, and yours too!"
With five seconds left on the shot clock, Michael Jordan initiated his drive.
Of course, he couldn’t blow past Jas in a single step; he couldn’t blow past anyone anymore.
Jas imdiately blocked the path, Jordan shifted to the left, the other number 23 shadowing him.
But at that mont, Michael Jordan suddenly pulled in the opposite direction, spinning around, and then released the shot!
Michael Jordan scored innurable points in his career; it’s impossible for him to rember how most of those points were scored.
But any player rembers two scores for sure — their career’s first point and their last.
Michael Jordan had a vivid mory of his career’s first point, which was on October 26, 1984, a Sunday, against the Washington Bullets.
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