Chapter 57: O'Neal's Panting

Tang Bei crashed into O'Neal, managing to steady his center of gravity. Landing firmly on his feet, he used both hands to prop up the basketball standard, not daring to let go.

Because O'Neal had tumbled backward onto his bottom from the impact, letting go at this moment would result in the heavy structure crashing down on him.

Grudges were grudges, but he couldn't let go now.

"Oh!!!"

Seeing the basket standard collapse and the backboard shatter, a massive gasp erupted instantly throughout the Orlando Arena, sweeping through like a hurricane.

In the NBC broadcast booth, Marv Albert exclaimed, "An absolute poster dunk! Tang delivers a direct poster slam right over the number one overall pick, Shaquille O'Neal. Good lord, he even pulled down the basket standard and shattered the backboard, staging an absolute spectacle. Yes, he just put on a blockbuster action sequence."

At that moment, he felt his previous assessment might need revision. How could a beast like this possibly fail to survive in the NBA?

Bill Russell looked astonished as he said, "His nickname in the CBA is 'Fear'—Severe Fear. Now that he's come to the NBA, he's continuing to manufacture terror."

Larry Bird chuckled, "Two behemoths weighing over 135 kilograms combined to produce this scene. The league is probably going to have to reinforce the basket standards once again."

"Haha..."

The other two men burst out laughing.

On the court, the two giants stood and lay respectively, locking eyes with one another, surrounded from head to toe by glittering shards of glass.

With an unmistakable smirk of triumph, Tang Bei said, "Mr. Shaquille O'Neal, that returns the favor of your poster dunk. I don't owe you anything now. But remember, you still owe me two falls down. Counting this one, that makes three in total. If you've got the guts, pay me back."

"You bastard!"

O'Neal's face quivered with rage.

"Hmph!"

This was the first time he had ever been posterized directly from the front. Filled with extreme fury, fresh grievances piled upon old unavenged scores. He grunted in deep annoyance, flipped over and scrambled to his feet, walking briskly toward the bench with a darkened expression.

"Click, click..."

A crowd of media reporters stood opposite Tang Bei, snapping pictures continuously. With his left hand propping up the basket standard, his right hand obligingly flashed a V-sign for victory, a grin plastered across his face.

Inside the Orlando Arena, intensive emergency repairs were underway.

However, this wasn't just a matter of a broken backboard or a damaged rim; the entire basket standard had toppled and the glass was completely pulverized, presenting a massive workload.

Moreover, the arena staff lacked experience in replacing a basket standard and backboard mid-game, and even an hour later, the job was still unfinished.

This was a nationwide broadcast, and a game interruption exceeding one hour dealt a severe blow to the telecast.

Although fans in front of their televisions were thrilled to witness the instant the basket standard was brought down, once the game stalled, they refused to keep their sets tuned to NBC, and the ratings plummeted to the floor.

After the three commentators and guests made awkward small talk for several minutes, the live broadcast was forced to suspend.

The subsequent programming schedule for NBA TV was forced into temporary adjustments, and the sponsors' commercials faced the same fate. Many people were compelled to work overtime, and some were even called back to the station from their homes.

As for the fans in the arena, roughly thirty percent had gradually left due to the passage of time.

To prevent the atmosphere in the venue from dropping to freezing temperatures, the arena MC whipped out his silver tongue, and the cheerleaders were forced to continue dancing on the court.

An hour later, the host's voice was hoarse, and a group of sexy beauties were exhausted like worn-out dogs, every single one of them reeking of sweat.

Finally, one hour and fifteen minutes later, the new basket standard was erected once again.

"Beep!"

The head referee blew the whistle to signal the restart of the game.

Tang Bei took his penalty free throws first, as O'Neal had been whistled for a defensive foul previously.

"Clank!"

Although he had periodically warmed up on the court, Tang Bei's shooting touch inevitably dipped. The free throw missed, and O'Neal hauled in the rebound.

Moving to the left low block, a still-fuming O'Neal fought with every ounce of his strength to carve out deep position. Tang Bei refused to yield an inch, and the two men locked horns, entering a phase of brutal hand-to-hand combat.

O'Neal threw the first elbow, driving a left forearm directly into Tang Bei's neck. Tang Bei immediately returned the favor, sweeping his right elbow across O'Neal's left cheek.

Fortunately, it was close-range wrestling, meaning neither player could generate full power. Though it still hurt intensely, both men managed to endure it.

O'Neal's strength was truly formidable, and his left foot finally squeezed into the restricted area, sliding half a yard deep while his right foot remained outside.

The ball was passed down. At that moment, Tang Bei inside suddenly exerted force to escalate the physical contact, followed instantly by a fierce, sudden Tai Chi spin.

"Oh no!"

The heavy resistance vanished abruptly, taking the supporting leverage away with it. O'Neal's body involuntarily lurched forward, his mind instantly flashing back to the nightmarish memories of falling twice at Tang Bei's feet during the rookie camp.

In a fraction of a second, Tang Bei had already spun around to O'Neal's front, his right elbow smoothly brushing against O'Neal's right arm, completing the third step of the center-of-gravity disruption technique: control—meaning the continued destabilization of his opponent's balance.

If this were a street fight, the fourth and final step would immediately follow: the ultimate push-out, directly achieving complete control over O'Neal by twisting his arm and pinning him to the floor to grind him down.

However, since this was a basketball game, it stopped right there.

Tang Bei was just getting ready to receive the pass when a thick, powerful hand suddenly grabbed his left arm and gave it a violent yank.

"Damn you!"

As Tang Bei was pulled down by O'Neal, the basketball sailed directly over them and out of bounds over the baseline.

"Beep!"

The head referee blew his whistle.

Larry Bird reacted quickly, immediately stating, "O'Neal foul for grabbing."

"Indeed."

Bill Russell nodded in agreement.

"He pushed me! He pushed me again..."

Before the lead official could make his ruling, O'Neal scrambled to his feet and roared angrily.

The head referee hadn't seen Tang Bei's pushing motion, but he had clearly witnessed O'Neal's grabbing foul.

However, he had just whistled O'Neal for a foul moments ago, and this was the Magic's home court. Calling another one would undoubtedly provoke the fury of the home crowd.

After a moment of deliberation, he beckoned the two auxiliary referees over.

The center-line official stated he hadn't seen the action unfold in that area.

The weak-side official hadn't caught O'Neal's pull, but he *had* noticed a right-elbow movement by Tang Bei.

Nevertheless, he judged it to be a natural balancing motion during Tang Bei's spin rather than an elbow strike. Furthermore, the impact was negligible, falling well within normal competitive intensity.

Yet, he shared the same concerns as the head referee: O'Neal had just been whistled, this was Orlando's home floor, and given the dynamic of a Chinese player versus an American player, their inclinations tilted toward O'Neal.

After whispering back and forth, the head referee ultimately slapped Tang Bei with a standard personal foul under the guise of an elbow strike, maintaining possession for the Magic.

O'Neal was dumbfounded. It was clearly a push, so why was it called an elbow strike?

Being whistled for a push was fair, but calling Tang Bei for an elbow, given the level of physical contact in their final exchange, would brand him as soft.

"Your grandmother!"

"Soft player! If you can't handle losing, get off the court. My seventy-year-old grandma could knock you down with one elbow."

Furious, Tang Bei let loose a string of curses, spinning around to yell right at O'Neal.

Usually, speaking English felt slightly clunky, requiring him to think before he spoke, but this piece of trash talk rolled off his tongue with absolute fluency, complete with cadence and rhythm.

"Fuck you!"

O'Neal's face flushed crimson in an instant. Recalling the humiliation of being thrown to the ground by Tang Bei, he lost his temper completely, abandoning his reason as he swung a wild, heavy fist toward his opponent.

Unfortunately, his boxing technique was terribly unpolished, and his fist speed was far too slow.

Tang Bei certainly wasn't going to let such a prime opportunity slip away. Catching O'Neal's oncoming left wrist, he utilized the silk-reeling energy of Tai Chi to borrow his opponent's momentum against him, executing a ferocious spin and delivering a sharp push forward.

"Ah!"

Leveraging four ounces to move a thousand pounds, a startled O'Neal let out a dainty squeal, charging forward like a foolish ox. After staggering four or five steps, he crashed headfirst into the spectator seats.

The fans seated there scrambled frantically to get out of the way. Two unfortunate souls failed to escape in time and ended up crushed beneath O'Neal's heavy frame.

The head referee's mind went completely numb. The game had just been suspended for over an hour, and now a full-blown fight had broken out. What kind of terrible luck had landed him the assignment to officiate this game?