So Gan Guoyang went back to running the high-post playmaking sets, setting active screens, handling the ball at the top of the arc and dealing cards, letting the Princeton System spin around their two-man pick-and-roll.
Jordan slowly recovered his stamina and searched for his shooting touch; twice in a row he used the pick-and-roll, rose up directly for jumpers and nailed them.
Pull-up jumpers out of the pick-and-roll are a lot easier and more natural; after getting used to this kind of partnership with Ah Gan, the bald guy’s cold arrows were deadly accurate.
And Jordan’s feel for his jumper isn’t like a typical perimeter player’s; once he finds that feeling, he can hit one after another, in a row.
Same pull-up out of the pick-and-roll, someone like Bibby, three in a row is usually his limit; on the fourth the defense traps him, or his own touch wavers, and it’s hard to make any more.
Jordan is different; his consistency means he can keep hitting one after another, which is why the Pistons back then resorted to rough fouls against him.
In terms of sustained hot shooting, looking across NBA history there’s only one man who can surpass him—that’s Ah Gan, the guy setting the pick for him.
Jordan quickly pushed his own scoring total to 30, and the Bulls fans on site were going wild; they didn’t care about the home team winning or losing, they just wanted to see more of Jordan’s show.
Jerry Krause, sitting courtside, continued his torture; every gorgeous basket Jordan hit was like a knife stabbing into his chest.
Only now did Jerry Krause truly admit in his heart that back when he built that title team and established the Bulls’ 3‑rings‑in‑4‑years dynasty, Jordan was the most important piece, and that his own success had a huge element of luck.
Plenty of front offices who built teams around some all‑time great star and won multiple championships tend to fall into this illusion: I picked this superstar, I built this team, my success is reproducible.
Only when the superstar ages and retires does the front office realize: actually, it was the superstar who made us.
Sure, there’s mutual achievement, but on a basketball court the superstar is undeniably more important—just look at the salaries.
Very, very few front offices can truly transcend eras and players and keep assembling championship teams.
And as more teams join the league and the rules get more complex and refined, it’s getting harder and harder for Evergreen‑type front offices to stay dominant forever.
By halftime, Jordan had exploded for 32 points, and the Glory Team led the Bulls 63–41, up by 22.
This was already the result of the Glory Team easing up; otherwise the margin would only be bigger, because the Bulls simply can’t play basketball when facing two gods.
Jordan’s scoring efficiency was off the charts, and Gan Guoyang, playing the sidekick, was just as insanely efficient, maybe even more.
Tyson Chandler couldn’t contain Gan Guoyang at all; when they switched Fizer onto him, it somehow got even worse.
It wasn’t that Fizer’s ability was below Chandler’s; the problem was this guy Fizer is a devout Christian, and he’s very superstitious.
Back when his mom was pregnant with him, she was still very young; the family took her to get an abortion, but by mistake they went into a church, and the pastor there told her, "Whatever you’re about to do next, don’t do it, because you’re carrying a pastor." She had shown no signs of pregnancy at the time, and she was so shocked she gave up on the abortion and brought Fizer into the world.
Fizer’s mom told him this story many, many times, so he’s very devout; the end result is, he worships, even gets superstitious about Ah Gan.
On defense he doesn’t go all out at all; he treats Gan Guoyang like a deity, feels honored just to touch him, and absolutely refuses to use force to bang with him—at most he reaches out a hand to contest.
Last season when Glory played the Bulls, Gan Guoyang already realized this guy was a little off—whenever he defended him, he’d mumble to himself nonstop.
This year it’s even worse. When he and Jordan ran a pick‑and‑roll and Gan rolled to the hoop for a dunk, Fizer just watched Gan Guoyang go up; his hands never even went up to defend, instead he traced a cross over his chest...
Cartwright later noticed the problem, called a timeout, subbed Fizer out, and questioned him: "What were you doing when you were defending Ah Gan?"
"Praying."
"Praying for what? Why weren’t you defending him?!"
"Praying works better than defending."
Cartwright was speechless—come to think of it, that kind of did make sense.
But as the head coach, he couldn’t very well join his players in prayer, could he?
Winning the game was highly unlikely anyway, so Cartwright shifted the goal of the game to giving the young players some reps...which didn’t really work either.
These two old bastards take delight in trampling young guys; sending the youngsters out there isn’t development, it’s torture—a hit to their confidence.
No choice: early in the third quarter, Chandler and Eddy Curry again played only a few minutes before heading back to the bench to rest.
In the end, over the whole game, starting center Eddy Curry only logged 9 minutes; Chandler was a bit better at 15 minutes.
Their on‑court impact was basically negligible; they were purely background props, which disappointed the Chicago fans.
The one who truly opened the Chicago fans’ eyes instead was Glory’s rookie, Yao Ming.
After getting his first NBA isolation bucket in the first quarter, Yao Ming’s confidence only grew stronger.
In the second quarter, he knocked down a mid‑range jumper—his second field goal.
In the third, after Jordan scored 6 straight to push his total to 38, he started easing off the throttle and feeding Yao Ming the ball.
A savvy old fox like Jordan knows you must not rush a 50‑point game; if you sprint mindlessly in one go, you’ll drain your tank.
You have to build it step by step, keep your rhythm; so Yao Ming got two straight post touches—he made one, missed one, but grabbed the Offensive Rebound and kicked it out to Andre Miller, who floated it in.
Yao Ming’s offensive talent is not something Chandler can compare to; even Curry is a notch below.
He might not have Ah Gan’s terrifying dominance, but his future is clearly promising.
That tall, with that soft shooting touch, plus a legit mid‑range game.
By contrast, No. 2 pick Jay Williams looked a lot more ordinary.
In terms of height, wingspan, bounce, and even his playing style, Jay Williams still looks way too much like a college player, not an NBA‑level superstar‑in‑the‑making.
His play was steady and unspectacular, and the result was he got handled by the equally steady Andre Miller, with almost no highlight plays to speak of.
What can you do? The Glory Team just has more tricks up its sleeve: they pulled off a "black eight" upset over the Lakers last season and still managed to land the No. 1 pick.
A single draft slot can mean a world of difference, just like in 1997 when the top pick got you Duncan, and the No. 2 only got you Fan Huo’en.
In the final stretch, the only suspense left was how many points Jordan would finish with.
At this point, Jordan’s scoring options were almost all mid‑range jumpers; he only tried a few drives.
Even when he drove and got into the paint, he finished with floaters or short pull‑ups instead of going hard at the rim.
Until midway through the fourth, when Gan Guoyang swatted Jay Williams’ layup at the rim, then fired a long outlet pass upcourt to Jordan.
Nobody stood between Jordan and the basket; he dribbled hard toward the hoop, the entire crowd rose to its feet, Jordan took off—and glided in for a dunk!
The whole United Center erupted, and the arena DJ drew out his voice and shouted, "Michael Jordan!!"
Jordan’s gliding dunks have been one of the most beautiful shows Chicago fans have seen on court over the past decade; seeing one again now was incredibly rare.
First, Jordan’s older now; second, he doesn’t play in Chicago anymore, and this season he only comes here twice.
Even though his lift and glide distance aren’t what they were when he was young, his dunk was still smooth and still gorgeous.
Not only that, this dunk gave Jordan his 50th point of the night, completing his mission perfectly.
For a 39‑year‑old veteran, 50 points is no easy feat; it tests not only skill and tactics, but also stamina.
After hitting 50, a trace of fatigue appeared on Jordan’s face; Tomjanovich immediately called a timeout, letting Jordan soak in the fans’ cheers and sub out to rest.
The thunderous applause went on and on; Jordan’s performance on his return to Chicago was a perfect curtain call.
At this moment, with no one paying him any mind, Jerry Krause quietly got up from his seat and left the stands, and also left the United Center.
Not long after, Jerry Krause resigned as the Bulls’ general manager, and the Bulls’ long, glorious Klaus Time came to an end.
Head coach Bill Cartwright lost his job as well; replacing him was another of Jordan’s former teammates, Jim Paxson’s younger brother, John Paxson.
Looks like the influence of the Jordan‑era Bulls will linger a while longer; a true reboot for the Bulls is a long, long way off.