On March 18, 2002, Zhao Dong landed in New York to participate in the 2002 Nike International Training Camp.
Despite its "international" name, the camp featured only one player from outside the United States—Yi Jianlian from China.
At the hotel, Zhao Dong met the young forward ahead of the event.
"I'll call you A-Lian," Zhao Dong said casually, offering a firm handshake.
"Brother Dong!" Yi Jianlian replied, eyes shining with excitement.
He had watched Zhao Dong's debut game years ago and had been a die-hard fan ever since. Now, seeing his idol in the flesh left him starstruck.
Zhao Dong had already arranged for A-Lian to enroll at Duke University in May, just like Yao Ming before him. Through Liu Yumin, he even had A-Lian's birthdate officially adjusted to October 1984, matching the age Yao was when he first arrived in the U.S.
Yi's parents had flown in with him. Both were former players on the Guangdong Handball Team. After the team disbanded in 1986, they took up jobs at the Shenzhen Post Office. They had taken leave for this trip, but would return home after things settled.
Zhao Dong treated the family to dinner, going over cultural differences and the essential things to watch out for in the United States.
In terms of athletic ability, A-Lian had arguably the best raw physical gifts of any Chinese player. With high plasticity and a solid foundation, Zhao Dong was confident that a few years in the NCAA would mold him into a future star.
This year's training camp had drawn quite the crowd—not just fans, but dozens of NBA scouts. The reason? The camp was packed with potential superstars.
Among them were LeBron James, the top-ranked high school prospect in America, and future stars like Carmelo Anthony, Nene, Amar'e Stoudemire, Chris Bosh, Dwyane Wade, Dwight Howard, and Chris Paul.
Most of these players had been followed by scouts and fans since junior high. Their stats and footage had been archived obsessively; entire folders of data, some literally two feet thick, followed them.
"Yo! Did you hear? Zhao Dong is here today!" Chris Paul's baby-faced voice cut through the buzz of the camp.
"Yeah, man. Everyone knows. Media's been talking about it all week," LeBron James replied, arms folded coolly.
Paul leaned in, grinning. "Come on, LeBron. Be honest… how old are you really?"
LeBron raised an eyebrow. "Chris, you first."
Before Paul could quip back, Wade stepped in, patting Paul's head with a smirk. "Relax, little man."
"Yo, hands off!" Paul growled, shoving Wade's arm away. "Don't touch my head!"
With his baby face, Paul already hated being mistaken for a kid—getting patted like one didn't help his mood.
Wade gave an apologetic shrug.
"Yo! Look!" someone shouted. "Zhao Dong just pulled up!"
Instantly, a crowd of media surrounded Zhao Dong. After fielding a few questions, he finally broke free—only to be mobbed again, this time by starstruck rookies.
Looking around, Zhao Dong recognized more than a few future icons. Most were still teens, but the hunger in their eyes was unmistakable.
A flash of pride flickered in him as he saw the admiration on their faces.
Then, Paul shouted, "Zhao Dong, I wanna challenge you one-on-one!"
Gasps spread through the gym like wildfire.
Zhao Dong smiled and casually walked over to Paul.
Startled, Paul instinctively took a step back—then caught himself and stood tall again.
"How old are you?" Zhao Dong asked, amused.
Laughter erupted around them.
Face flushing, Paul replied, "May 1985. I'm turning 17 soon."
Zhao Dong reached out to pat his head. Paul tried to duck, but Zhao's long arms were too quick—he caught Paul easily.
"You 175 cm?" Zhao asked.
"I'm 178 now!" Paul barked, wriggling out of Zhao's grasp.
He glared, but didn't dare mouth off like he had with Wade. Instead, he sulked in silence.
Zhao Dong grinned. "So, how's your first step? Your handles?"
That lit a fire under Paul.
"I've been studying your dribble rhythm and footwork for years, Zhao!" he said passionately. "Now I can break anyone! My separation game is insane!"
Zhao Dong blinked. So, Paul had modeled his game after him?
From behind, someone stepped forward.
It was LeBron James.
He looked... exactly the same as he would twenty years later.
Zhao Dong couldn't help but laugh inwardly. Some people age like milk. LeBron? Like granite. Dude looked thirty forever.
"Yo, Zhao Dong!" LeBron greeted with a confident smile.
"That's LeBron James," Paul piped up. "Still in high school. Walks every time he dribbles. Can only dunk with one hand."
"What'd you say, you mop-headed hobbit!?" LeBron shouted, face twisted in mock fury.
He looked ready to brawl.
Zhao Dong just laughed and shook his head.
After spending a few hours at the camp, Zhao Dong left.
Agent Wells was now in charge of Yi Jianlian's affairs. When A-Lian eventually made it to the NBA, he would sign under him.
---
Time flew by.
On June 21, 2002, Zhao Dong led the Trail Blazers to yet another Finals victory—this time, defeating the Nets and capturing his sixth NBA title, and his second with Portland.
His mission was clear: build a dynasty with the Trail Blazers before walking away from the game.
So, Zhao Dong announced his return for at least one more year.
The 2002–03 NBA season tipped off in late October.
Just as the season was getting underway, China was struck by the SARS epidemic.
The virus loomed like a shadow across the world, but in May, things reached critical levels in Beijing and Hong Kong.
That same month, Zhao Dong once again led the Trail Blazers through the playoffs, toppling the Lakers to return to the Finals.
Even while battling on the court, his heart was back home.
He called his mother several times a day, each time giving the same instructions:
"Keep an eye on Grandpa and Grandma. Don't let them leave the house. Let them sit in the courtyard and soak up some sun, but don't take any chances."
Mid-June, 2003.
Zhao Dong led the Portland Trail Blazers to a seventh consecutive NBA championship, once again toppling the Nets in the Finals. In just seven years, he had built a dynasty that would be talked about for decades.
Back in Portland, the city erupted. The Trail Blazers' management organized a three-day championship parade—three straight days of cheers, confetti, and deafening chants of "Zhao Dong! MVP!"
But behind the celebrations, Zhao Dong had already made a decision.
---
June 20, 2003.
Zhao Dong sat across from his agent, Ringo Wells, the championship trophy still fresh in memory. His tone was calm, almost too calm.
"Wells, go ahead and inform the front office."
Wells' hand, mid-sip of coffee, froze. "You're serious? You're actually retiring?"
He had known for some time that Zhao was considering it, but hearing it spoken aloud still stunned him.
Zhao Dong was only 26. The absolute prime of an NBA player's career. With his dominance, he could easily control the league for another five to eight years. Maybe even a full decade.
Zhao smiled. "If I keep playing, there's no challenge left. Wouldn't it be better to find a new battlefield?"
Wells let out a bitter laugh. "So... you're really going through with this NFL thing?"
Zhao nodded. "The NFL is a different beast. In the NBA, a superstar can carry a team. In the NFL? Not a chance. That's a true team sport. One weak link, a single injury—or just bad luck—and you're out."
Wells leaned back, sighing. "You're undefeated here, Zhao. You've built a dynasty. You're the face of the league. Are you really ready to walk into something where you might fail?"
"Being undefeated is the most boring thing of all," Zhao said quietly. "It's... lonely."
Wells didn't reply. He didn't know how.
This wasn't like when Jordan left to play baseball—a move born out of grief and exhaustion.
Zhao Dong genuinely wanted to play football.
---
When Trail Blazers GM Whitsitt got the news, he nearly choked on his lunch.
"Wait... what?!"
Zhao Dong switching sports? After seven rings?
Whitsitt wasn't alone. Team owner Paul Allen was equally floored when Wells informed him. It was like a lightning bolt had struck the front office.
But no matter how shocked they were, they couldn't change Zhao's mind.
The dynasty was already built. Zhao had done more than enough.
Zhao Dong still had two years left on his contract—$69 million on the table. Allen offered to let him keep every cent, even if he wouldn't suit up again.
But Zhao refused. He wasn't about to sit and collect checks without earning them.
Under Allen's repeated persuasion, he still turned it down. He tore up the contract and walked away clean.
On June 21, the team officially notified the NBA league office.
---
When Commissioner David Stern got the call, he sat in silence.
He didn't speak for a long time. Just stared out his window.
It wasn't just a player leaving—it was the most dominant force the league had ever seen.
Zhao Dong had entered the NBA in 1996. Seven years. Seven titles. Undefeated in the Finals.
He had warped the league's balance.
Stern had mixed feelings. If Zhao stayed, he would continue to be the face of the NBA—a global superstar who brought in ratings, fans, and revenue from China and beyond.
But now that he was leaving?
Stern didn't stop him. Didn't plead. Didn't interfere.
Somehow, part of him was... relieved.
---
On June 22, the Trail Blazers made an official announcement.
A press conference would be held at 12 PM on June 24, at the Portland Hilton. Zhao Dong would announce something "extremely important."
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of the country...
NBA commentators Zhang Heli, Yang Yi, and Su Qun had just wrapped up their season coverage and were resting in Los Angeles, preparing to fly back to China.
In the hotel lobby, Yang Yi's phone buzzed.
He looked up, surprised. "Coach Zhang, it's just been reported—Zhao Dong and the Blazers are holding a press conference. No details, but it's official. Should we check it out?"
Zhang Heli didn't hesitate. "We've got the credentials. I'll call Zhao Dong."
"Right away." Yang Yi passed him the phone.
Zhang dialed. The line rang three times before Zhao Dong picked up.
"Coach Zhang? You haven't boarded yet?"
"Not yet," Zhang said. "Zhao, this press conference... what's it about?"
Zhao Dong's voice was casual. "Oh, yeah. I'm announcing my retirement."
There was a beat of silence.
Zhang blinked. "...Retire?"
He paused, then shouted, "RETIRE?! Who—who's retiring?! You?!"
Across the table, Yang Yi and Su Qun stared in stunned silence.
"Yes, I'm retiring," Zhao said calmly. "I've won everything I wanted in the NBA. I'm done. I want to try something new."
"The NFL?" Zhang Heli's voice cracked.
Zhao chuckled. "That's right. I'm switching to football."
Zhang covered the phone and muttered, "Zhao Dong's leaving the NBA... to play football?"
Yang Yi and Su Qun sat frozen, their expressions mirroring disbelief.
Zhang spoke with Zhao for a while longer, trying to talk him out of it—at least gauge his commitment—but Zhao was firm.
When the call ended, Zhang stood up. "He told us not to attend the press conference. Said we already know. But I think we have to stay. If Zhao really transitions to the NFL, our station needs to cover it. I'll talk to headquarters."
---
June 24, 2003. Portland.
By the morning of the press conference, the city was swarmed with reporters.
From Sports Illustrated to People, from CCTV to BBC Sports—the media circus was in full swing.
No one had the full story yet. Even American sports outlets were scrambling for clues.
Zhao Dong's press conference wasn't just a sports event anymore.
It was international news.
After receiving clearance from their network superiors, Zhang Heli, Su Qun, and Yang Yi immediately canceled their return flights and rushed to Portland.
Back in China, the CCTV Sports Department was also holding emergency meetings. If Zhao Dong truly crossed over to the NFL, the station might seriously consider acquiring broadcasting rights for American football games—just to follow his journey.
---
June 24, 2003. Portland Hilton Hotel. 12:00 PM.
Cameras flashed like lightning. Reporters packed the room wall to wall. Journalists from ESPN, CCTV, FOX, Sina Sports, and international agencies all held their breaths.
Then came the man of the hour—Zhao Dong—calm, poised, dressed in a simple black suit with a crimson tie.
He stepped up to the podium, adjusted the mic, and delivered a bombshell:
"Everyone, I hereby officially announce that I will retire from the NBA."
For a full five seconds, silence.
Then chaos.
"What?!"
"Did I hear that right?"
"Zhao Dong, this better be a joke!"
"This isn't funny, man!"
The press conference erupted into noise—flashing bulbs, overlapping voices, reporters standing from their chairs, desperate for clarity.
Front row, Zhang Heli and his crew leaned forward, now fully convinced Zhao wasn't bluffing. They whispered urgently, trying to piece together what this meant for China's national team, for the league, for global basketball.
When the noise died down, Zhao Dong leaned forward again.
"You heard me right. I'm not joking. I will retire from the NBA… and I will leave the sport of basketball entirely."
Someone in the back shouted, "Why?!"
Zhao's lips curled into a half-smile.
"It's simple. Since entering the league, I haven't experienced failure in seven seasons. I'm tired of winning. I've lost the joy, the challenge. I don't feel alive in this game anymore.
I want to start over—somewhere new. Somewhere I can lose."
The reporters fired questions like a barrage of threes in crunch time.
"Zhao Dong, after basketball, what's next?"
He paused, then delivered his second bombshell:
"The NFL. I'm entering the National Football League."
A beat.
Then another wave of chaos.
---
A New York reporter stood and shouted, "According to reports, you tried out for your college's football team but didn't make it. You weren't exactly impressive. You sure about this move?"
Zhao laughed.
"Yeah, you're right. The first school team I tried out for was the football team. They didn't take me. Said I wasn't physically ready. That's how I ended up with basketball.
But even after joining the basketball program, I kept practicing football when I could—just for fun. I wasn't good, just passionate."
He looked across the room, locking eyes with the sea of reporters.
"Now, though? My body's different. My strength, explosiveness, my training—it's at a whole other level. That gives me confidence I didn't have back then."
A follow-up came fast: "Which team have you spoken to? Is it the New York Jets?"
Zhao nodded.
"Yes. I've had conversations with the Jets. When I sold my shares of the team, I told them—one day, when I retire from the NBA, I'd like a chance to join them. They agreed."
Another question flew in: "What are your NFL goals?"
"Simple. First—earn a roster spot. Just get on the field.
Of course, I'd love to win the Super Bowl. That's a dream right now. But this move isn't about guaranteed success.
I might fail. I might become just another name buried at the bottom of the roster.
But that's the point. I want to start from scratch."
A different reporter chimed in, "What position are you aiming to play? Offense? Defense? Special teams?"
Zhao shrugged, honest as ever.
"My technical skills aren't there yet. That'll be something I discuss with the Jets' coaching staff. They'll evaluate me. I'll train accordingly.
Most likely, I'll start as a backup. Competing for reps is the first step. I'm realistic about that."
Another voice, this time with a skeptical tone: "Come on. With your name, your status—you're telling me you'll settle for the bench?"
Zhao looked him dead in the eye.
"That's exactly what I'm saying. I'm not using my fame, money, or influence to secure a starting spot.
That defeats the whole purpose.
If I wanted guaranteed minutes, I'd stay in the NBA and keep dominating."
He finished with a firm tone:
"All I want is a fair shot. No special treatment. Just the chance to prove myself."
---
As soon as the press conference ended, the story exploded.
Within minutes, headlines around the world lit up.
"Zhao Dong Retires From NBA—Will Join NFL"
"Seven-Time Champion Leaves the Court for the Gridiron"
"From Dynasty to Underdog: Zhao's Next Chapter Begins"
Social media imploded. NBA forums crashed. Even NFL analysts scrambled to figure out where Zhao might fit on a roster.
---
Back at the NBA's headquarters in New York, David Stern stared at the TV in silence as the press conference replayed.
Around him, league executives paced the room nervously.
Zhao Dong had been the face of the league. The international ambassador. The seven-time Finals MVP. The cornerstone of every marketing campaign.
And now, he was gone.
---
(End of Chapter)
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