January 7th, 1997 – Madison Square Garden
"Absolutely not."
Kenny Smith shook his head firmly after hearing what Alex Mo had said during warmups.
"When you're locked in, most defenders can't handle you," he added, watching Alex finish a series of windmill dunks with casual ease. "But still… you've got to be careful out there. That guy Ollie? His defense can get nasty."
Alex offered a cool nod, tossing the ball behind his back as he finished his routine. "Appreciate the heads-up. But I'm good. This body's built to take punishment."
Kenny chuckled, clapping him on the back. "Just don't go playing hero ball and getting yourself thrown back into suspension."
The lights of Madison Square Garden dimmed slightly as the pregame show wrapped up. The starters for both teams began to line up. The air buzzed with electricity. Knicks fans were on their feet. Not just because their team was playing at home but because Alex Mo was back.
He hadn't played in over two weeks.
The suspension, deserved or not, had robbed fans of one of the most electric rookies in NBA history.
But tonight? He was back. And the world was watching.
Patrick Ewing, the longtime face of the Knicks, approached Alex with a grin and gave him a quick hug.
"Easy on the old man tonight," Ewing joked, patting Alex on the back.
"Are you sure about that?" Alex smirked. "You're giving me permission to dunk on you?"
"Only if you're not afraid of getting swatted into next week."
They laughed, the crowd none the wiser to their friendly exchange. For a moment, it wasn't rookie vs. vet or Lakers vs. Knicks. It was two warriors acknowledging each other.
Truth be told, Ewing admired Alex's fearless spirit. There was no cockiness in the kid, just fire.
Too bad New York's front office had missed their shot to draft him.
Someone's getting fired for that.
8:01 PM – Courtside
As the starting five took their positions, Alex dropped down in front of the scorer's table and laced up a fresh pair of kicks. Not just any sneakers, his signature line.
Gone was the platinum IM1 colorway he'd rocked on Christmas Day. Tonight, he debuted the "Heroes Return" edition—white and purple, crisp and bold.
"Yo, that colorway is sick," one ESPN commentator said, adjusting his headset.
"Word," his partner agreed. "I didn't even get my hands on the platinums yet. If this drops soon, I'm buying three."
Unbeknownst to them, NBA Commissioner David Stern wasn't as amused. He'd been debating banning the IM1s entirely for their flashy, nontraditional colorways.
Now here Alex was, flaunting a new one.
He shook his head in disbelief.
Just like Jordan with the banned AJ1s… This kid's going to make Nike millions.
Tip-off.
Elden Campbell leapt high and slapped the ball to Allen Iverson. The rookie point guard wasted no time. He sprinted down the floor like a quarterback launching a deep pass, except instead of a football, it was a perfectly timed bounce pass.
Alex caught it in stride, shrugged off a defender, and exploded toward the rim.
BOOM.
A two-handed slam sent the Garden into silence.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer blared, "Alex Mo has returned!"
The next play? The Knicks barely made it past half-court before Iverson ripped the ball from Childs and took off again. But he didn't go for the layup.
He lobbed it high.
He knew.
He always knew.
Alex came flying down the lane, caught the ball with one hand mid-air, and threw down a thunderous alley-oop. The rim bent. The backboard rattled. The fans erupted; even some of the Knicks faithful couldn't help but cheer.
4–0.
And neither Iverson nor Alex had looked back once during the entire play.
Pure chemistry.
On the next Knicks possession, Houston ran off a clean pick-and-roll and popped open for a midrange jumper. But Alex recovered instantly. He rose into the air with impossible speed and swatted the shot into the first row directly into Spike Lee's lap.
Spike blinked.
The entire Garden gasped.
Alex didn't even flinch.
The ball came back in. Houston fed it into Ewing, who tried backing down Campbell. With one strong pivot, he muscled into the paint and went up for a floater.
Didn't matter.
Alex rotated across the paint and snatched the ball from the air with one hand.
No foul. No mercy.
Ewing turned, stunned. "Damn."
Alex didn't wait. He bolted down the court, eyes locked on the rim. A Knicks defender tried to step up. Alex sidestepped, took two powerful strides, and launched from just inside the free throw line.
He brought the ball behind his head with both hands, tomahawk style, and crushed it.
WHAM.
The arena shook.
Photographers ducked in panic. Reporters cursed under their breath. The scoreboard updated: 6 points, 2 blocks, and 1 steal in under 90 seconds.
In the Lakers huddle, Iverson grinned and gave Alex a fist bump.
"Man, I missed this."
Alex, still catching his breath, smiled back. "Me too."
On the Knicks bench, Spike Lee turned to a courtside reporter.
"Tell me why we didn't draft this guy again?"
9:00 PM – Halftime Break
In the locker room, Alex sat with a towel draped around his shoulders. His chest rose and fell, but his eyes were clear. Focused.
Coach Del Harris stepped in and looked around.
"We're up 58–41. Don't let up."
He looked to Alex.
"You've got them shook, kid. Keep attacking."
Alex nodded.