In the games that followed, Andrew Bynum didn't see a single minute on the court.
After returning to the locker room for a check-up, the team doctor's initial diagnosis was clear: Bynum had at least three broken ribs.
"He did it on purpose! Who drives to the basket like that?" Bynum howled in the locker room. "He's just jealous of my talent! He's trying to ruin me!"
At that moment, even the Grizzlies' team doctor couldn't help but roll his eyes at Bynum's delusional outburst.
Let's be real—given Zack's unmatched physical gifts, who could he possibly be jealous of?
At the FedExForum, Bynum's dramatic exit on a stretcher didn't dampen the quality of the game.
In fact, the young and spirited Grizzlies squad seemed to rally even harder after losing Bynum. They came together as a unit.
Mike Conley quietly took charge, steering the Grizzlies' rhythm with precision.
Even Steve Nash, during a timeout, gave Conley a shout-out: "His ability to control the game is better than most guards in this league."
Harrison Barnes, who'd been torched by Rudy Gay's pull-up jumpers all game, admitted, "For a split second, Rudy reminded me of T-Mac."
But compared to the rest of the Grizzlies, the brightest young star that night was Serge Ibaka.
Sure, Ibaka still needed time to polish his defensive instincts, and his athletic potential wasn't fully tapped yet. But the fact that he could keep up with Zack's footwork on the perimeter, under the influence of the "Zack Rule," brought a rare sense of joy to Zack on the court.
"Serge is like a young Kevin Garnett," Zack praised after the game. "I loved matching up against him. He's got all the makings of a future star forward."
The Warriors ultimately took down the Grizzlies on the road, 119-107.
Ibaka, who earned high praise from Zack, didn't let it go to his head. Speaking to the media post-game, he said, "Back when I played in Spain, Messiah was my idol. You saw it out there—I couldn't stop him at all. His offensive skills and unreal athleticism made it feel like I was playing against an alien."
Ibaka's talent and mentality in that game convinced the Grizzlies' front office to double down on investing in him.
As for Bynum, who'd managed to alienate his teammates despite his tantalizing potential? Well, let's just say the Grizzlies were only keeping their "Baby Shark" around because GM Chris Wallace was still fishing for a sucker in the trade market willing to bet on Bynum's raw talent.
Bynum, who genuinely believed he was the heart and soul of the Grizzlies, had no clue that the team's management had long since lost patience with him.
Or maybe, given his legendary knack for cluelessness, he'd never really seen himself clearly.
---
After beating the Grizzlies, the Warriors headed back home to face the New Orleans Hornets the next day.
The Hornets, a playoff team from the previous season, were struggling. With a roster featuring Rajon Rondo, David West, and Brook Lopez, they were sitting at a measly 7-11, good for 11th in the West.
The media chalked up the Hornets' rough start to the growing rift between head coach Byron Scott and their star point guard, Rondo.
But off-court issues were just as much to blame for the team's lack of cohesion.
As Zack recalled, the Hornets' owner, George Shinn, was financially tapped out, and the team was inching closer to being taken over by the NBA.
Why would the league step in? If the owner can't keep things afloat, why not just sell the team?
Normally, even the smallest-market NBA teams have buyers lining up. But the Hornets were a unique case.
The league had a strict rule: any new owner taking over the Hornets had to keep the team in New Orleans.
This was largely because the city was still reeling from the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. For the sake of political correctness, the NBA was dead-set on ensuring the Hornets stayed put.
That condition scared off potential buyers like Clay Bennett, an Oklahoma City businessman who'd been ready to drop nearly $300 million to acquire the team.
During the Hornets' temporary relocation to Oklahoma City post-Katrina, they'd created a buzz there. Bennett had hoped to move the struggling franchise to OKC permanently.
But the NBA's relocation ban put an end to that dream, and Bennett backed out.
In the end, it was the league's insistence on keeping the Hornets in New Orleans—again, for political optics—that led to the team becoming the first in NBA history to be placed under league control.
With all this off-court drama, the Hornets' players, feeling like the franchise had no future, weren't exactly giving their all.
The Warriors barely broke a sweat in their win over New Orleans.
On the court, the Warriors' players were more entertained by the sidelines than the game itself. Every time the Hornets called a timeout, Rondo and Scott would bicker over the playbook like a dysfunctional sitcom duo.
This coach-player feud was tough to sum up in a few words, but it was clear they clashed over tactics every single night.
Take that game, for example. Scott's game plan was for Rondo to use his individual skills to blow past Nash or Curry and then set up teammates.
But in reality, with Zack and Kwame Brown anchoring the Warriors' paint, Rondo—who lacked a reliable outside shot—couldn't finish at the rim even after breezing by Nash or Curry.
Frustrated, Rondo felt Scott's strategy didn't play to his strengths or adapt to the game's flow.
Meanwhile, Scott was convinced Rondo's failure to execute his plan was why the Hornets got smoked at Oracle Arena.
"I've coached in this league for years, and I've never seen a player as arrogant as Rajon Rondo," Scott fumed at the post-game press conference. "If he thinks he's ready to be an NBA head coach, let's see how far he can take this team!"
Scott had put his beef with Rondo front and center.
After the game, Zack was ready to grab some popcorn and watch the drama unfold.
But Derek Fisher, the Hornets' free-agent signing and players' union president, pulled him aside with "urgent business" to discuss, dragging him away from the gossip.
Just as Zack remembered, the NBA's latest round of labor negotiations was looking grim.
"They want to cut our revenue share from 57% to 45%," Fisher explained. "And they're pushing for a hard salary cap to cut costs."
Zack knew neither of those proposals would fly with the players' union.
The first would slash player salaries by about 21%, and the second would shrink contracts even further. A hard cap, like the NFL's, would force teams to prioritize their star players, leaving less money for everyone else.
The gap between the players and owners seemed impossible to bridge.
This time, the owners came out swinging. "If the players don't want to play, we'll lock them out! NBA salaries are already sky-high—why can't they see things from our perspective as investors?"
Fisher sought out Zack because of his status as the league's marquee star. The players' union was gearing up for another round of talks at the All-Star Weekend in Dallas the following February.
"You're the NBA's biggest star, and the Warriors make bank off you every year," Fisher said. "As the role model for every superstar, you're the only one who can rally everyone together."
Zack wasn't expecting Fisher to put him on such a pedestal.
But he knew that, whether he liked it or not, he'd have to represent the players' union at those talks. As a player first, he'd never side with the owners.
Still, with so many max-contract stars in the league, why was Fisher dumping all the pressure on him?
So, you guys get to reap the benefits, but I'm the one who's gotta take the heat?
And since Fisher was the union president, Zack figured it was time for him to step up.
"Derek, uniting the players is your job as union president," Zack told him. "You've been leading these labor talks, and we all trust you to guide us through this critical fight."
Fisher hadn't expected Zack to flip the script and put an even bigger hat on him.
Later, when Fisher tried to recruit LeBron James for the February talks, LeBron pulled the same move.
"Derek, you know I'm still a young guy," LeBron said. "You went through the '98 lockout. No one's better suited to lead us in this battle than you."
With Zack and LeBron playing hot potato with the responsibility, Fisher's hopes of passing the buck and swooping in to take credit later were toast.
While Zack couldn't predict how the labor talks would play out, one thing was clear: if even the union president was focused on dodging blame, how could the players hope to protect their interests?
---
In December, the red-hot Warriors faced the Seattle SuperSonics in the Christmas Day showcase.
After surgery fixed his lingering foot issues, Yao Ming's transformation this season was jaw-dropping.
In the Sonics' first 28 games, Yao had taken 70 three-point shots, hitting 28 of them for a 40% clip.
While his top-of-the-key threes weren't his go-to move, when a 7'6" giant casually pops a long ball, you can't help but marvel.
"How does he have such a soft touch?" Zack grumbled during pre-game warm-ups, after losing a three-point shootout to Yao. "He only started working on his threes this year, and I've been grinding for six!"
Kwame Brown tried to console him. "One shootout doesn't mean much. 'Big Yao' can't match your three-point volume."
Brown had a point.
Even with Yao's deadly spot-up shooting, he couldn't force defenses to sag off like Zack, who averaged nearly seven three-point attempts per game, hitting 2.5 at a solid clip.
This optimized shot selection kept Zack's efficiency sky-high under the "Zack Rule," while also giving him the stamina to dominate both ends of the floor.
By Christmas, Zack was averaging 33.8 points, 14.6 rebounds, 10.4 assists, 4.4 blocks, and 1.6 steals per game.
Barring any surprises, he was on track to become the Warriors' all-time blocks leader and hit the 10,000-point milestone in the regular season's second half.
What Brown didn't know was that Zack's frustration over losing the shootout stemmed from his belief that, given the cushy shooting space he got, his three-point performance was closer to late-career LeBron than the legendary shooter he saw himself as.
That stung.
Because in his mind, Zack was a sharpshooting icon.
Sure, he was near the top of the league's three-point makes list, but would he dare enter the Three-Point Contest?
At Oracle Arena, warm-ups wrapped, and both teams' starting lineups took the floor.
The Sonics rolled out Yao Ming, Kevin Garnett, Chris Bosh, Ray Allen, and Mike Bibby.
The Warriors countered with their best: Kwame Brown, Zack, Gerald Wallace, Raja Bell, and Steve Nash.
At tip-off, an in-form Brown won the jump ball for the Warriors with his "sexy little hands."
On the first possession, Zack noticed Garnett sagging off him, a nod to the "Zack Rule" that had spoiled defenders into giving him space.
Sure, at Garnett's age, sagging off conserved energy. But the fact that Zack's NBA three-point shooting wasn't as deadly as his FIBA numbers—and that defenders exploited this by daring him to shoot—lit a fire in him.
Fine. If you're all gonna leave me open, don't be surprised when I'm feeling it and break that damn NBA single-game three-point record.
On the right wing, Zack called for the ball from Nash and rose for a pull-up.
Garnett, seeing Zack's shot was too strong, turned to yell, "Box out!"
But to his shock, the 45-degree heave clanged off the backboard—and somehow dropped through the net.
"How the hell did that go in?" Garnett muttered to himself.
On the Sonics' next possession, knowing Yao's new top-of-the-key trick, Zack extended his defensive range.
Seeing the Warriors' paint guarded only by Brown, Bibby blew past Nash for an easy floater.
Yao's ability to stretch the floor as a modern, three-point-shooting big was on full display.
Back on offense, Zack saw Garnett sagging again. Without hesitation, he launched another 45-degree three from the left wing.
And Garnett was left dumbfounded.
Because Zack's slightly-too-hard shot banked in again.
On the court, Garnett couldn't hold it in. "How's he banking in two threes in a row?"
Zack, catching every word, fired back at Garnett: "Keep sagging off if you want! Just watch me keep bombing away!"