"Will the Warriors break the Bulls' 72-win regular-season record this year?"
On the night the Warriors edged out the Lakers 116-114 in a thriller on the road, ESPN's Stephen A. Smith posed this question to the basketball world.
So far, the Warriors had racked up an incredible 45 wins in 47 games.
Sure, the second half of the regular season would bring a tougher schedule, but many believed they'd already laid a strong foundation to challenge that legendary record.
In the City of Angels, Zack kept up his habit of turning into a basketball god every time he played at Staples Center.
But unlike past trips to L.A., where he'd celebrate big after leading his team to victory over the Lakers, this time Zack, who hit the game-winning shot in the fourth quarter, bolted out of Staples Center in a hurry.
With the NBA's labor negotiations looming during All-Star Weekend, Zack needed to meet with a legend.
This legend saw Zack as his heir apparent.
And Zack had always held him in high regard.
"I should've been the one visiting you," Zack said to Oscar Robertson in a Los Angeles coffee shop. "I didn't expect you'd take the time to come guide me."
Patting Zack's sturdy shoulder, Robertson smiled. "Kid, I told you, whenever you need me, I'll be there to answer your questions."
Their bond began during Zack's historic triple-double season.
Back when Robertson played, the term "triple-double" didn't exist—it was just a later way to describe his greatness. But after Zack became the second player in NBA history to average a 30-point triple-double in his second season, Robertson, who always reminded the world not to forget his contributions, saw Zack as his eternal legacy.
Not wasting time on small talk, Zack dove straight into the upcoming labor negotiations.
Robertson's expression turned serious.
"Kid, you might not know what the league was like when I came in," Robertson said gravely. "Back then, NBA players had no health insurance, stayed in crummy hotels on the road, and teams didn't even provide transportation."
He paused, then continued, "Players could only re-sign with their teams, had no leverage in negotiations, and couldn't bargain for better pay."
"It was an era where Bill Russell faced daily discrimination in Boston, Wilt Chamberlain was treated like a freak, and Elgin Baylor got his whole Lakers team kicked out of an exhibition game for bringing two Black teammates without prior approval."
Where there's oppression, there's resistance.
In the 1960s, fed up with the league's exploitative owners, NBA players—who could barely make a living playing ball—rallied behind Robertson. Before the 1964 Boston All-Star Game, they pressured the league collectively.
That push got players a $8 daily stipend and a pension plan.
But it was just the start of Robertson's fight.
In the 1970s, to secure more rights, Robertson teamed up with Bill Bradley, John Havlicek, Wes Unseld, and 10 others to sue the NBA.
Their relentless fight forced the league to delay its planned merger with the ABA and, in 1976, introduce rules allowing players to become free agents after their rookie contracts, freeing them from the owners' grip.
Today's player-empowered NBA? It's built on the backs of those hard-fought battles.
But Robertson paid a steep price.
The respected legend became a target for the owners' wrath. After retiring, no NBA team would hire him as a coach or advisor.
If Zack hadn't posted that 30-point triple-double season, how many modern fans would even remember the original triple-double king?
"To beat the owners, you have to be tougher and more united than they are," Robertson told Zack, speaking from experience. "Kid, I never thought I'd see our old spirit in you today. That's why they call you Messiah."
Listening to Robertson, Zack realized that compared to the old GOAT, corrupted by capital, it was pioneers like Robertson who truly earned respect.
Maybe before, when fans dubbed him "Yellow Big O," Zack had brushed it off.
But now?
He felt unworthy of the title.
To wear the crown, you must bear its weight.
As this era's new GOAT, Zack couldn't dodge his responsibilities.
"I'm planning to rally the players at the Dallas All-Star Weekend to confront the owners, just like you did," Zack said. "You set the example for us back then, so we need to pave the way for the next generation."
Robertson, worried for Zack's future, asked, "You've got a brighter path than anyone. Isn't there someone else who can step up and lead?"
Zack smiled. "When Oscar Robertson took on the owners, did he think about himself?"
Robertson was speechless, instantly filled with admiration.
As a veteran of those battles, he knew better than anyone the cost of leading the charge.
But unlike Robertson's era, Zack saw the upcoming labor talks less as a rebellion and more as a splash of cold water to bring the owners back to the table.
Coming from the future, Zack knew how this messy, lose-lose labor dispute played out.
In short, the owners would force the players' union to compromise, but they wouldn't get everything they wanted.
Zack knew the current rift between players and owners wasn't irreconcilable.
Before the league's massive TV deal in the future, the previous broadcast agreement—plus the booming market, partly thanks to Zack's influence—had already eased team losses.
And the owners' gripes about championship costs? Zack had a fix for that too: the super luxury tax from his future memory.
By introducing a super luxury tax, the league could profit from big-spending teams while giving small-market clubs a shot at contending.
What if that tax hit the Warriors too?
No big deal. As long as rules like the "Zack Rule" didn't single him out, he was fine with it.
Even a hard salary cap? Zack was confident he'd dominate this era regardless.
Plus, with the internet's rise, unlike the days when owners controlled the narrative and players had no voice, Zack had already proven through The Zack Show during his injury recovery that today's players could speak out on social media.
So, if the owners could be made to see the cost of strong-arming the union, Zack believed this lockout could be avoided through negotiation.
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February 4
Zack invited several superstars with no games that day to Oakland to discuss the big plan.
He also brought in ESPN's veteran analyst Bobby Marks for the latest episode of The Zack Show.
Right out of the gate, Zack asked, "Bobby, David Stern says the league's teams are facing a $400 million loss this season. Is that legit?"
Marks shook his head. "From what I know, under the current CBA, teams do take a hit on basketball-related revenue, but it's not as bad as they're making it sound."
Zack leaned in, playing up his tone. "Bobby, you know my show's all about free speech, but you can't mess around with claims like that."
Marks stood firm. "I've got plenty of evidence showing the losses aren't nearly as dire as Stern's claiming."
He pulled out his proof. "Players don't get a cut of ticket sales or teams' commercial revenue, so in the last CBA, teams agreed to give players 57% of basketball-related income."
After a pause, Marks added, "If the union drops to 54%, teams could break even."
Zack turned to Paul, Anthony, Wade, Garnett, Yao, and others. "Guys, would you be willing to make some concessions to help the NBA through its so-called tough times?"
Garnett spoke up. "If it's just dropping to 54%, I don't think anyone would say no."
Paul nodded. "As players, none of us want to see the NBA shut down."
Next, Zack shifted to the owners' complaints about championship costs. "Bobby, you're a luxury tax expert. How should the NBA fix this?"
Marks, prepared, said, "I think a super luxury tax could work. For every $5 million over the tax line, teams pay a higher rate."
Zack stroked his chin. "So, you're saying a steeper tax would curb big-market teams that ignore the luxury tax?"
Marks nodded. "Exactly. Big-market teams would fund small-market ones through those taxes, creating a healthy cycle for the league."
Zack looked at the superstars. "What do you guys think of Bobby's idea?"
Anthony, who'd rehearsed his lines, said, "It's a solid plan. Big-market teams can still pay to keep their rosters, but small-market teams get a boost."
Zack grinned. "Bobby, I bet no big-market owner's gonna like your idea."
Marks shrugged. "Michael Jordan once said, if you can't afford to play, sell your team. If the rules are fair, teams chasing titles shouldn't complain."
Online, the latest The Zack Show dropped, and the owners, who'd been plotting to pressure the players in the upcoming talks, lost it.
Through Marks, Zack made it clear the players were willing to compromise and exposed the owners' exaggerated sob stories about losses.
The show painted the players as reasonable, willing to see things from the owners' perspective.
By cleverly framing the owners as uncooperative and exploitative, Zack swung public opinion firmly to the players' side.
That's the power of the internet.
But one episode wasn't enough to make the owners see reason.
So, on February 11, after the last game before All-Star Weekend, Zack flew to Dallas and gathered all the players attending the event.
"We're meeting with the owners the morning of the All-Star Game," he declared. "I know not everyone's on board with me, but even if you're not, don't sabotage us while we're fighting for everyone's rights!"
"How you planning to handle this?" Derek Fisher, the players' union president, asked.
"If the owners won't come to the table rationally, we cancel the All-Star Game," Zack said firmly.
Fisher was floored. "That'll only make things worse!"
He tried to explain the fallout of canceling the All-Star Game, but as he started, he noticed—except for LeBron—nearly every player in the room had quietly lined up behind Zack.
After The Zack Show, the players realized the league's losses weren't as bad as claimed, yet the owners were using them to strong-arm the union, even threatening a lockout. That unified them behind Zack.
"Derek, I made it clear on my show—we're open to compromise," Zack said. "But if the owners think they can bully us with a lockout, why should we let them profit off us during All-Star Weekend? They want a lockout? Fine, we'll give them one now!"
In that moment, Fisher, who'd long been cozy with the owners, realized Zack had effectively sidelined him as union president.
He didn't know when Zack had rallied these superstars or how he'd won them over so fast.
But back in 1964, Oscar Robertson had shown the way: tell players what they stand to lose if they don't fight, and they'll rally behind a great leader.
Zack was the league's flagbearer.
If he was willing to lead the charge, any player who didn't back him was basically selling out to the owners.
"Listen, Derek, I know you're tight with the owners," Zack said. "So tell them: negotiate rationally, or we cancel the All-Star Game. And they don't need to worry about the fans who bought tickets—if the game's canceled, I'll personally fund a charity game this summer to make it up to them.
"Plus, I'll tell everyone on my show that the owners and their clueless commissioner, David Stern, caused this, not us!"
Every word Zack spoke rang with conviction, so much so that Fisher didn't even realize he'd been branded a traitor.
"I'll pass your stance to the owners, but you've gotta stay calm, okay?" Fisher pleaded.
Zack smiled. "Derek, I'll be waiting for good news."
As Fisher left, Kobe, who'd never gotten along with Zack, stepped up and gave him a hug.
"I'll admit, I used to hate your guts," Kobe said. "But in this labor fight, you've got my full support."
"You're our era's Yellow Big O!" Anthony and Wade said, each giving Zack a fist bump. "Next union president election? You've got my vote!"
"Messiah laid it out clear on The Zack Show," Chris Paul, Zack's pick for the next union president, summed up at the meeting's end. "We're ready to compromise and support rules to cut team costs. But if that's not enough for those suits, then war's our only option!"