"Patrick, calm down." Dan Majerle, who was sitting next to Ewing, was the first to get up and grab him.
But Ewing shoved him away and was in front of Olajuwon in two strides.
The two of them were like a pair of red-eyed bulls, locking horns.
"What the hell are you doing? It's one thing that you can't guard Duncan, but you're letting a rookie make a fool of you and drive to the basket for a score! Are you blind? Don't you know you're supposed to help on defense?" Ewing yelled, spittle flying.
They were playing the Spurs at home today.
Facing Duncan, Olajuwon's footwork was slow, and Duncan had scored on him repeatedly.
In between, the Spurs' number 9 rookie, Tony Parker, had also repeatedly found openings to drive to the basket and score.
"And what the hell are you doing?" Facing the furious Ewing, Olajuwon wasn't the least bit intimidated. He cursed back, "You're slow as a fucking jalopy! David has been lighting you up."
"Fuck you!"
Ewing immediately balled his fists.
