The King Rises: Bernard King’s Thunderous Dunk Over Dr. J in the 1983 Eastern Semifinals
It was May 1, 1983 — Game 2 of the Eastern Conference Semifinals — and Madison Square Garden was tense with hope. The New York Knicks, underdogs against the mighty Philadelphia 76ers, were trailing 0-1 in the series. The Sixers had steamrolled the league all season, led by the commanding presence of Julius “Dr. J” Erving, MVP center Moses Malone, and the electric Andrew Toney. They were the favorites not only to win the series but to take the title — which they ultimately would.
But in this single moment, in the heart of Game 2, none of that mattered.
Bernard King — already known for his scoring wizardry, smooth mid-range stroke, and cold-blooded efficiency — had something different in mind. With just under seven minutes remaining in the third quarter, and the Knicks trailing by single digits, King caught the ball near the top of the key. The play wasn’t drawn up for glory. It was a standard isolation, giving King room to work against the defense.
Dr. J — long the high-flying face of the NBA — stepped out to meet him.
King took one hard dribble to his left, froze Erving with a head fake, then exploded off his right foot with a suddenness that caught even the Philly bench by surprise. Dr. J reacted a half-second too late — enough time for Bernard King to launch himself toward the rim with violent purpose.
In one of the most iconic and unexpected aerial moments of the era, King rose up and hammered the ball down with his right hand — directly over the outstretched arms of Julius Erving, who could only turn his head slightly as the Garden erupted into chaos. It wasn’t just a dunk. It was a declaration — a moment of pure defiance against the inevitable.
Cameras flashed. The crowd roared. Even the Sixers’ bench looked momentarily stunned. Bernard King had just done the unthinkable — posterizing one of the greatest dunkers of all time, in a playoff game, in the house that legends built.
Though the Knicks would go on to lose the game — and eventually the series in four games — that single moment endured. It was the kind of play that etched itself into NBA folklore, partly because of the improbable roles: the quiet assassin throwing down on the game’s most graceful flyer.
Years later, when fans and historians revisit the battles of the early ’80s, they often speak of that one dunk — a snapshot of Bernard King’s quiet greatness and fierce competitiveness. It didn’t win a ring or change the outcome of the series, but it shook the walls of MSG and added a new chapter to the mythology of two legends.
It was the night The King rose — not just to the rim, but into history.
