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...
Madison Square Garden was buzzing.
"LIN ———— YI!!!"
The third quarter of the Knicks vs. Spurs ga was about to start, and the Knicks had tweaked their lineup. Louis Williams was beginning the second half.
Knicks' third-quarter lineup:
Lin Yi
David Lee
Gallinari
Chandler
Lou Williams.
Spurs' lineup:
Duncan
Richardson
Finley
George Hill
Tony Parker.
Pop had made so changes too—brought in old man Finley. Dude's got mileage on him, so Pop's clearly managing his minutes carefully.
After glancing at the Knicks' rotation, Pop didn't look the least bit surprised.
What did interest him, though, was whether Lin Yi had enough left in the tank. Between the buckets and the hustle in the first half, the kid had done just about everything. Could he keep it up?
While Pop was busy wondering, the third quarter got rolling, with the Spurs taking the first possession.
....
Over in the dia zone, Qi Jun switched lenses, gearing up for a close-up.
"Sis Xiaolei, is it just , or is Lin Yi on one tonight?" he whispered.
Wu Xiaolei nodded absently, eyes locked on the court. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but Lin Yi did feel… different tonight. Sharper. Hungrier.
Back in the ga, the Spurs opened the quarter with a clean play. Richardson sliced through the lane off-ball, Lin got dragged out by Parker's screen, and David Lee couldn't rotate fast enough.
Score.
Spurs up by double digits for the first ti tonight.
"Damn, they're quick to get back," Lin muttered, jogging to the baseline to inbound.
The Spurs were already set. They were to give up any offensive rebound, but locked in defensively—exactly what you'd expect from a Popovich squad.
Pop knew Lin Yi wasn't the only danger on the floor, but he also wasn't about to let the Knicks get easy fast breaks. Not tonight. And not ever.
Transition D? Priority number one.
...
Lin didn't panic. He calmly passed it in, and Lou Will ca to collect.
As Lou took the ball, Lin clapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey—trust yourself, man. Just run the sets. Coach believes in you. So do I."
Lou looked up, caught Lin's gaze, and saw nothing but trust. That hit different.
For a guy like Lou Will, getting a shot ant everything. He wasn't a household na in a league full of freak athletes and ga-stars, so when D'Antoni gave him the green light at halfti…
He froze.
Yup. D'Antoni had said it himself:
"You and David are gonna keep running pick-and-rolls all half. If you see an opening, pull the trigger. I don't care if it takes 50 shots. Let it fly."
Man, it feels good to be in New York.
No tears, but yeah... Lou was feeling it. Warm. Motivated.
For the Knicks. For New York. For the culture. For the damn league.
Let's go!
Lin glanced at Pop across the court, grinning just a little.
...
For the single-core attack system, like the Knicks, their biggest headache was obvious: once Lin Yi got isolated or clamped down by a tough defense like the Spurs', their whole offensive rhythm went out the window.
It wasn't the first ti it happened either. The Knicks had already been burned by this approach twice—Larry Brown and the Bobcats cooked them with the sa playbook.
So naturally, D'Antoni had been thinking: How do we give Lin a breather when teams start spamming the Lin Yi Rule?
I an, the guy can't just keep going full -HP, -MP, -HP, -MP... like he's in an endless boss fight.
Sit him down for a bit?
Tried that. Didn't work. Once Lin hit the bench, the whole team just… sagged. Offense got stuck, defense got lazy, and suddenly they were down ten.
Why? Simple. The entire system was built around him.
Leave him in, then?
Not that easy either. Because once Lin Yi's tank runs empty—when there's no blood bar or blue bar left—there goes the Knicks' chances. Boom. Ga over.
No one wanted to say it out loud, but everyone, from the fans to the bench warrs, knew the truth:
The Knicks were fully, hopelessly addicted to Lin Yi.
It was like LeBron's Cavs in the past and future—sure, they could still make the Finals without Love or Kyrie… but take away LeBron? That whole thing crashes like a Windows 98 PC.
Now, Lin Yi did rember a future team that worked differently. A team that didn't live or die by a single star. That was the Celtics under Brad Stevens.
No Hayward? No Kyrie? No problem.
They still had Tatum, Horford, Smart, Jaylen Brown, Rozier… that squad ran deep. They weren't built around one guy. They were built around each other.
But this Knicks team?
It was basically Lin Yi and the Utility Guys.
When Lin was out there, everyone else looked like a well-oiled machine. But take him away, and the parts stopped moving. D'Antoni even tried giving David Lee the green light for a bit—to run the offense, call his number.
Didn't work.
The Knicks' run-and-gun system needed a driver from the periter. And yeah, maybe Lin Yi was 7 feet tall, but in D'Antoni's eyes?
He was a 7-foot point guard.
Thankfully, the Knicks had brought in Lou Williams. Not a star, sure—but on a hot night? Lou could cook. He wasn't just microwave offense—he was a whole damn stove.
Still, running the offense through Lou was a gamble. So nights, he played like Kobe. Other nights? Like a Milanese blacksmith—just clang after clang after clang.
So, usually, even if Lou had the ball, the Knicks' tactics still ran through Lin Yi.
But tonight, Popovich had pushed the Knicks to the brink. They were running on fus.
And D'Antoni knew it.
It was ti to bet it all.
Bet that Lou would show up like he belonged in an NBA jersey, not a street court.
And Lin? Lin didn't just toss Lou into the deep end—he threw in so chips of his own.
Encouraging Lou was just part of it.
Earlier, when D'Antoni was still on the fence, Lin gave him that look and said:
"Coach, I'm not just a post-up guy or a playmaker. You forget—I've got length, bounce, and hangti. Let use all of it."
...
Lou Will shook off Parker, stopped on a di, and let it fly.
But… he rushed it.
Too much juice.
Clang.
Jason Richardson boxed out perfectly, textbook form. The vet wasn't trying to jump—just seal and grab the rebound like he always did.
Then ca the scream.
The whole Garden turned their heads—and just like that,
BOOM!
Lin Yi ca out of nowhere—a blur, a force, a tomahawk missile in sneakers. He skied from behind, over everyone. Poor Jason Richardson never saw it coming.
When Lin exploded toward the rim, ti slowed. The dunk didn't just shake the hoop—it shook the crowd, the broadcast team, and the entire arena.
Richardson was still standing there, under the rim, stunned. All he could do was watch.
It wasn't just a dunk. It was a ssage.
Lin Yi wasn't done. Not even close.
...
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