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No sooner had the Knicks wrapped up their hard-fought win against Golden State than they were welcoming their next opponent: the Houston Rockets.
In China, anticipation had reached a fever pitch. Fans had been waiting for this matchup as eagerly as they waited for mooncakes during the Mid-Autumn Festival. The sumr's two NBA exhibition gas on Chinese soil had left a deep impression. The buzz around a Chinese Showdown between Lin Yi and Yao Ming wasn't just dia hype—it was a cultural event. The league could practically feel the heat radiating across the Pacific.
No doubt about it—NBA's overseas viewership numbers were about to hit another record high.
Yao Ming, now noticeably leaner after an intense off-season program, had managed to sidestep the injury that, in Lin Yi's original tiline, had forced him into early retirent. He wasn't the sa dominant force of his pri, but he remained efficient and highly effective. Just last week, he'd swatted five shots in a single ga. And that three-point stroke? A smooth 38% from deep. If Yao hadn't personally requested to limit his minutes, coach Rick Adelman would've been tempted to leave him on the floor for 48 minutes straight.
Adelman's Princeton system needed a big man who could shoot and pass—Brad Miller had done it before, and Yao could do it even better. And when the rest of the Rockets' offense stagnated, Yao's back-to-the-basket turnaround was still money.
The modern center didn't need to carry as much weight as in the past, but Yao was proving you could slim down without giving up your edge. Less mass, sa threat. A quiet assassin in the low post.
...
Madison Square Garden, Midtown Manhattan, New York
As the players ward up, Lin Yi spotted a familiar figure lumbering over.
"Shaq," Lin called out with a smirk, "you jealous? I can teach you how to hit free throws. Maybe even shoot a three."
O'Neal let out a booming laugh and pulled Lin into a bear hug that nearly cracked a rib.
"This vengeful old man," Lin grumbled internally as he gasped for breath. "Trying to kill before tipoff."
At center court, Yao Ming and Shaquille O'Neal exchanged a handshake that felt more like the passing of a torch. Watching from the studio, TNT's Kenny Smith couldn't help but get sentintal.
"That's the last of the true centers right there," he said softly.
Charles Barkley, typically one to roast without rcy, actually agreed for once.
Even Shaq joined in the nostalgia. "Only two and a half centers left in this league," he joked. ", Yao… and maybe half of Dwight."
The shade was unmistakable. Shaq had never been sold on Howard's claim to the throne.
Lin Yi didn't disagree. He scanned the current crop of big n—there weren't many who scared you in the paint anymore. Since switching to power forward, he'd dodged much of the criticism he'd faced early in his career, but so players… Cousins, for instance, looked like a walking question mark.
The Lin Yi Effect was real. Both Brook Lopez and Marc Gasol had dropped weight in the offseason—and, surprisingly, started hitting threes. Lin had seen the future: in a few years, if you couldn't shoot from distance, you might not even make the floor. Versatility was king, and bigs were either adapting or fading out.
...
Tip-Off
When the starters were announced—Chandler, Lin Yi, Gallinari, Belinelli, and Livingston for New York—Shaq sat courtside, chewing on gum, a wistful look on his face. He knew this was it. His stats were declining, his minutes shrinking. He was healthy, sure—but this would be his last dance.
Ti to say goodbye.
Lin Yi t Yao Ming at center court for the jump. The crowd roared. The ball went up—Lin tapped it back—and as he landed, he caught a rare grin on Yao's face.
On the Chinese broadcast, comntator Yu Jia chuckled. "Big Yao's got a new reaction ," he said. "Screenshot that."
Zhang Weiping chid in. "Let's see how the Knicks start. Ball goes to Lin Yi… ooh, that's so graceful footwork. Scola can't stay with him—he's too slow!"
On the court, Lin Yi breezed past Scola with a smooth dribble combo, slithered into the paint, and floated it in past a late-reaching Yao Ming. First bucket to New York.
With no Hayes to cover ground. Instead, Adelman went with Yao and Scola up front, a pairing that had no chance defensively in today's pace-and-space tempo.
On the periter? Aaron Brooks and Kevin Martin. Offensively gifted—but about as useful as traffic cones on defense. Adelman had other options, too: a young Kyle Lowry and future breakout Goran Dragic sat on the bench collecting dust.
Courtney Lee, probably the team's best periter defender, was relegated to sixth-man duties.
"The Rockets won't stop us tonight," Lin Yi muttered. "Too many holes."
Adelman, for all his tactical history, seed out of touch. The league was evolving—and fast. The new wave of young coaches embraced analytics, flexibility, and change. The old guard? So were struggling to keep up.
...
Lin Yi sniffed out a pick-and-roll with Brooks and Yao. He knew Brooks liked to shoot off the bounce—and sure enough, the mont Brooks turned the corner, Lin was waiting.
He t him at the rim, timing it perfectly. One resounding block.
"Lin Yi with the rejection!" Yu Jia shouted. "That's how you make a statent!"
Zhang Weiping agreed. "Adelman needs to post up Yao. Chandler can't guard him one-on-one."
Historically, the numbers told the sa story. In matchups against Chandler, Yao averaged 20 points on over 55% shooting. Chandler's strength was his mobility, not his strength. He couldn't keep Yao from backing him down, but he might have a chance since Yao had cut weight.
Yet Adelman, stubbornly, kept Yao stationed at the top of the key like he was Brad Miller.
Lin Yi took full advantage. Next possession, he pulled Scola out to the periter, drove by him again, and dished to Livingston in the post.
The height mismatch was too much. Livingston spun past Brooks like he was in a practice drill.
It was clear: Brooks and Martin weren't long for this backcourt. Lou Williams and Aaron Brooks made great sixth n—but not starters. Lin Yi wasn't sure if Brooks would get hurt this season, but ironically, if he did, it might force Adelman to finally unleash Lowry and Dragic.
After the Knicks surged to a 4–3 lead, Adelman finally called ti. But the timing was off. It was Yao's scheduled rest period.
The Rockets had fully endorsed Yao's reduced-minutes plan. After all, he was the face of the franchise—and a comrcial goldmine. But if he went down again, it would be more than a PR problem.
Adelman couldn't overextend him. And the frustration showed on the coach's face.
What made it worse?
The Knicks subbed in O'Neal early.
Lin Yi walked over to him during the break, stretching as he spoke.
"You good to go?" he teased. "Don't force it. I've got high standards for my pick-and-roll partners."
Shaq raised an eyebrow and theatrically asked. "What more do you want, Your Highness?"
"Pass the ball or get out of the way," Lin, playing along, answered.
Shaq snorted. "Typical Kobe fan."
Lin shrugged. "Guilty as charged."
Big Diesel cracked a smile.
Ga on.
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