New York, May 7th, afternoon.
At a press conference carefully staged by the Knicks' front office, Lin Yi stood at center stage and received the Maurice Podoloff Trophy, the third ti from David Stern. It was the NBA Regular Season MVP award, the league's highest individual honor.
Three years earlier, when Stern first handed Lin Yi a trophy, even he might not have expected this mont. Three straight MVPs, the sa commissioner, the sa calm exchange under flashing lights. It felt less like a coincidence and more like a closing circle.
Stern's tenure had opened alongside Larry Bird's run of three consecutive MVPs. Now, as retirent approached, he stood beside another player who had reached the sa mark. History had a way of repeating itself, but never in quite the sa form.
More than twenty photographers crowded the room, shutters firing without pause. The handoff between Stern and Lin Yi stretched to nearly two minutes, long enough for every angle to be captured, long enough for everyone present to understand that they were watching a transition. The league was shifting again.
Sowhere else, Michael Jordan saw the news and felt it, even if only slightly. He said nothing. ,
He understood timing. And right wasn't the ti for heated discussions. Debates about legacy could wait.
Let them talk, he thought. The more they talk, the clearer my place becos.
Neither LeBron Jas nor Lin Yi had reached him yet. Rings and stats would decide that conversation, not headlines.
Below the stage, Yao Ming watched quietly. For a Chinese player to survive in the NBA had once been difficult. For one to stand here, holding three MVPs, was sothing else entirely. Billions were watching. Lin Yi had beco more than a star. He was New York's centerpiece, the face of Chinese basketball, and the standard every opponent now asured themselves against.
For his fans, this was not the summit. It was only one peak among several.
Lin Yi understood that as well. He did not call himself the best, not yet. There was still work to be done, still a dynasty to build.
When that was finished, he would not need to say anything. The results would speak.
As he began his speech, Stern stepped aside, studying him in silence. The night before, he had already made his peace with the future. He had spent decades shaping the NBA into what it had beco. Walking away felt right.
"I'm very happy to stand here and give this speech for the third straight year," Lin Yi said, a faint smile on his face. "If I can, I hope I'll be back again next year."
Stern nearly lost his footing.
Four in a row?
No one in NBA history had ever done that. Not even Bird at his peak.
He knew Lin Yi well enough to recognize the pattern. A joke on the surface, a goal underneath.
Stern had spent years balancing influence and restraint, guiding outcos without forcing them. If sothing belonged to a player, he preferred to let it happen naturally. Still, hearing it said out loud made him pause.
This kid really plans to go after everything.
Lin Yi quickly laughed it off, brushing it aside as humor, but Stern was not convinced. He looked at him again, this ti with sothing closer to curiosity.
If you want four, then prove it.
Put up a 40-point triple-double next season. Do that, and there will be nothing left to argue.
The thought settled in his mind, and with it, a decision shifted. His planned retirent could wait. A few more months, one more season. He wanted to see how far this would go.
Not from a distance, but from the big chair.
On stage, Lin Yi continued, thanking his parents, his country, New York, and his teammates. The applause ca from every direction, steady and loud.
In the crowd, Stephen Curry stood in a suit, smiling like a kid watching his favorite player win. Beside him, Ayesha glanced over, half amused, half confused at his enthusiasm, wondering whether it was the sa man who was salty a few hours ago.
n, she thought.
Not far away, DeMar DeRozan had also arrived, watching quietly as the league's present and future stood under the sa lights.
In DeMar DeRozan's eyes, Lin Yi was moved from being a wall to being the standard.
The better he gets, the more I want to chase him. Even if I fall short, I still want to try. He thought.
That mindset was spreading.
Sowhere in Cleveland, Anthony Davis watched the ceremony in silence. People liked calling him The Next Lin Yi, but that label never sat right with him. One day, he wanted the comparison to disappear. He wanted his own na to carry the weight.
As for LeBron Jas, the shift was clear.
There was a ti when he saw Lin Yi as soone to hunt down. Now, the roles had blurred. Still, fear never entered the equation. At 28, his ga had reached its peak. Awards could wait. The championship could not.
"This is our year," he told himself. This has to be our year.
. .
Back at Madison Square Garden, the atmosphere remained electric.
After the ceremony, the host turned to Lin Yi. "Anything you'd like to say to the fans?"
Lin Yi smiled. "It's too early for certain things. We're still in the conference semifinals."
Off to the side, David Stern finally relaxed.
Then Lin Yi continued.
"But the fans can start getting ready. Chris was asking two days ago what the parade nu should be."
Stern froze.
Enough.
For a brief mont, he considered walking back on every kind thought he had just had.
On the court, the Knicks players burst into laughter and cheers. Reporters leaned forward, pens moving faster. A declaration like that, even half in jest, was all they needed.
So were already waiting for it to backfire. If the Knicks failed, this quote would follow Lin Yi everywhere.
Down below, Paul looked stunned. He had said it, casually, in private. He just never expected it to be broadcast to the entire league.
Still, there was no backing down now.
This Knicks team had already pushed itself past caution. Seventy-five wins left no room for safe answers. At this point, there was only one acceptable ending.
A championship.
Anything less would fall on Lin Yi first. Three straight MVPs with only one ring would invite questions he could not ignore.
Across the league, reactions poured in.
Bill Russell and Larry Bird both offered their congratulations, calm and asured. They had nothing to gain from tearing down what they understood too well.
Oscar Robertson, on the other hand, chose silence on Lin Yi. The pressure of comparison was not sothing he wanted to engage with directly. Instead, his attention drifted elsewhere, toward Stephen Curry, whose early playoff exit made for easier comntary.
. . .
On May 8th, Madison Square Garden felt less like an arena and more like a stage.
Before Ga 2 against the Nets, Lin Yi placed his three MVP trophies at center court. The effect was imdiate. The crowd rose as one.
"MVP!"
"MVP!"
"MVP!"
The sound rolled through the building without pause.
Patrick Ewing stepped closer, running a hand along one of the trophies. "I'm jealous," he admitted to Charles near him. "Makes want to take one."
Even in retirent, even as a franchise icon, the comparison was unavoidable. Three MVPs and a title. That alone already placed Lin Yi in territory Ewing had never reached.
Charles Oakley handed over a little plastic trophy, which did little to hide the frustration, but at least drew a laugh.
"Thanks," Patrick Ewing laughed along. "I needed that."
At the comntary table, the scale of the achievent was still being processed.
"How do you even describe three straight MVPs?" Li Ruoqi asked.
Wang ng thought for a mont. "It's like winning three Oscars in a row for Best Actor."
She went quiet after that, eyes fixed on Lin Yi as he ward up.
. . .
That night, the Nets walked onto the floor already carrying the weight of reality.
Ga 1 could be explained away as fatigue. Ga 2 left no room for excuses.
Across from them stood a Knicks team that felt completely locked in. And at the center of it all was Lin Yi, fresh off a third straight MVP, playing with a level of control that made the gap obvious.
The Nets knew that getting a win would be very difficult. Nevertheless, they had to win. They needed to win to prolong the series.
But as one famous fictional character said,
"WAKE UP TO REALITY."
127 to 94, Knicks win.
By the final quarter, the ga had already slipped into inevitability. The Nets had no answers.
The belief brought into the ga disappeared like fairy dust. Two gas in, the series was already tilting beyond recovery.
When it shifted to the Nets' ho floor, the setting changed, but nothing else did. Against the Knicks, ho-court advantage was a delusion.
The Knicks run on the principle 'What was yours was mine, and what was mine was mine.'
On the 13th, the Knicks took another one, 119 to 105.
On the 15th, they closed the door with force.
141 to 107.
A sweep.
Two sweeps in a row, clean and efficient, as if the postseason had beco a rehearsal instead of a battle.
Charles Barkley joked afterward that even Napoleon was not that fast. It was crude, but the point landed. The Knicks were moving through the bracket with no resistance.
For Lin Yi, this marked his third trip to the Eastern Conference Finals. The mory of last year still lingered. That was where the run had ended.
Last sumr, he and Chris Paul had made a quiet promise. No more stopping short.
Now they were waiting for their opponents.
"Co on," Lin Yi said casually, "what's taking so long?"
You promised a coronation in the Finals.
Sowhere else, LeBron Jas was not finding things amusing. The Pacers had pushed the Heat to the edge, every ga a grind.
. . .
While the East processed the Knicks' dominance, the West delivered its own drama.
On the 17th, the San Antonio Spurs outlasted the Dallas Mavericks in a brutal series that stretched even its final ga into triple overti.
Every matchup had been tight, every possession contested. Still, the Spurs closed it 4 to 3, as if sothing beyond control had tilted the balance.
After the ga, Dirk Nowitzki stood at center court, exhaustion written across his face. For many watching, it felt like the image of a fading era.
Beside him, Jason Kidd made it official. Retirent. No championship to his na, despite everything he had given the ga.
The Mavericks faced an uncertain future. Age was catching up, production slipping, cohesion never quite complete. For all their talent, they had always seed one piece short.
. . .
On the 19th, the East finally settled.
After six hard gas, the Miami Heat closed out the Indiana Pacers.
LeBron did not celebrate because he understood what ca next.
For the Heat, the true playoffs had only just begun.
Knicks versus Heat.
The third eting.
No buildup needed, no explanation required.
Two teams, both built to win now. One had torn through the bracket. The other had survived it.
In the West, the final piece fell into place as the Oklahoma City Thunder battled past the Los Angeles Lakers in seven gas, like the Spurs.
Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook now stood in the Spurs' path.
Matchups were set.
Strength against strength. Stars against stars.
. . .
Please do leave a review and powerstones, which helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon for free and subscribing to 30 advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a
User Comments
0 comments from readers