Without Lin Yi, the Knicks still defeated the Heat in the season opener.
The final score was 127-119.
Chris Paul turned back the clock with a vintage performance, finishing with 29 points and 15 assists. For one night, it felt as though he had returned to the peak of his scoring.
Klay Thompson was even more spectacular.
The sharpshooter buried 8 of his 11 attempts from beyond the arc and finished with a game-high 33 points, becoming the biggest reason behind New York's fourth-quarter comeback.
After the final buzzer sounded, one thought echoed throughout the basketball world:
The Knicks are terrifying.
Even without the reigning three-time MVP, they had defeated the Miami Heat.
Even without their franchise cornerstone, they still looked like a championship contender.
At least, that was the conclusion most people drew after watching the opener.
Lin Yi, however, saw things differently.
If these two teams met in a seven-game series under normal circumstances, he estimated that the Knicks would be fortunate to win one or two games without him.
The reason was simple.
A player can catch fire for a night.
A team can catch fire for a night.
But building an entire championship strategy around players repeatedly producing miracle performances was unrealistic.
This Knicks team had been constructed around Lin Yi from the very beginning for a reason. He never ducked the smoke and was consistent in his performance.
When the front office assembled the roster, they did not prioritize players who could create offense by themselves.
Instead, they looked for players who could maximize Lin Yi's strengths.
Klay Thompson was an elite shooter.
Tyson Chandler was an elite defender.
Gobert and Draymond Green possessed star potential for defence.
Chris Paul was one of the best floor generals in basketball.
But outside of Lin Yi and Chris Paul, most of the roster fit the definition of high-level role players rather than true offensive superstars.
That wasn't an insult.
In fact, it was exactly what made the Knicks so dangerous.
Draymond Green's future career would become a perfect example.
Placed in the right system and next to the right superstar, a role player could sometimes generate more value than a traditional star.
Because basketball only has one ball.
No matter how talented five players are, someone still has to rebound.
Someone still has to defend.
Someone still has to set screens.
That was why fantasy lineups existed only in video games and fan debates.
A lineup of Magic Johnson, Michael Jordan, LeBron James, Tim Duncan, and Shaquille O'Neal sounded unstoppable on paper.
In reality?
The opponents might cry.
The basketball certainly would.
Everyone would want it.
Nobody would want to give it up.
The opening game was a perfect example of overperformance.
Klay's fourth-quarter explosion.
Chris Paul's clutch shooting.
The collective hot streak of the supporting cast.
Those things could win one game.
They could even win several games.
But they were not sustainable foundations for a championship run. Unfortunately for Lin Yi, the internet did not care about context.
His critics had spent four years waiting for an opportunity.
Now that they finally had one, they attacked with enthusiasm.
The moment the Knicks defeated the Heat without Lin Yi, countless voices emerged.
"Three straight MVPs? The Knicks are still elite without him."
"If the Knicks can beat the Heat without their supposed superstar, how valuable is that superstar really?"
@HoopsTruth:
Three straight MVPs? The Knicks are still elite without him.
One game without Lin Yi:
✔️ Beat Miami
✔️ Better ball movement
Maybe we've been evaluating the wrong guy.
@FirstTakeMike:
If the Knicks can beat the Heat without their supposed superstar, how valuable is that superstar really?
Not saying Lin Yi isn't great.
I'm asking the question everyone else is suddenly afraid to ask.👀
@BasketballHistorian23:
We've spent years calling Lin Yi the best player in basketball.
What if he's actually the luckiest player in basketball?
Elite coach.
Elite point guard.
Elite shooters.
Elite defense.
At what point do we start crediting the environment?
@MJNeverLost:
Put any Top 10 player in NBA history on this Knicks roster, and they're winning titles too. Stop acting like Lin Yi carried anybody.
@WitnessEra:
If LeBron had teammates like this Knicks roster, we'd be talking about eight championships, and the GOAT debate would've ended years ago.
@HeatNation305:
Imagine LeBron sits out and Miami beats the defending champions anyway. ESPN would spend six months talking about LeBron's leadership. Lin Yi gets MVP chants for the same thing.
@KingJamesCentral:
Funny how every loss is LeBron's fault, but every Knicks win belongs to Lin Yi. The Knicks just beat Miami without him. Explain that one.
The argument spread quickly. After all, extreme praise often creates extreme backlash. For three consecutive years, Lin Yi had dominated MVP voting.
He had won championships.
He had broken records.
He had become the face of the league.
At the same time, some of his more fanatical supporters had spent years provoking every other fanbase. Eventually, resentment accumulated.
LeBron fans were tired of hearing that their superstar had been surpassed.
Kobe fans were tired of hearing that the next generation had arrived.
And Jordan fans?
Jordan fans viewed the discussion itself as blasphemy.
In their eyes, the basketball throne was sacred.
Michael Jordan could be admired.
Michael Jordan could be celebrated.
Michael Jordan could be worshipped.
But Michael Jordan could not be surpassed.
So when the Knicks won without Lin Yi, many of those fans immediately joined the criticism. The narrative spread surprisingly well.
Especially after ESPN released its advanced statistics.
One number immediately caught everyone's attention.
44 assists.
The Knicks had never recorded that many assists in a game during Lin Yi's tenure.
To Lin Yi's critics, it was undeniable proof.
The ball moved better without him. The offense flowed better without him. The team played better basketball without him.
But those same people conveniently ignored another detail.
When Lin Yi played, many games were over by the third quarter.
The Knicks rarely needed forty-eight minutes of perfect execution to survive. When things became difficult, Lin Yi simply solved the problem himself. The players understood this reality better than anyone.
The talk about replacing him was mostly locker-room humor.
Unfortunately, nuance rarely survives online.
The critics only saw the final score.
The critics only saw the box score.
The critics only saw what they wanted to see.
To them, the conclusion was already settled.
Lin Yi was a system player.
Lin Yi was being carried.
Lin Yi depended on his teammates.
And for the first time in years, those voices were growing louder.
. . .
Meanwhile, inside the NBA Commissioner's office, David Stern looked unusually pleased.
Across from him, Vice President Jaylen Dis was discussing preparations for the upcoming All-Star Weekend when he noticed Stern's expression.
"David, why do you seem so happy?"
Stern leaned back in his chair.
"Jaylen, have you been following the recent headlines?"
Dis nodded.
"Of course. The criticism surrounding Lin Yi is everywhere."
He paused.
"Do we need to do anything? He's still the league's most important player from a public relations standpoint."
Stern immediately shook his head.
"No."
A smile appeared on his face.
"We don't need to do anything."
"We just sit back and watch."
Dis looked confused.
Stern, however, was perfectly calm.
Unlike the media, he wasn't worried about Lin Yi.
If anything, he thought the criticism was still too mild.
Let them question the championships.
Let them question the MVPs.
Let them disrespect him.
Let them say he was overrated.
Let them say he was carried.
The louder the criticism became, the better.
Because Stern understood something that most people didn't.
Winning a fourth consecutive MVP was different from winning the first three.
At that point, it wasn't enough to convince the media.
It wasn't enough to convince the league.
It wasn't even enough to convince the voters.
To win four straight MVP awards, a player had to overcome history itself.
He had to convince every skeptic.
Silence every critic.
And conquer every fanboy of the opponent.
The greatness must be so blinding that it became an irrefutable fact, like oxygen was needed for breathing.
Only then could a fourth consecutive MVP truly belong to him.
Because the moment the league allowed Lin Yi to win a fourth consecutive MVP, the implications would go far beyond a single award.
It would become a declaration.
A statement from history itself.
A fourth straight MVP would mean that the NBA had effectively chosen its next standard-bearer. It would mean placing the first stone on the road toward basketball immortality.
As long as Lin Yi didn't sabotage himself and his championship total didn't remain stuck at two, his future trajectory would become almost impossible to stop.
When he retired one day, the discussion would no longer be whether he belonged among the all-time greats.
The discussion would be whether anyone could stop him from becoming the greatest player the game had ever seen.
And that was exactly why statistics and trophies alone were no longer enough.
Not anymore.
Three championships?
Other legends had won more.
Three MVPs?
Other legends had done that too.
At Lin Yi's current level, numbers could no longer convince everyone.
To reach the summit, he needed something greater.
He needed recognition.
He needed acceptance.
He needed to conquer the hearts of almost everyone.
Sitting in the Commissioner's office, David Stern understood this better than anyone.
The old commissioner was approaching the final stretch of his career. For years, he had carefully watched the league evolve. He had witnessed dynasties rise and collapse.
He had watched superstars become icons.
And now, in his twilight years, he had quietly prepared one final masterpiece.
The throne.
A throne he had spent years building, gathering dust, waiting for the appropriate player.
A throne that could be waiting for Lin Yi. All Stern needed now was for the young superstar to climb onto it himself.
As for why Stern was willing to help Lin Yi so much?
Even Stern couldn't fully explain it.
Perhaps it was because Lin Yi was different.
Perhaps it was because, compared to the countless stars Stern had dealt with over the decades, this kid was surprisingly easy to like.
Or perhaps it was something even simpler.
Affection.
A feeling less like that of a commissioner and a superstar.
And more like that of a grandfather finding a gem during his twilight years. It was a fondness one got when old.
When did I get this sentimental? Stern mocked himself.
Of course, affection had limits.
If Lin Yi stumbled now, Stern would not interfere.
If he failed, he failed.
Because this journey belonged to Lin Yi alone.
No commissioner, executive, media campaign, or carefully crafted narrative could walk that path for him. That was why Stern found the recent wave of criticism so satisfying.
For years, everything had come too easily.
Three consecutive MVPs.
Championships.
Records.
Global popularity.
The climb had been almost smooth.
Too smooth.
Every great legend needed adversity.
Every king needed challengers.
Every throne needed contenders fighting beneath it.
Only then would the crown carry weight.
Want four straight MVPs?
Fine.
Take it.
The league won't stop you.
History won't stop you.
But first, prove you deserve it.
Hold your breath.
Ignore the noise.
Silence the doubters.
And show the entire basketball world why nobody else deserves the award more than you.
Only then would a fourth MVP truly mean something.
. . .
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, the man at the center of all this drama was completely unaware of Stern's thoughts.
Lin Yi sat comfortably at home, holding a one-month-old little olive in his arms.
Compared to internet debates, his daughter was far more interesting.
As for the criticism?
He barely paid attention.
After all, where there were fans, there would always be haters. That was one of the fundamental laws of professional sports. The louder the cheers became, the louder the boos became.
Lin Yi had understood that long ago.
In fact, he thought the recent events were beneficial.
His teammates had defeated a championship contender without him.
Wasn't that a good thing?
It looks like I'll need to take things easy now and then in the future.
The thought crossed his mind naturally.
Looking back at last year's Finals, one of the reasons the Knicks had nearly allowed the Spurs to drag the series into a deadlock was that everyone had become too dependent on him.
Whenever a game entered crunch time, the instinctive reaction was always the same.
Give the ball to Lin Yi.
Let Lin Yi figure it out.
That worked.
Most of the time.
But basketball was still a five-man sport.
No matter how great a player was, he couldn't realistically play one against five every night.
Eventually, everyone had to contribute.
Eventually, everyone had to grow.
. . .
There were still four days before Lin Yi would officially rejoin the team.
In the meantime, the Knicks had already left New York.
Their next destination was Chicago.
The United Center.
The second game of the season.
The returning Derrick Rose.
The revitalized Bulls.
And a fascinating question.
Could the Knicks continue winning without Lin Yi?
The media wanted answers.
The fans wanted answers.
The critics wanted answers most of all.
Over the previous two days, Lin Yi's haters had practically worked overtime.
Articles were written.
Podcasts were recorded.
Debates erupted everywhere.
Manifestos of criticism had already been drafted and prepared.
No one enjoyed this development more than Kevin Durant.
For perhaps the first time in years, Durant felt the basketball world was finally speaking his language.
The internet had begun producing an entirely new narrative.
Maybe Durant wasn't the problem.
Maybe Russell Westbrook was.
Maybe Durant had spent years sacrificing his greatness because of Westbrook's ball dominance.
Maybe the gap between Durant and Lin Yi wasn't nearly as large as people believed.
Durant tried not to smile too much while reading those discussions.
To be fair, he thought people were being a little harsh on Westbrook.
A little.
But only a little.
Because deep down, Durant couldn't help agreeing with one particular sentiment.
What exactly makes Lin Yi better than me?
The more he thought about it, the less convinced he became.
And that thought alone made the upcoming season infinitely more interesting.
The 2013-14 season had barely begun.
Yet the drama, controversy, and storylines had already surpassed everyone's expectations.
Fans thought they knew how the season would unfold.
The media thought they knew how the MVP race would unfold.
Even David Stern believed he knew how the story would end.
What Stern didn't realize was that the script he had spent years preparing was already beginning to drift beyond his control.
And once that happened, even the commissioner could no longer predict what would come next.
. . .
Please do leave a review and powerstones, which helps with the book's exposure.
Feel like joining a Patreon and subscribing to 30+ advanced chapters?
Visit the link:
[email protected]/GRANDMAESTA_30
Change @ to a