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Chapter 408: Happy Hunting
🕑 Added 2025-10-19 13:53:04 +0000 UTC2012 really did feel like a magical year.
Director Roland Emmerich once made a blockbuster called 2012, but Lin Yi, having been reborn, knew the world wasn’t ending anytime soon — so there was no need for him to buy a ticket for any ark.
Because the Spring Festival came early that year, the Knicks shot a short New Year’s video before heading to Memphis.
For the rest of January, they’d be wearing special edition Chinese jerseys. Stern, ever the visionary, wanted every team to suit up in Chinese uniforms for Lunar New Year. If the distance between China and the U.S. weren’t so huge, he probably would’ve tried to move a few regular-season games there, too.
The Chinese market was that massive.
You could tell just by looking at the LED boards around NBA arenas — every other ad was in Chinese.
People joked, “Do foreigners even understand what those ads say?”
But that wasn’t the point. They weren’t meant for American fans. They were meant for the millions watching back home in China.
Because of Lin Yi, the Knicks’ chefs had added some dishes to their menu–dumplings being one of them.
Technically, they were still nutritional meals, but they tasted very different from the usual bland athlete food. The players were hooked — especially Chris Paul, who could put away seventy or eighty dumplings in one sitting.
Granted, the dumplings were pretty small… but still.
“Really nice,” Paul joked, “but nothing beats fried chicken.”
And just like that, the Knicks’ Lunar New Year celebration ended.
...
On the evening of the 11th, the Knicks flew into Memphis.
If the Knicks were the league’s sharpest spear this season, then the Grizzlies were its toughest shield.
Everyone was watching this one — the unstoppable force versus the immovable object. People wanted to see which team would finally stop the Knicks’ unbeaten run.
This season, Memphis had held opponents to just 93 points per game. And it wasn’t just because they slowed the tempo. Their defense was methodical, suffocating.
ESPN broke it down perfectly: Marc Gasol’s rim protection locked down the paint, while the “Black and White Bears” — Zach Randolph and Gasol — bullied their way to offensive rebounds, killing opponents’ transition chances. Even when they missed, you couldn’t run on them.
Conley and Rudy Gay were both underrated on defense, too. The Grizzlies ranked among the top teams in limiting outside shots and opponent shooting percentages. If they’d managed to keep Tony Allen from joining the Knicks, their defense might’ve been airtight.
Before the flight, the Knicks’ coaching staff couldn’t help but joke, half seriously, that they were lucky the Grizzlies were in the West.
“If we played them more often,” one assistant muttered, “we’d probably win—but we’d limp home every time.”
It wasn’t an exaggeration. Lin Yi remembered it well — in his previous life, the Grizzlies had a strange curse about them. The Thunder, Clippers, and Spurs all beat them in consecutive years... only to fall short in the next round.
No one escaped unscathed from a series with Memphis.
The Grizzlies didn’t just play basketball; they dragged you into a fistfight. Either you got smothered by their brute strength, or you fought back, toe-to-toe, until someone broke.
In short, they were a nightmare matchup.
But not for Lin Yi.
He’d faced the Grizzlies four times in his career so far, averaging 29.5 points, 12.5 rebounds, and 9 assists. His unorthodox style gave Memphis fits. Gasol had taken such a beating from Lin Yi the year before that he’d spent the entire summer slimming down to prepare for their next meeting.
For a methodical, slow-paced team like Memphis, Lin Yi was the worst kind of problem.
In fact, when he saw their matchup on the schedule, Lin Yi had grinned. Finally, a team that could actually defend his teammates — maybe he’d get to take a few more shots himself.
“How great would it be if every team played like the Grizzlies?” Lin joked to himself.
This season, he’d been too well protected. His teammates were playing so efficiently that his scoring average had dropped out of the top ten. At twenty-something, Lin Yi was already playing veteran minutes — barely over 30 a game.
It wasn’t that the opposition was too weak. The Knicks were just too good.
And for once, Lin didn’t even have to push for more touches. The Knicks’ coaching staff, after reviewing film, decided that against Memphis, he’d be their primary weapon again.
“Lin,” the head coach D'Antoni said with a grin, “we’re giving you the green light. Happy hunting.”
Lin Yi’s eyes lit up. “Say no more, Coach. Leave it to me.”
Against the Grizzlies, though, it’d be different. If Memphis stayed big, they’d struggle to guard Lin on the perimeter. But if they went small, their entire defensive identity would fall apart.
The coaching staff knew it, too. To break the Grizzlies’ wall, they’d rely on Lin’s scoring to set the tone, then count on the Knicks’ bench to blow the game open later.
That was the plan.
But no one — not Lin Yi, not the coaches, not even the fans — could have guessed how stubborn this Grizzlies team would be the next night.
And for Lin Yi, that night in Memphis would become a defining moment in his career.
