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Chapter 345: The Best Team in The League
🕑 Added 2025-09-13 19:56:40 +0000 UTCJust as the whole world was showering the Knicks with praise, reality struck back with a reminder of how thin the line is between dominance and vulnerability.
After tying the Rockets’ 22-game winning streak, the Knicks suddenly stumbled, dropping three straight games to the Pistons, Pacers, and Bobcats.
The euphoria of a historic run quickly gave way to a sobering three-game skid.
“The Bulls’ record is truly a monster,” Lin Yi muttered—not out of awe at Chicago’s 72–10 season, but with a bitter smile at the realization that the Knicks’ own streak had dulled their edge.
Deep down, he knew the winning run had done something dangerous: it had planted a seed of overconfidence.
Everyone around the team had insisted records didn’t matter, that the only goal was a championship. But Lin Yi wasn’t immune—he had secretly entertained visions of chasing down that legendary 72–10 mark.
It’s a bit like saving a bag of chips for the big game. You tell yourself to wait, to stay disciplined, but the temptation gnaws at you. At some point, you want to rip it open early.
Breaking the Bulls’ record would’ve written the Knicks into basketball lore forever. And history shows that no matter what teams say publicly, players care.
Records sometimes were like forbidden fruit—too alluring to ignore.
Of course, this losing streak wasn’t catastrophic, and Lin Yi never doubted his teammates the way the media did. Even with Gallinari and Livingston sidelined, the Knicks were still formidable.
That’s the reality of an NBA season—it’s long, relentless, and even the greatest dynasties drop games. Fatigue, mental lapses, or simple bad luck all tip the balance.
But something else stood out during this skid. Lin Yi noticed it, and so did the staff.
After the Bobcats' loss, First Assistant Coach Kenny gave D’Antoni a look and said bluntly, “Mike, you’ve changed.”
D’Antoni blinked. “???”
And he had changed.
In the past, D’Antoni had been notorious for running his players into the ground, riding short rotations, and sticking stubbornly to his philosophy. But this time, even in the middle of a losing streak, he refused to abandon his rotations. He kept his players’ minutes in check.
For anyone who had followed D’Antoni’s Phoenix years, this was a different man.
It’s easy to forget, but D’Antoni left Phoenix branded as a failure. No matter how thrilling those battles with the Spurs were, the NBA is unforgiving. Winning is winning, losing is losing. The winner writes history, the loser gets dismissed.
When he came to New York, inheriting the wreckage left by the Isiah Thomas era, he had no choice but to embrace tanking. And make no mistake: no proud coach wants that. Tanking tarnishes records, eats at reputations. For coaches, wins and win percentage are their résumé—their points, rebounds, and assists.
Last season, the Knicks bowed out against the Celtics in the Eastern semifinals. Yet that summer, D’Antoni could hardly sleep—not from nightmares, but from sheer excitement.
And no, it wasn’t about a second Coach of the Year award. It was because of Lin Yi.
A Reddit post once asked the question: Why had Lin Yi managed to win over New York’s notoriously demanding fans? Why did so many of them claim they wouldn’t trade him even for LeBron James?
The answers were strikingly similar. Fans said, “If you’re asking that, you’ve clearly never been to the Garden. Buy a ticket, see it with your own eyes.”
New Yorkers weren’t saying Lin Yi was better than LeBron. But his style, his energy, and the way he had led the Knicks from Eastern bottom-feeders to contenders gave them something they hadn’t felt in years.
Not just entertainment. Not just wins.
Hope.
And that hope made D’Antoni rethink everything.
So, he held the line—rotations intact, minutes managed. Protect the players, keep them fresh, trust the bigger picture.
Because for D’Antoni, the NBA Finals stage was the one experience missing from his career. Records could wait; the Knicks would keep growing, and there would be chances later.
Lin Yi, in particular, couldn’t be run into the ground. His talent was the kind that needed careful preservation, not reckless overuse.
And though D’Antoni didn’t realize it yet, this change—this newfound patience—would play a decisive role when the Knicks found themselves in the crucible of the Eastern Conference Finals.
...
Spike Lee, who was working on Lin Yi’s 2010–11 season documentary, couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy during the Knicks’ three-game skid.
For anyone who had followed the Knicks long enough, losing streaks usually signaled the beginning of the end. But before long, Spike realized something: this Knicks team wasn’t like the ones he’d grown up with.
He had lived through the Ewing years. The man carried the franchise on his shoulders, only for that journey to end with disappointment written across his face. He’d watched Van Gundy shouting himself hoarse on the sidelines.
But how could you describe this current group?
Something felt… off. Not in a bad way—just completely different.
Because whenever Spike brought his crew to the Knicks’ training facility, what he saw was joy. Laughter. Smiles. Players ribbing each other in drills, no tension in the air, no fear of the next loss. It wasn’t the grim, desperate atmosphere of past Knicks teams.
D’Antoni, too, was different. He wasn’t standing in front of his guys preaching, “This is a must-win, or else.” Instead, his message was simple: Don’t get caught up in wins and losses. The regular season isn’t the finish line.
And Lin Yi, the team’s centerpiece, set the tone. Despite being the star, he never acted like he was above his teammates. In fact, Spike saw the opposite. Sometimes the entire squad would gang up to bully Lin Yi during scrimmages—lighthearted pranks, trash talk, playful roughhousing. When that happened, Spike often had his cameramen quietly lower their lenses. Some moments weren’t meant for the documentary; they belonged to the team alone.
Curious, Spike finally asked him one day, “Lin, don’t you guys ever sit down after games and go over what went wrong? I mean, with this losing streak, don’t you think it’s necessary?”
Lin Yi chuckled. “Coach already points out what needs fixing. Why harp on what’s done? The past is the past. We’ve got to keep looking forward.”
That phrase stuck with Spike. Look forward.
The Knicks didn’t need tactical overhauls—they had already refined their style through more than half a season and two monster winning streaks. The issue wasn’t about X’s and O’s. It was about mindset.
The temptation of chasing records was strong—too strong, maybe. But temptation was a distraction. What mattered was the bigger goal. The highest stage. The Finals.
And just when critics were sharpening their knives, the Knicks roared back.
March 12, Madison Square Garden. By the time the fourth quarter buzzer sounded, Spike Lee was practically shouting over himself, letting loose at the doubters who had written the Knicks off.
The scoreboard told the story: Hawks 76, Knicks 126.
A 50-point demolition in front of a raucous home crowd.
Lin Yi?
Flawless.
In just 29 minutes, he went 12-for-12 from the field, 4-for-4 from deep, 5-for-5 at the line. Thirty-three points without a single miss, plus 16 rebounds, 5 assists, and 3 blocks for good measure.
Barkley dropped the line that made headlines the next morning:
“Don’t ever forget—this is still the best team in the league!”
That night, the Garden echoed with that roar.
