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Chapter 316: Spurs vs Knicks
🕑 Added 2025-08-23 23:46:59 +0000 UTCOn January 22, the Knicks hosted the Wizards at Madison Square Garden.
The heavy training load of the past few weeks was beginning to show. Lin Yi and Tyson Chandler’s endless one-on-one sessions had sharpened skills but drained legs. Their combination looked noticeably fatigued, their rhythm slightly off.
John Wall, long frustrated by the Knicks’ dominance in their previous meetings, finally seized his moment. The young guard exploded for 30 points and 12 assists, slicing through New York’s defense and pushing the pace with reckless abandon.
But basketball is a cruel game. Despite Wall’s brilliance, the Wizards still left the Garden empty-handed. The Knicks, even when not at their sharpest, ground out another victory. For Wall, it was the bitter taste of wasted effort.
The win pushed New York’s streak to five in a row. In the brutal January–February stretch—when injuries pile up and rotations are tested—the Knicks had been blessed with rare fortune: no significant injuries to their core. Of course, fortune alone wasn’t the story. D’Antoni’s deliberate rotation plan had been paying dividends, keeping minutes balanced and players fresher
Still, not everyone was immune to fatigue. Yi Jianlian, who had been consistent all season, began to show signs of wear. His numbers dipped slightly, though he still produced a steady “9 and 8” night after night. What puzzled him most wasn’t his own dip, but Lin Yi’s durability.
“How do you do it, Lin? You play more minutes than me, take more hits, and you still look indestructible.” Yi asked one afternoon, genuine curiosity in his voice.
Lin hesitated, then gave a helpless smile.
“Honestly? Probably just luck.”
He couldn’t very well explain the truth about the system. Even if he did, Yi wouldn’t believe him. Instead, Lin gave more practical advice.
“If you feel your form dipping, tell Coach. Don’t push past your limits and risk an injury. The front office knows your value. You’ve got a long-term contract waiting for you as long as you stay healthy.”
Yi nodded thoughtfully. He had grown more comfortable communicating with the coaching staff this season. He wasn’t as chill as Lin was with D’Antoni, but he no longer felt like an outsider either.
Meanwhile, Lin Yi noticed another change. John Wall, who used to linger after games and chat, no longer gave him that chance. The Wizards’ guard had learned his lesson—better to leave quickly than risk another humbling conversation with his rival. Lin Yi found it amusing, if slightly disappointing.
…
The next day, January 23, the NBA announced its Players of the Week. Dwight Howard claimed the Eastern Conference honors. Superman had looked more like Hello Kitty lately in the eyes of critics, but this time he reminded everyone of his dominance—averaging 26 points, 13 rebounds, and shooting nearly 60%. The award, however, was bittersweet. Howard was still furious at being snubbed as an All-Star starter.
In the West, LaMarcus Aldridge earned the nod. He had quietly led Portland to the playoff picture, his midrange game as smooth as ever.
…
As for himself, Lin was still shaking off fatigue from the Wizards game. Yet, the grind was bearing fruit. His newly upgraded Amethyst Ankle Breaker badge wasn’t just a title—it translated into real, tangible improvement. His handle was sharper, his first step quicker, his balance stronger. It wasn’t a dramatic leap, but the small edge mattered. In the NBA, a split second often decided the outcome of possessions, sometimes even entire games.
On January 24, the Knicks would welcome the Spurs. For Lin Yi, San Antonio wasn’t just another opponent—they were the perfect measuring stick.
The day before the clash, Lin and Chandler stayed after practice once again. Neither admitted it aloud, but both were addicted to the grind. The duels were no longer just drills; they were tests of pride, endurance, and willpower.
Lin Yi noticed a clear difference after his upgrade. Against Chandler’s defense, his success rate had jumped by at least five percent. He no longer forced himself into predictable drives. Instead, he mixed up his offense: pull-ups, fadeaways, sudden spins.
Chandler wiped sweat from his forehead and laughed.
“Man… you’re turning into a seven-foot Kobe out here.”
Lin grinned. The compliment meant more coming from a teammate who had battled him possession after possession.
In truth, Chandler was still winning more often than not in their isolated duels. But Lin Yi knew the bigger picture: once real games layered in screens, spacing, and chemistry, he became the Knicks’ most lethal weapon.
…
That night, Lin returned home to find Tijana and Olson curled up on the couch, sniffling through another soap opera. Judging by their tear-stained cheeks, someone had just died or betrayed someone onscreen.
Lin shook his head, half-amused. Without disturbing them, he slipped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the fatigue. Tomorrow, the Spurs awaited. And Lin Yi knew—this would be one of the season’s true tests.
...
The Spurs being old has become a cliché at this point. Ask around the league, and most people will tell you the same thing: San Antonio’s window is closing.
This season, the evidence seems to be on their side. Tim Duncan’s averages have dipped noticeably — just 13.4 points and 8.9 rebounds a night. For a player who once dominated both ends of the floor, those numbers look mortal.
But Lin Yi? He’s never been one to buy into that narrative. Duncan hasn’t fallen off a cliff; he’s simply adjusted. His minutes are down; his role is smarter. And with George Hill stepping up this year, the Spurs’ backcourt looks as sharp as ever.
Lin remembers clearly: this is the season when the Grizzlies shock the Spurs in the playoffs with that infamous upset. The Achilles’ heel then wasn’t Duncan, but the wing rotation. Richard Jefferson, steady as he is, could never really tilt the game on his own.
Even so, San Antonio still managed to top the Western Conference during the regular season, powered by Tony Parker’s speed and Manu Ginóbili’s craft. That’s the beauty of Gregg Popovich’s system — they squeeze every ounce out of the roster.
…
January 24th, 2011
Madison Square Garden.
The East versus West showdown.
The Knicks and Spurs had already clashed once earlier this season, with San Antonio getting the better of them. But that loss had come during New York’s brutal Western road swing. This time, both sides were rested, both sides sharp. The Garden buzzed with anticipation.
At tip-off, Lin Yi stood across from Duncan. Just before the referee tossed the ball up, Lin felt a massive hand brush against his own — Duncan’s calm, deliberate attempt at psychological warfare. Lin smirked, swatted it aside, and rose higher. Ball won. The crowd roared.
The lineups:
Spurs: Tim Duncan, DeJuan Blair, Richard Jefferson, Manu Ginóbili, Tony Parker.
Knicks: Tyson Chandler, Lin Yi, Danilo Gallinari, Tony Allen, Chauncey Billups.
One of Popovich’s big tweaks this season was starting Ginóbili and shifting George Hill into a sixth-man role. It kept Manu in rhythm from the opening tip and gave Hill the freedom to anchor the bench unit.
On the other side, Billups and Parker renewed an old duel. Stat sheets usually tilted Parker’s way in those matchups, and around San Antonio, there’s a saying: how far the Spurs go depends on how far Tony Parker can run.
…
The Knicks went first on offense. Popovich had already set the tone: he’d rotate defenders on Lin Yi in waves. First Duncan, then Jefferson and Blair, and when those legs got tired, Antonio McDyess would take a turn.
But Lin Yi wasted no time showing his intent. He sized up Duncan at the top of the key, gave a sharp crossover, and exploded past. Duncan stretched out his arms — calm as ever, as if saying: Go on, young man, try to escape my shadow.
But this wasn’t peak Stone Buddha. His timing was half a beat slower, his recovery step less sharp. Lin slid by, glided to the rim, and laid it in. First two points for New York. The Garden erupted.
He’d learned that against veterans like Duncan, sometimes the best weapon wasn’t finesse but an unreasonable, almost reckless burst.
San Antonio answered quickly. Parker ran a high pick-and-roll with Duncan, and Duncan hit his trademark angled bank shot off the glass. Simple, timeless basketball. 2–2.
Next trip down, the Knicks worked into their triangle set. Billups, steady as always, spotted the mismatch and directed traffic. Lin, Billups, and Gallinari formed the strong-side triangle. With the Spurs reluctant to help, Lin broke down Duncan again, slithering through with a quick step and finishing over him. 2-4 Knicks.
“Lin Yi looks sharp tonight,” Yu Jia noted on CCTV.
“Duncan may be old,” Zhang chimed in, “but Lin Yi isn’t exactly the kind of youngster who shows mercy to the old heads.”
Yu Jia chuckled: “Yes, in the NBA, there’s no such thing as respecting the old and loving the young.”
On the other end, Ginóbili answered with his own brand of sorcery. He darted through the lane with that distinctive herky-jerky rhythm.
By the time New York’s help defense reacted, he was already finishing at the rim. Tie game again.
4–4.
And then, back came Lin Yi. Third time in a row, he pierced Duncan’s defense and scored.
On the sideline, Mike D’Antoni was clapping, clearly enjoying what he was seeing.
He knew about those endless one-on-one battles in practice between Lin and Chandler. He worried about the risk of injury, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny the results.
D’Antoni tilted his gaze upward, almost sighing. How he wished he could add a third banner.
Maybe…just maybe could be this season.
