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Chapter 310: Sixteen And Rising
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 23:15:14 +0000 UTCAfter Carter came to Phoenix, the Suns’ starting lineup carried a kind of nostalgia with it.
Steve Nash — once “the child of the wind” — had trimmed away his long, flowing hair. Grant Hill, once hailed as the next great Jordan heir, now carried the calm and polish of a man softened by time. And Vince Carter — the high-flying “half man, half amazing” — now looked more human than myth.
If someone had to choose the most bittersweet team of the season, the Suns would probably win by a landslide.
Amar’e Stoudemire had become the unquestioned core of the squad. Lin Yi couldn’t help but notice that Stoudemire seemed stronger, sharper than the version he remembered. Maybe it was the weight of responsibility — or maybe it was that this Amar’e finally knew it was his team.
Inside the US Airways Center, the seats were filled as always. Whatever people said, this was the franchise that had once sparked a revolution in basketball with its lightning pace and fearless offense.
And now, Mike D’Antoni — the same coach who had built those Suns into a symbol of “run and gun” basketball — was sitting across the court, clipboard in hand, guiding the Knicks. Basketball’s sense of irony was relentless.
“Let’s keep watching,” Lin Yi muttered as he returned to the bench after the first quarter, eyes locked on the flow of the game.
The sight of Nash threading impossible passes, Hill grinding through possessions, and Carter catching the occasional flash of his old fire felt like a glimpse back in time. For a second, Lin Yi thought of Carter soaring through the dunk contest — only now, those moments came with pauses, with heavy breaths.
But nostalgia alone couldn’t stop the tide. The Knicks’ youth and energy carried them past Phoenix, 117–106, in a game that was as much a passing of the torch as it was another win.
At the buzzer, Nash, Carter, and Hill helped one another toward the tunnel, backs stiff, knees heavy. A new era had already begun to take their place.
“What’s it going to be like when I’m the one walking off like that?” Lin Yi wondered quietly. He couldn’t picture it yet — but the question lingered.
..
On January 6th, the Knicks flew into Salt Lake City for their next challenge: the Utah Jazz.
The 2010–11 season was already shaping into a year of heartbreak for the Jazz. Cracks had begun to show between Deron Williams and the legendary coach Jerry Sloan. It wasn’t a feud anyone could win, more like an inevitable cold war. Sloan, a man who had built his career on discipline and iron will, could sense his tank was empty. He had guided Stockton and Malone through the highest of highs, but now, he was running on fumes.
By this stage, Deron was no longer just the guard who had once run laps around Chris Paul. He had grown into his own, for better or worse, and his confidence sometimes pressed against Sloan’s stern authority.
The year itself carried its own echoes. 1998 had been the year Zidane rose with two unforgettable headers, Ronaldo limped into heartbreak, and Michael Jordan wrote his last masterpiece with that iconic shot over Bryon Russell. Malone and Stockton had been there too, fighting but fading — symbols of an era that could no longer resist time.
Back then, a rookie Vince Carter had entered the league, carrying the impossible weight of being “the next Jordan.” Soon after, Kobe Bryant and Allen Iverson rose at full speed, officially closing the book on one chapter and opening another.
Sloan had always dreamed of restoring that Stockton-and-Malone magic, but destiny seemed to enjoy toying with him. Against the Knicks, it was no different.
New York, playing with balance on both ends, overwhelmed the Jazz like a rising flood. Every possession, every rebound, every transition push chipped away at the last vestiges of Sloan’s system.
At the high-altitude plateau of Salt Lake, Lin Yi carved out a triple-double. When the final buzzer sounded, Charles Barkley’s voice rang out from the broadcast:
“The Knicks just notched their 16th straight win!”
Sloan, standing on the sideline, didn’t carry the same fire in his eyes anymore. He looked tired. Perhaps he was remembering that first time Jordan showed the world basketball could be played with that much artistry. And now, more than a decade later, here stood a seven-footer center/power forward from China, proving that even the very definition of positions could be rewritten.
Maybe, Sloan thought, it was time. Time to let go.
After the game, Lin Yi made sure to catch Gordon Hayward. He’d been keeping an eye on the young forward for some time and shake his hand firmly.
.
“The Knicks have been my pick to win it all this year!” one fan shouted, voice almost drowned out by the buzz of the crowd.
“Hey now,” another laughed, raising his scarf proudly, “I’ve been a Knicks supporter for thirty years. Don’t steal my thunder!”
“Be honest,” a younger fan added, “who out there can stop this team? I can’t see a single weakness.”
“It’s scary, isn’t it?” came a reply, half in awe. “New York basketball is finally back on the rise!”
...
The atmosphere around the Knicks had shifted completely. Even during the brutal grind of their schedule, they kept dazzling audiences with slick plays and relentless execution. Their winning streak wasn’t just numbers on paper anymore — it was a statement, a warning to the rest of the league.
Sixteen consecutive wins. An average margin of victory close to twenty points. That wasn’t just dominance — it was suffocation. Opponents walked into games already half-beaten, crushed by the weight of expectation.
And with success came the inevitable chorus of experts, analysts, and talking heads.
This Knicks team wasn’t just gaining respect; they were becoming fashionable. Beloved.
Even beyond basketball, their influence was spreading. Rafael Nadal, fresh off his U.S. Open victory, casually mentioned in an interview that he was a Knicks fan. Usain Bolt, the Jamaican sprint king, admitted Lin Yi was his favorite active NBA player. Cristiano Ronaldo, still nursing the sting of losing the Ballon d’Or to Messi, confessed that he admired Lin Yi’s dedication and work ethic.
The Knicks’ turnaround was magnetic. They weren’t just winning games; they were winning over neutral fans across the globe.
It showed in the numbers, too. During the third round of All-Star voting, Lin Yi shattered the previous year’s record. With online ballots flooding in, his total had already surpassed four million. It was the kind of figure that couldn’t be explained by Chinese fans alone. This was bigger — a genuine international phenomenon.
On TNT, the panel had its say. Charles Barkley leaned back in his chair, chuckling as his cheeks wobbled. “Look, I’m not gonna hide it. I love what Lin’s doing. Seriously, we all used to enjoy watching the Knicks, but this group? They’ve made me fall in love with them all over again.”
Kenny Smith spread his arms wide, nodding in agreement. “Think back to last summer — who in their right mind predicted the Knicks would be this dominant? They’re building around defense, but they’re not ugly about it. It’s effective and entertaining. I don’t see a single reason not to root for them.”
Spud Webb, serving as a guest, chimed in with a thoughtful smile. “What the Knicks are proving is simple: you don’t need a so-called ‘superteam’ to touch the trophy. You just need belief, the right pieces, and a system that fits. They’re showing everyone a different path to the championship.”
The buzz wasn’t just confined to the NBA. Back on Chinese forums, debates raged like wildfire. Lin Yi remembered the same energy back in football when Inter Milan made their run toward the treble. At first, forums were filled with angry posts predicting their downfall. Then came the semi-final clash with Barcelona — the Catalan giants caught up in volcanic ash delays, Mourinho’s side digging in with legendary resilience. One by one, the doubters were silenced.
Lin Yi felt the parallel. The Knicks were becoming that kind of story — slept on at first, then too undeniable to ignore.
…
On January 8th, with the winter wind biting, the Knicks landed in Dallas. The Mavericks were next on the chopping block. And New York, swords drawn, was ready to test itself again.
