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Chapter 309: The Weight Of Ambition
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 21:23:13 +0000 UTCBad news arrived as the calendar turned to 2011.
The Mavericks and Warriors had pulled the trigger on a blockbuster trade: Caron Butler was shipped to Golden State, while Monta Ellis packed his bags for Dallas.
Lin Yi blinked when he saw the news. This wasn’t in the script. In his memory, this deal had never happened. But now it had—and, frustratingly, it looked like Dallas might have pulled off a coup.
Although Butler had managed to stay healthy this time around, unlike in Lin Yi’s “previous life,” his sudden decline meant his usefulness to the Mavericks was already limited. From Golden State’s point of view, though, snagging a wing like Butler filled a hole they’d been struggling with for years.
What made things even crazier was that the Warriors suddenly had a lineup that, on paper at least, looked good. Cousins in the paint, David Lee stretching the floor, Butler providing a steady veteran hand, and Curry running the show at point guard.
Defense was still the Warriors’ fatal flaw, but he had to admit—this was a team that could at least put points up in a hurry.
Dallas, meanwhile, had gotten exactly what it wanted. Monta Ellis wasn’t coming in with the same ego he’d carried in Oakland. In his first interview after the trade, Ellis even said he was ready to come off the bench if that’s what Rick Carlisle wanted.
That humility, Lin Yi knew, came less from a personality shift and more from reality. Dallas was loaded. Jason Kidd’s resume spoke for itself, and their bench was stacked with scorers. With Jason Terry already thriving as a super-sub, Ellis realized quickly that chasing a championship in Dallas mattered more than fighting for touches in Golden State.
The numbers painted the picture clearly. The Mavericks’ payroll had ballooned to $85.41 million, far above the luxury tax line. For comparison, Miami—which everyone thought was their biggest rival—was spending just over $65 million. Depth was where Dallas had the edge.
For the Knicks, who were desperate to put themselves in the title conversation, this was nothing but bad news.
Lin Yi leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He understood Carlisle’s philosophy better than most—Dallas trusted its bench, and the system let role players shine. The only silver lining for New York was that Tyson Chandler was no longer a Maverick. With Chandler gone, replaced by Emeka Okafor, Lin Yi wouldn’t have to battle him in the paint.
Still, the thought nagged at him.
“Man, maybe I’ve started getting ahead of myself,” Lin Yi admitted, rubbing his face.
His Knicks had been so strong these past two months that even he felt his confidence ballooning. The original plan had been simple—this year was about development, about laying the foundation. But the wins kept coming, and with them, so did the creeping thought: Why not us? Why not now?
The roster fit perfectly against both the Heat and the Bulls. If those two teams couldn’t solve New York’s attack by the time the playoffs rolled around, Lin Yi’s dream of reaching the Finals didn’t sound so far-fetched anymore.
…
January 1st, 2011.
New Year’s Day.
The league dropped its December award announcements, and Lin Yi managed to block LeBron and Wade from their latest attempt to share the spotlight. In Lin Yi’s memory, James and Wade had originally tag-teamed their way to Eastern Conference Player of the Month. But after the Knicks defeated Miami again on Christmas Day, the voters couldn’t ignore him.
Lin Yi’s numbers in December were otherworldly: 33.8 points, 14.1 rebounds, 6.1 assists, 2.9 blocks, and 1.4 steals per game. Efficiency? Even scarier—51.1% from the field, 44.2% from three, and over 90% at the line.
The arrival of Chauncey Billups had made Lin Yi’s life easier, but even so, a season-long triple-double average was still out of reach. He wasn’t discouraged, though. That milestone could wait. What mattered more was stacking MVPs—three straight would cement his status alongside the legends.
In the West, his main rival, Kevin Durant, picked up Player of the Month honors. Durant’s lethal scoring was being amplified by Russell Westbrook’s playmaking, as Russ’s assists climbed near double digits per game. The Rookie of the Month was, unsurprisingly, Blake Griffin again.
Not that everyone was happy about it.
“This isn’t fair,” DeMarcus Cousins complained. “Blake had a whole year to sit and train with NBA facilities. He ain’t no rookie like us.”
John Wall, meanwhile, took the Eastern rookie award. It was becoming clear that this draft class had a chip on its shoulder, one that would echo in future debates when Donovan Mitchell, years later, would argue Simmons shouldn’t have been eligible for Rookie of the Year either.
…
Back in New York, Lin Yi returned home to find Tijana and Olson glued to the PS4, controllers in hand, barely acknowledging his arrival. He didn’t take it personally. At least the place was clean—money had a way of making chores get done.
On the business side, BodyArmour—where Lin Yi and Kobe had invested—launched its first big campaign of the year. The commercial was simple but sharp.
Kobe opened with his trademark question: “Have you ever seen four o’clock in the morning in Los Angeles?”
Lin Yi shook his head. “Nope.”
Kobe raised an eyebrow and slid a bottle of BodyArmour across the table. “Then you need some help.”
Cue the training montage—Lin Yi drenched in sweat during early morning drills. Cut back to him sitting beside Kobe.
Kobe asked again: “So, have you seen it now?”
Lin Yi grinned. “Not in L.A. But I’ve seen four in the morning in New York.”
Kobe cracked up, the screen faded, and the ad closed with their tagline.
It was lighthearted, playful, and exactly the kind of thing fans loved. BodyArmour had fired its opening shot, and Gatorade—long the undisputed king—suddenly found itself looking over its shoulder.
For Lin Yi, the plan was simple. Once BodyArmour grew a little bigger, he’d bring Harden and a few others on board. They’d all end up endorsing the brand anyway.
...
On January 2nd, the Knicks’ brutal winter schedule rolled on. Their next stop: Madison Square Garden, against a rebuilding Indiana Pacers team.
The Pacers were in an odd place. Danny Granger, once their cornerstone, was still nursing injuries and not the same player. But while Granger’s decline was painful for Indiana, the silver lining came in the form of a young forward named Paul George. George was showing flashes of stardom that made scouts and fans alike raise their eyebrows.
Lin Yi knew full well that in the coming years, Indiana would grow into one of New York’s fiercest rivals in the East. Tonight, he wanted to make sure the Pacers’ youngsters left the Garden with a memory they wouldn’t forget.
His first target was Roy Hibbert.
By the second quarter, Hibbert was already begging for mercy. Lin Yi hit him with a sharp crossover at the top of the key—one quick dribble, a sudden shift of weight—and Hibbert’s feet tangled beneath him. Down he went, sprawled on the hardwood, while Lin Yi rose and drilled the jumper.
The Garden erupted. A chorus of laughter and mockery rained down on the Pacers’ center. Hibbert, face red, looked like he wanted to call security.
And just when it couldn’t get worse, Shaquille O’Neal checked in.
O’Neal, well past his prime but still a mountain of a man, wasted no time making Hibbert’s night a nightmare. Catching the ball on the block, Shaq backed him down with three thunderous bumps before spinning for a violent, rim-shaking hook.
On the bench, Gallinari couldn’t resist. “Man, Shaq really can’t get off the floor anymore!” he teased, grinning from ear to ear.
The guys around him burst out laughing, but Lin Yi quickly slid a seat away. He’d been around long enough to know that poking fun at Shaq often came with consequences—and he had no interest in being on the receiving end of a Shaq Splash joke later.
Back on the floor, Hibbert tried to regain some dignity. He planted himself deep in the post, determined to back O’Neal down. Instead, he found himself stonewalled by the veteran’s sheer mass. Desperate, Hibbert spun baseline—only to have his shot sent into the stands by Shaq’s massive hand.
“Not in my house!” O’Neal roared, wagging his finger like Mutombo. The referee whistled him for a technical, but the damage was done. The crowd was in stitches. Hibbert looked ready to cry.
By the time halftime rolled around, Hibbert’s confidence was completely shattered.
“Man, I can’t live like this,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
But despite the comedy of Hibbert’s misfortune, Lin Yi wasn’t focused on him like before. His eyes were on Paul George.
The rookie forward was raw, but the athleticism was undeniable. In the third quarter, George rose for a one-handed dunk that seemed to float forever before crashing down through the rim. The Garden gave him a respectful cheer.
Lin Yi nodded appreciatively.
That’s real talent, he thought.
After the game—a comfortable Knicks win that pushed their streak to 13—Lin Yi made sure to speak with George.
“Ever seen Indianapolis at four in the morning?” Lin Yi asked, echoing Kobe’s famous challenge.
George shook his head and laughed. “Tried once or twice. But it was too cold, too quiet. I went back to bed.”
Pat, listening nearby, couldn’t help but laugh. “At least he’s honest.”
Lin Yi clapped George on the shoulder. “Fair enough. But if you want to get there, you’ll have to learn to love those hours.”
George smiled, thrilled. He didn’t realize it yet, but Lin Yi had become a role model for the next wave of stars. After all, how many second-year players could stand toe-to-toe with LeBron and already be in the MVP conversation?
…
Two days later, the Knicks were back on the road, flying west to face the Phoenix Suns.
At home, Tijana and Olson barely looked up from their PS4 as Lin Yi packed his bag. After he called out “I’m leaving!” two times, they finally put down their controllers, wiping fake tears from their eyes.
“Bon voyage!” Tijana said dramatically.
“Safe travels!” Olson added, trying to hold back a grin.
Lin Yi rolled his eyes. “I’m just going on a road trip, not disappearing forever.”
But he couldn’t help laughing.
…
The trip west had one game circled in red: the matchup with Dallas.
Dirk Nowitzki had been almost invisible publicly this season, quiet and understated as always. But Lin Yi knew better. The Mavericks weren’t celebrating prematurely this time. They’d been burned too many times—haunted by collapses, compared to AC Milan in the soccer world for their knack for choking away leads.
This year felt different. They were deeper, tougher, hungrier. He was chasing one thing—the trophy.
And for Lin Yi and the Knicks, that made Dallas a threat that couldn’t be ignored.
