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Chapter 308: Popping The Champagne Into 2011
🕑 Added 2025-08-20 13:19:57 +0000 UTCOn December 27th, reality hit again. The Knicks tipped off a brutal stretch: nine games in fourteen days. That’s three back-to-backs tucked inside a schedule already loaded with Western heavyweights. Fans called it the Devil’s Road. Coaches called it a fitness test. Players just called it misery.
The first hurdle came against the Bulls. At tip-off, the two sides were separated by just a game and a half in the standings. The Eastern Conference was a pressure cooker, and every win mattered.
Lin Yi went into that matchup with quiet confidence. His teammates have stepped up. They weren’t just filling roles; they were proving they could stand on their own.
Coach D’Antoni, too, had evolved. The man once accused of stubbornly ignoring defense and running players into the ground had learned to lean into rotation. Last year’s near-upset of the Celtics had forced him to embrace it, and now his system looked sharper, more balanced. Lin Yi could offer ideas and suggestions, but he respected that the tactical foundation was D’Antoni’s alone.
Against Chicago, the Knicks’ structure showed. Derrick Rose came at them in full bloom. His speed was terrifying — twice he blew through the Knicks’ defense coast-to-coast, finishing with highlight dunks that lit up the arena. The crowd roared, social media buzzed, and ESPN was already editing the Top 10.
But New York didn’t flinch. The combination of Lin Yi and Chandler racked up just three fouls combined all game. They walled off the paint, forced Rose into mid-range pull-ups, and slowly squeezed the Bulls’ rhythm.
Coach Thibodeau, true to his reputation, rode his starters hard. By late in the third quarter, Chicago’s legs were gone. Rose finished with 29 points, 7 boards, and 3 assists — numbers that sounded impressive, but Lin Yi knew the truth. For all that attacking, he thought, he should’ve earned ten-plus free throws easy.
By the end, New York had pulled away. The MVP race, meanwhile, was heating up. Lin Yi topped the latest rankings, with Durant, LeBron, and Wade following, and Rose sitting in fifth place. Knicks fans were ecstatic. Rose fans, mercifully, were more good-natured than most.
He’s too stubborn, too reckless with his body, Lin Yi thought. Maybe it changes his destiny if he eases off a little.
He compared it to LeBron’s three-point shot. People mocked it at first, but with steady work, it became a real weapon. Sometimes, patience and humility mattered more than raw explosiveness.
…
Life off the court was just as noisy. Since Tijana had arrived in New York, Olson had practically moved into Lin Yi’s villa, too. The two women had endless topics to share and dreams to chase. For Lin Yi, however, it quickly became a problem.
“Lin, seriously,” Tijana groaned one morning, “can you not wake up at four to train? Some of us like sleeping like normal people.”
Olson nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Yi. You’re killing the vibe.”
Lin Yi raised his hands, mock-offended. “Hey, come on. You’ve never even seen New York at four in the morning. It’s beautiful!”
The response was two unimpressed stares. Even Sakazuki, the dog, barked as if telling him to shut the door on his way out.
“This is my house!” Lin Yi muttered under his breath, dragging his bag toward the door. “I can’t live like this anymore…”
So, half in protest, half in desperation, he went to Orlando with fire in his veins.
On the 28th, against the Magic, Lin Yi erupted. In the second quarter alone, he drained three absurd, logo-range threes. Magic coach Stan Van Gundy threw up his hands on the sideline, turning to his staff with an expression that said, What do you even want me to do about this?
Lin Yi was locked in, glowing like a video game character in perfect sync. If this game had been in New York, the Garden might have collapsed from the noise.
On the Knicks’ bench, Shaquille O’Neal shook his head in disbelief.
“Man… that’s just scary,” he muttered.
The Magic had no answer. Howard was the only one capable of standing up to Lin Yi, but foul trouble limited him to just 20 minutes. He sat glumly on the bench, watching Lin Yi pile up points, knowing the All-Star vote gap between him and O’Neal was only getting wider. Orlando fans simply couldn’t outvote the Shaq loyalists worldwide.
Howard was frustrated, too, by the perception game. He knew he hadn’t gone head-to-head with Lin Yi all night, but tomorrow’s headlines would lump them together anyway. “It’s like I’m taking the blame just for sitting here,” he thought bitterly.
By the final buzzer, it was a massacre: Knicks 121, Magic 83.
Lin Yi finished with 44 points on 17-for-24 shooting, plus 14 rebounds, 5 assists, and 2 blocks. The Amway Arena crowd even gave him scattered “MVP” chants during free throws — salt in Howard’s wounds.
Howard’s line read like that of a role player: 5 points, 9 boards, 2 blocks. Solid, but forgettable.
With that, New York had stacked another win on their streak. Ten in a row now, unstoppable momentum.
...
On December 30th, the Knicks touched down in icy Minnesota. The cold was biting, the kind that makes even seasoned pros mutter under their breath, but the Knicks walked out of Target Center with yet another win.
It wasn’t pretty. The offense sputtered, shots rimmed out, and possessions felt ragged. But at the decisive moment, their rookie, Lance Stephenson, suddenly lit the fire. Eight straight points. Hard drives, tough finishes, and a jumper that froze the crowd. On the other side, Minnesota’s young guard Ricky Evans wilted under the pressure, coughing up three turnovers in a row.
Veterans like O’Neal and Billups knew right then what it meant. The Knicks had entered that rarest of zones — the “don’t know how to lose” rhythm.
It’s a strange thing about the NBA. The gap between teams isn’t as wide as fans like to think. Upsets happen all the time. But when a strong team catches fire, when the wins start snowballing, they almost forget how to lose. Confidence turns into inevitability, and inevitability becomes streaks that bend an entire season.
This year’s Knicks were living proof.
Lin Yi noticed the change too. Except for himself, no one had guaranteed minutes. D’Antoni played whoever was hot, and that created a competitive but positive locker room. Guys stayed sharp, hungry, and bought in. It reminded some of the Warriors’ bench years later — everyone assumed Golden State’s second unit was stacked, which was partly true, but belief and opportunity made those role players dangerous.
And New York was using it.
Take their last game against Orlando. Even their bruiser, a guy who usually didn’t ask for the ball, had the guts to go straight at Dwight Howard in the post. D’Antoni’s system was simple but liberating: if you see a shot, you take it. That freedom was turning role players into real contributors.
Reporters laughed when D’Antoni quipped after the game:
“Honestly? The only people who can stop Lin Yi from scoring… are his teammates.”
The line made headlines, of course. But Lin Yi himself was quick to give credit back.
“Come on, you saw it. There’s no way I’m scoring in every fourth quarter. These guys step in when I don’t. That’s why we’re winning.”
The conversation sparked a fun debate among fans. Years later, Steph Curry’s unanimous MVP season would fuel similar talk: “If he played fourth quarters, what would his averages look like?” Many fans insisted Curry’s lower fourth-quarter totals were because he didn’t need to play them. It was the same with Lin Yi now. Dominance so complete that games were over before the final buzzer.
Even Charles Oakley, who’d made a habit of criticizing Lin Yi’s game last season, had gone quiet. The Knicks were leading the league, riding an 11-game winning streak with eyes on franchise history. After Dolan had banned Oakley from Madison Square Garden, the old forward seemed to realize — crossing Lin Yi now was crossing all of New York.
…
December 31st, Denver. The second night of a back-to-back, altitude fatigue, travel legs — all the excuses were there. But none of them mattered. The Knicks rolled over the Nuggets.
When a team shrugs off insomnia, back-to-back travel, and thin air, it usually means one of two things: either the opponent is too weak, or you’re too strong. In Denver that night, it was a bit of both.
Carmelo Anthony had slipped into full hero mode since Billups left. His shot attempts were sky-high, averaging nearly 28 per game. Against New York, he came out firing. Jumper after jumper. Step-backs, pull-ups, contested fadeaways — and for a while, they dropped. He finished with 39 points on 15-of-30 shooting, including 5 threes and four free throws.
On paper, it looked like a duel. But anyone watching knew the difference. Melo’s buckets were isolations, self-contained sparks. They didn’t ignite the team.
Lin Yi’s line was quieter but sharper: 32 points on just 16 shots, 13 rebounds, 8 assists, 2 blocks. Efficiency everywhere. Teammates eat because of his gravity. The Knicks’ offense was flowing.
By the final buzzer, the Nuggets had collapsed, losing by 26. George Karl, watching from home while recovering from treatment, nearly exploded. Anthony had scored, yes, but the team was unrecognizable — the ball stuck, the defense broke, and the Knicks punished every weakness.
Belinelli, now a Nugget, barely touched the ball in his 21 minutes. Beverley didn’t even make the active roster. Meanwhile, J.R. Smith launched 21 shots by himself, as if daring Karl to bench him from wherever he was.
On the Knicks’ charter flight back to New York, champagne bottles were quietly popped as midnight struck. They had rung out 2010 with a 12-game winning streak, and rung in 2011 sitting atop the league.
