The first quarter ended with the Knicks leading the Cavaliers, 28-22.
For a player making his first season start, Lin Yi looked anything but rusty.
He scored 10 points in the opening period, shooting 5-of-6 from the field without attempting a single free throw. Most of his offense came the old-fashioned way, catching the ball deep in the paint and going straight through whoever was standing in front of him.
Anthony Davis learned that lesson firsthand.
To his credit, the second-year big man did a respectable job staying out of foul trouble. Before the trip to New York, Giannis had repeatedly reminded him about one thing.
"Be careful," Giannis had warned. "Back in July, Lin and Harden spent half the summer studying the rulebook. If you get impatient, he'll make you pay for it."
As a result, Davis played more cautiously than usual. Unfortunately, being careful and being effective were two very different things.
On the Cavaliers' side, Carmelo Anthony led the offense with 8 points on 4-of-9 shooting. Giannis attempted only three shots, scoring 4 points while adding 3 rebounds and a block.
Meanwhile, Davis looked ready to throw in the towel. The man who had averaged over 20 points and 10 rebounds through Cleveland's first two games finished the first quarter with just 2 points and 1 rebound.
Reality hit hard.
Putting up numbers against most centers was one thing.
Doing it against Lin Yi was another.
Over the years, countless stars had discovered the same painful truth. When your primary matchup was Lin Yi, your stat line usually suffered and looked shit.
That was what made players like LeBron special because, at the very least, he could trade punches with Lin.
Most players couldn't.
As for Davis, this wasn't really a matchup.
With Lin Yi back at center, the Knicks' spacing looked completely different. Every time Cleveland sent extra help toward the paint, open shooters appeared around the perimeter.
If Danny Green and Klay Thompson hadn't been ice cold in the first quarter, New York might have built a double-digit lead already.
During the break, Lin Yi sat down and stared at Klay.
"Klay."
"Yeah?"
"With shooting like that, you're still planning to ask for a max contract?"
Klay immediately pointed across the bench.
"Why are you looking at me? Danny went one-for-four from three."
Danny Green nearly choked on his water.
"Hold on, why am I getting dragged into this?"
Lin Yi looked at both of them and rubbed his forehead.
Tonight, he had deliberately focused on making the right pass. First game back, set the tone, get everyone involved. Instead, every open shot seemed to hit the rim.
It was unbelievable. When he was absent, these guys looked like All-Stars. The moment he returned, they transformed into bricklayers.
Of course, there was probably a scientific explanation for this phenomenon.
Somewhere, a basketball researcher was surely preparing a paper titled:
The MVP Teammate Effect: Why Elite Players Make Open Shooters Forget How to Shoot.
At least, that was the only explanation Lin Yi could come up with. Fortunately, there was no time to dwell on it. The second quarter was about to begin.
Unlike most stars returning from injury or a long layoff, Lin Yi had no interest in easing himself back into action.
Rest?
Why rest?
His body felt great.
His legs felt fresh.
His energy tank was full.
After finishing his water and slapping both hands together, Lin Yi stood to his feet, performed some stretches, and headed straight back toward the scorer's table.
The Knicks opened the second quarter with Lin Yi, Draymond Green, Chandler Parsons, Marcus Morris, and Vince Carter.
On the opposite sideline, Mike Brown frowned.
Something felt wrong.
He looked at the floor again.
Then at the Knicks bench.
Then back on the floor.
"Wait a second..."
Where was Steve Nash?
Before the game, Brown had spent hours preparing defensive schemes designed to attack Nash. Cleveland's guards had been eager to test the aging veteran whenever he checked into the game.
But Nash wasn't checking into anything. In fact, he was sitting beside Mike D'Antoni discussing tactics like an assistant coach. If someone removed the uniform and handed him a clipboard, nobody would have questioned it.
Over on the Cavaliers' bench, Giannis suddenly sat upright.
His eyes widened.
"Coach," he said, pointing toward the court.
Brown followed his finger.
Then he saw it.
Lin Yi was bringing the ball up.
Giannis immediately recognized what was happening.
"They're using Lin at point guard."
Exactly.
The problem for Cleveland was that Lin Yi wasn't bringing them a gift. He was bringing a nightmare. Over the years, Lin Yi had studied countless offensive players.
The footwork.
The pacing.
The ball control in transition.
The ability to attack before the defense could get organized. He had studied it all.
So when the seven-foot-three giant crossed half court with the ball in his hands and the floor spread around him, a strange feeling swept through Cavaliers fans watching from home.
For a brief moment, they were reminded of someone else. Someone who used to wear their jersey.
A player who used to grab the rebound himself, push the break, and bulldoze through defenses before anyone could get set.
LeBron James.
The memories were impossible to ignore.
But then they looked at the court again.
And they smiled.
LeBron had once been Cleveland's hero.
Now?
The Cavaliers had a future of their own.
On TNT, Charles Barkley pointed toward the screen.
"Oh, look at this. Lin's basically telling everyone, 'Who said I'm only playing center tonight?' The guy just won't stay put."
Kenny Smith laughed.
"That's what makes him special. He's seven-foot and can legitimately function at every position on the floor."
"Exactly," Barkley replied. "Most teams lose an All-Star point guard and a starting center, and they're looking for trades the next day. The Knicks lose Chris Paul and Tyson Chandler, and somehow they just hand the ball to Lin."
Kenny nodded.
"Honestly, Charles, that's always been the most ridiculous part. The size, the skill, the ball handling. We keep saying this, and we will keep saying it until it changes: We've never really seen anything like it."
The two continued praising Lin Yi back and forth. The amount of glaze being used was of giant proportions.
Meanwhile, Shaquille O'Neal sat quietly beside them.
After a long silence, he sighed.
You know what? Kobe wasn't that bad.
The realization shocked even him.
At least Kobe occasionally complimented him before insulting him.
These two weren't even pretending anymore.
. .
Back on the court, Matthew Dellavedova finally got a break. For nearly two straight minutes, the Cavaliers guard had been assigned to pressure Lin Yi full court.
Dellavedova was famous for his relentless defense. The type of player who chased opponents through screens, fought over every pick, and treated every possession like it was Game 7.
Against most guards, it worked.
Against Lin Yi?
It felt like trying to stop a freight train with a folding chair. The effort was admirable, but the result was not.
Mike Brown quickly adjusted and waved Giannis Antetokounmpo onto the floor.
Giannis immediately straightened up.
Part of him was excited.
This was his first opportunity to guard his idol on an NBA court.
Another part of him wasn't nearly as enthusiastic.
The memories from July were still fresh.
Hundreds of one-on-one possessions.
Hundreds of lessons.
Hundreds of reminders that he still had a long way to go.
Giannis knew exactly how difficult this assignment would be.
On the other side, Lin Yi was thinking about something completely different.
Why wasn't Cleveland letting Giannis handle the ball more?
Sure, he was still raw, but the physical tools were obvious.
A seven-footer with some guard skills didn't come around often.
Let him learn now.
He could always move inside full-time later.
Besides, a future frontcourt featuring Giannis and Anthony Davis protecting the paint together?
That sounded like a nightmare for anyone who liked attacking the rim. The thought disappeared as Giannis settled into his stance. The young forward extended one of his impossibly long arms and lunged toward the ball.
Lin Yi calmly pulled it back.
The first quarter had been all power.
This quarter was something different. The crowd immediately recognized it. The magician was back.
Lin Yi rocked the ball between his legs, accelerated, then hit Giannis with a smooth in-and-out dribble.
Squeak! Squeak!
The rubber of Lin's soles made noises as he put on a dance.
The rookie shifted his weight the wrong way for half a second.
That was all it took.
Cleveland's help defense immediately collapsed. Two defenders converged.
Lin Yi fired a no-look pass around his back.
The ball sliced through the defense and arrived precisely at the right elbow before continuing toward the corner.
Madison Square Garden erupted.
Fans rose to their feet before the pass even reached its target.
It was the type of play that made people fall in love with basketball.
Waiting in the corner was Vince Carter.
Wide open.
The veteran caught the ball, squared his shoulders, and released.
For a split second, the arena held its breath.
Then—
Swish.
The three-pointer dropped cleanly through the net.
The crowd exploded.
As the Knicks ran back on defense, Carter grinned and bumped fists with Lin Yi.
For Carter, the moment felt almost surreal. A few weeks ago, after Paul and Chandler went down, he had started wondering whether his championship window had finally closed.
Now?
Basketball suddenly felt simple again.
Get open.
Catch the ball.
Shoot.
Life was good.
And he wasn't the only one thinking it.
Klay Thompson thought it.
Draymond Green thought it.
Half the Knicks roster probably thought it.
When Lin Yi was on the floor, the game became easier for everyone else.
Shots were cleaner.
Rotations were simpler.
Mistakes were easier to survive.
For years, he had quietly carried the weight of the franchise.
Most people knew it. They just didn't like admitting it out loud. Because admitting it meant admitting how absurdly good he really was.
On the bench, Chris Paul adjusted his crutch and watched another Knicks possession unfold.
Then he shook his head and laughed.
"You know what's annoying?" he said.
Tyson Chandler glanced over.
Paul pointed toward the court.
"We can replace almost anybody."
He paused.
"Except him."
Tyson looked at Lin Yi, bringing the ball up again, and nodded.
There wasn't much else to say.
Dynasties weren't built around systems. They were built around players who changed everything the moment they stepped onto the floor. For the Knicks, that player was Lin Yi.
High above the court, James Dolan leaned back comfortably in his seat. The anxiety that had followed the injuries was already fading away. Maybe he really could go back to enjoying his vacation.
After all, as long as No. 44 was healthy, New York's championship window remained wide open.
. . .
. .
.
By the final buzzer, the scoreboard read 117-98.
The defending champions had given the young Cavaliers a lesson.
A two-game winning streak was nice.
Thinking you could walk into Madison Square Garden and challenge the kings of the East was something else entirely. The Cavaliers had learned the difference the hard way.
After the game, Lin Yi looked at the stat sheet and nodded in satisfaction.
Thirty-eight minutes played.
36 points.
14 rebounds.
11 assists.
4 blocks.
2 steals.
14-of-20 shooting from the field.
4-of-6 from three.
4-of-4 from the free-throw line.
In other words, a completely ordinary Lin Yi performance.
The kind of stat line that would dominate headlines for anyone else, and somehow felt routine when his name was attached to it. As he headed back toward the locker room, one particular number caught his attention.
Four blocks.
Yeah, Lin Yi thought with satisfaction. Playing center really is the best for blocks.
There was something therapeutic about just standing in the paint and sending shots back where they came from.
Meanwhile, Anthony Davis looked like a man who had just experienced an existential crisis. The second-year star finished with only 4 points and 6 rebounds.
The numbers were so rough that it almost felt like he had traveled back to the old times of touching the ball for the first time. As he sat in the locker room afterward, Davis stared at his reflection and came to a simple conclusion.
He needed more weight.
A lot more weight.
"I'm starting tomorrow," he muttered.
"I'm eating everything."
Giannis Antetokounmpo, meanwhile, continued his steady development.
The rookie finished with 14 points, 8 rebounds, and 4 assists.
His offensive game was still raw, but his physical gifts were impossible to ignore. At this stage, most of his scoring came from transition opportunities, cuts, and sheer athleticism.
Every possession felt a little chaotic.
Every possession felt dangerous.
The potential was obvious.
As for Carmelo Anthony, he led Cleveland in scoring with 22 points and 7 rebounds.
The box score looked respectable.
The result did not.
Still, Melo wasn't particularly upset.
As he exchanged handshakes after the game, he shrugged and smiled.
"Relax," he told his teammates. "They're the defending champs for a reason."
There was no shame in losing to New York.
Especially not when No. 44 was healthy.
The most alarming part for the rest of the league wasn't that the Knicks had won. It was how quickly everything looked normal again.
For weeks, analysts had debated whether injuries to Chris Paul and Tyson Chandler would derail New York's season.
One game later, that discussion already felt outdated.
The Knicks had looked comfortable.
The offense had flowed.
The defense had remained elite.
And the centerpiece of it all had returned as if he had never left.
As reporters filed out of Madison Square Garden, a familiar thought spread through media circles, front offices, and fan bases around the league:
The Knicks are still the team to beat.
. . .
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