Tony Parker darted forward—it was the final seconds of the shot clock.
He swung the ball to Duncan, who moved into his signature 45-degree angle, calm, almost robotic.
TheStone Buddha rose and banked it in.
2-2.
At Madison Square Garden, the fans held their breath.
Then Lin Yi got the ball, and it was his turn to respond.
One-on-one with Duncan.
The crowd roared as the two locked eyes.
"Yo, this is getting spicy!" Zhang Weiping shouted from the commentary booth. "Come on, Lin Yi—shake him!"
Yu Jia, wiping sweat from his brow, added, "Lin Yi cuts through like a butterfly weaving through flowers… and—he's in! The Spurs didn't even rotate in time!"
2-4
The DJ didn't even wait.
"No. 44! Mr. Showtime himself—"
"LIN-YI!"
"LIN-YI!"
"LIN-YI!"
The Garden shook with the chant. Lin Yi had just gone two for two against Tim Duncan.
And the fans were loving it.
But Lin Yi?
He wasn't soaking in the love.
He knew if this kept up, he'd be cooked by the second half.
Duncan wasn't exactly failing on defense—far from it.
Lin Yi had purposely shown a weakness on that last move, baiting for contact.
But Duncan? He didn't bite. Didn't foul. Didn't even flinch.
That was the truly scary part.
The guy gave you just enough resistance to make you work, but never enough to get whistled.
Duncan wasn't just experienced—he was wise.
On the other end, the Spurs ran their usual—Parker and Richardson in a pick-and-roll.
Lin Yi didn't switch onto Duncan.
Because the moment he did? The Spurs would ditch the screen entirely and just let Duncan go to work one-on-one.
Honestly, it was hard to even call what the Spurs were doing fixed tactics.
They could grind with the Pistons or run with the Suns. Pop didn't care about style points.
He just wanted results.
And that's why they were dangerous.
D'Antoni would learn that years later, switching his Suns-style flow offense to the Rockets' iso-heavy scheme built around Harden and CP3.
The Rockets didn't pass prettily. They just minimized mistakes.
People trashed iso-ball, but it was team basketball—in its own way.
Team play didn't mean you had to get 30 assists a night.
Sometimes it just meant everyone doing their job to help one guy cook.
Now Parker had the ball again.
And this time, he punched the gas.
The media wasn't wrong back then—how far the Spurs could go did depend on how much gas Parker had left in the tank.
And tonight? He had plenty.
Same drive, same finish—but Parker's conversion rate was way higher than, say, Derrick Rose's. The dude averaged 8.9 paint attempts and still hit nearly 8 of them.
Once he got inside?
He usually finished the job himself.
Three-pointers weren't the meta yet.
It wasn't the Warriors era.
Not everyone had a freak lineup of snipers with cheat-code efficiency.
Coach Pop knew the value of the three, but he wasn't going to force it.
If he didn't have Steph or Klay, he wasn't gonna pretend he did.
So Parker slashed in, finished cleanly.
Lin Yi was there, sliding with him, but when you're guarding a top-tier guard like Parker?
Sometimes, even perfect defense doesn't stop the bucket.
4–4. All tied up.
Over on the sideline, D'Antoni started getting that uneasy feeling.
He thought about calling a timeout.
But just then, Lin Yi shot him a glance.
A look.
The kind of look that says, "I got this."
D'Antoni met his eyes, nodded slightly.
He was gonna let Lin Yi finish out the minute.
With 5:38 left in the first quarter, D'Antoni called for a timeout and subbed Lin Yi out.
Lin had already put up 6 points, grabbed 5 boards, and even swatted a shot.
But one stat stood out—zero assists.
Not because he wasn't trying, but because the Spurs weren't giving him that chance. They refused to double-team. Just let Lin Yi go one-on-one.
And right as Lin sat, Duncan was subbed off too.
He finished the quarter with 4 points, 4 rebounds, and a cheeky assist. On paper, Lin Yi had the better stat line.
But Lin knew better.
Duncan didn't care about the numbers. If it meant winning, the guy would score zero and smile while doing it.
On the bench, D'Antoni and his assistants huddled around.
"Lin, what's the read out there?" D'Antoni asked.
They weren't just asking for courtesy—they wanted his honest take to adjust the game plan.
The coaching staff had already spotted the pattern: the Spurs were trying to grind Lin Yi down early.
"We stick with this," Lin said, catching his breath. "First half, I'll take what they give me. If I get the chance, I'll go iso."
"You got enough gas for that?" D'Antoni raised an eyebrow.
Lin Yi grinned. "Coach, don't underestimate how bad I want this. Trust me. We keep this up in the first half, don't let Pop adjust at halftime. That guy's a mastermind—give him a sliver, and he'll counter it before you blink."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"If we're gonna show our cards, we do it late. Not now."
The coaching staff exchanged glances and nodded. Lin Yi had a plan—and he wasn't bluffing.
Popo wanted a show?
Well, Lin Yi was ready to give him one.
Even if he had to wait.
Still, one thing bugged him: Man, still zero assists. That's annoying.
...
Second Quarter
Lin Yi checked back in alongside Harrington, Gallinari, Belinelli, and Lou Williams.
Across the court, the Spurs sent out Duncan, Matt Bonner, Michael Finley, Keith Bogans, and…
Oh boy.
Manu Ginobili.
In Lin Yi's past life, fans back home used to joke:
"Bald players dominate the world."
And Ginobili? The ultimate chaos merchant.
Even at this stage, the guy was hard to stop.
Lin Yi remembered reading a stat on Reddit that if you gave Ginobili the same minutes and shots as Kobe, he'd outscore him.
Was that true? Lin couldn't remember exactly, but that is saying something.
The first quarter had ended 25-27 in favor of the Knicks.
But right at the start of Q2?
Boom.
El Contusione struck.
Ginobili pulled Lin Yi out near the arc, shifted left, then launched a snap-release three with his left hand like he didn't even care.
Splash.
The Spurs took the lead.
Only Ginobili had the guts to play like that under Pop. And Pop? He loved him and hated him for it.
Spurs fans had a saying:
Live by Manu. Die by Manu.
Back on offense, Lin Yi found himself facing Duncan again.
The guy had caught a breather and was back to it—stone-faced, locked in.
Lin Yi didn't bother calling for a screen.
Just dribbled, then suddenly pulled up to his right.
Swish.
28-29, Knicks.
"Answer ball!" Yu Jia nearly jumped out of his seat. "That's Lin Yi's eighth point—he's heating up tonight!"
Zhang Weiping chuckled. "When Lin Yi gets into rhythm, you just let him go. Don't think too hard. Just let him cook."
On the court, the Spurs pushed the pace.
But Pop's eyes narrowed.
Wait… Lin Yi just—
...
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