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...
"This is weird…"
Popovich squinted at the court, watching Lin Yi voluntarily switch onto Duncan.
He leaned in toward his assistants.
"Why's he doing that?" he muttered.
Pop wasn't worried, not yet. His game plan was running like clockwork. The Spurs were executing, the ball was moving, and Lin Yi was being targeted to wear him down. That was the whole idea.
But…
Why isn't D'Antoni adjusting?
Pop knew Mike wasn't blind. He had to see it. The trap was obvious enough if you were paying attention. Yet D'Antoni just sat there calmly, nodding and letting it ride. That bugged Popovich.
And now Lin Yi is guarding Duncan?
What are they up to?
He scratched his chin, still not getting it. Lin had been guarding Parker most of the first quarter. That switch to Duncan didn't make much tactical sense—not on the surface, anyway.
Yeah, Lin Yi could move laterally well, sure. D'Antoni had even toyed with the idea of playing him as a point forward. But let's be real—nobody likes chasing jitterbugs like Tony Parker around the perimeter.
Why would Lin volunteer to bang in the paint instead?
Was he tired of playing bumper cars with Parker?
Honestly, guarding in the post had to feel like a vacation in comparison.
The Spurs kept pushing the same button in the second quarter—attack Lin Yi, over and over.
Lin had gone to D'Antoni and asked to switch onto Duncan. If they were going to target him, he'd rather be inside battling with The Big Fundamentals than chasing Parker through traffic like it was rush hour in Manhattan.
The crazy thing? The Knicks were still holding a lead. Lin's lateral quickness had been bailing them out.
But Pop couldn't help thinking ahead.
In the future, guys like Kevin Love would get wrecked trying to play this way. And poor Tristan Thompson? After Kardashian left, Curry boxed him out for boards. And that was with Thompson being taller.
Back on the court, Ginobili saw Lin matched up with Duncan and immediately dumped the ball inside.
Oh, you want the smoke?
Manu was happy to oblige.
Duncan leaned into Lin Yi, calm, steady, like a stone pressing into water.
Then—boom—sudden turn to the left.
Nothing flashy. No fancy footwork. But damn effective.
Lin felt Duncan's shoulder brush past.
He scrambled back, recovered fast, but Duncan was already a step ahead. The old vet twisted the other way and, with the most awkward-looking flick imaginable, lobbed the ball up toward the rim.
Whistle.
Swish.
"And one."
"Duncan's still got it," Zhang Weiping chuckled on the broadcast. "Look at that footwork. Nothing fancy, but so smart. Everyone thought he was backing in—then boom, quick spin. Just classic Duncan."
Yu Jia added, "Good thing Lin Yi's not in foul trouble. That's his first. But Duncan's still a headache."
Lin Yi stood under the hoop, staring at Duncan.
He couldn't help but admire the guy.
Simple moves. Great results.
At 33, Duncan wasn't playing huge minutes anymore—just around 31 a game. But the man was still putting up 17.9 points, 10.1 rebounds, 3.2 assists, and 1.5 blocks. That's not just aging well. That's aging dangerously well.
Lin knew the foul was on him—rookie mistake, overcommitted on the second move.
But whatever. Part of the learning curve. This was tuition. Paid in fouls.
Duncan stepped up and calmly knocked down the free throw.
Pop nodded.
Spurs up by 2.
Back on offense, Lin Yi took the ball and went iso. One dribble, step back, high-arching jumper.
Clang.
Missed.
But because Lin had pulled Duncan out of the paint, the Spurs were light on rebounders. David Lee crashed the glass, snagged it, and tipped it in.
31–31. Game tied again.
Pop was still watching, arms folded.
What the hell are these guys doing?
He didn't believe for a second Lin Yi could keep this pace all game. Maybe he'd last through the third quarter, but come the fourth, the legs would be gone. The shots would flatten out. The defense would slow down.
Still—if D'Antoni wasn't adjusting…
"Fine," Pop muttered to himself.
Keep burning him out, then.
...
At halftime, Lin Yi had already logged 18 minutes and racked up an impressive stat line: 21 points, 7 rebounds, and 3 blocks.
Duncan had started pushing harder in the second quarter. After Parker returned, the two ran their classic pick-and-roll sets, and "Stone Buddha" quietly wrapped up the half with 14 points, 7 boards, and 3 assists.
Stat-wise, Lin still had the edge.
But… the Knicks were down by 8: 59-51.
Despite Lin's effort, the offense looked flat. New York had only 7 team assists in the first half—ugly stuff.
And that whole idea of Lin being the ball-handler to run the show? Not clicking the way it should. If not for a few timely plays from the role players, they'd probably be down by double digits.
...
In the locker room, Lin sat down with D'Antoni and Ast. Coach Herb Williams to go over adjustments for the second half.
"Let's stick to that adjustment," Lin said, going over the chalkboard.
"Agreed," Coach Herb nodded. "Spurs are baiting the perimeter. We need to stretch them."
"Just like that then," D'Antoni smiled, patting Lin on the shoulder. "Let's go break this thing open. You're doing great out there."
With the tactical huddle wrapped up, Lin looked around, locked eyes on someone, and headed over.
He plopped down next to Lou Williams, who was mid-sip on a Gatorade.
"Hey, Lou," Lin said casually, leaning back. "You know you're an All-Star in my eyes, right?"
Lou spit slightly and almost choked on his drink. He stared at Lin like he'd just heard an alien speak.
"…What the hell are you on about?" he asked, half-laughing, half-suspicious.
Lin grinned. "No, seriously. You are."
Lou squinted. "You feeling okay, man? You get hit in the head or something?"
"I'm dead serious," Lin said. "Louis, you've got All-Star talent. Your offense, your handles, your shot-making… there aren't many guards in the East who can do what you do."
Lou blinked. For a moment, he wasn't sure if Lin was messing with him or not.
"…You're messing with me."
"I'm not," Lin said. "Think about it. The East isn't stacked right now. You're not starting, yeah, but with your skills? There's no reason you can't break through."
Lou's face started to soften, turning from suspicion to cautious hope.
"You really think that?" he asked.
"I do," Lin said firmly. "The Sixers gave up on you too early. That's on them. I've watched you in practice, I've watched you in games—you've got it. All you need is the stage."
Lou looked down at the floor, then back up at Lin.
"…Damn," he muttered, trying to hide the smile creeping onto his face.
Lin leaned in, more serious now. "We need you in the second half. Popo is trying to trap and isolate me. That opens it up for guys like you. You attack, you score, the whole game shifts. You're the key tonight."
Lou sat up straighter, his expression sharpening. "Say less. I got you."
"Good." Lin stood up and stretched. "Time to flip the script."
As Lin walked away, Lou slapped his chest and yelled out, "Yo! I'm droppin' buckets this half. Bet on it!"
Lin chuckled and took a deep breath.
Time to break this trap, the Old Man's set up.
...
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