Dirk Nowitzki had always been one of Lin Yi's idols.
In the 2010-11 season, the league wasn't just arguing about Lin's Knicks versus LeBron's Heat. Another debate ran just as hot: which team was the strongest single-core squad in the NBA—New York's Knicks or Dallas's Mavericks?
In Lin Yi's previous life, before the 2011 Finals tipped off, most casual fans didn't give the Mavericks much of a chance. Impressionistic voices said Nowitzki wasn't the guy, that Dallas couldn't possibly survive a war of attrition.
But when the lights were brightest, the Germinator silenced everyone. His game was proof that toughness doesn't require pounding your chest or stacking All-Star teammates. It's not about yelling how many rings you'll win. Real toughness is getting up again and again after every fall, staying in love with the grind for twenty years straight.
Dirk was a leader who never abandoned his ship, the very definition of iron-willed. He'd been swept in the first round, upset when favored, heartbroken after a Finals collapse—and he just kept coming back. No excuses. Just play. Time itself had tested him, and he endured.
…
March 19, 2011
Madison Square Garden
The Garden pulsed with noise as the Knicks prepared to host the Mavericks. Lin Yi had already written his name into Dallas lore at the All-Star Game, but tonight wasn't about nostalgia. Dallas stood in the way of New York's march to history.
Director Spike Lee prowled the sideline with his camera crew, feeding off the buzz. "This one's got playoff heat," he muttered to his long-time cameraman, who was already framing shots of the raucous crowd. "Feels like June in here, Spike."
Both teams sensed it. The Knicks saw the Mavericks as their measuring stick; Dallas viewed New York as the final boss. Mavericks coach Rick Carlisle kept his pre-game talk calm—his players didn't need speeches. Across the scorer's table, Mike D'Antoni caught Carlisle's eye, a brief nod passing between them. They understood this was a chess match.
The starting five were announced over the roar of nearly twenty thousand fans.
Knicks:
Tyson Chandler
Lin Yi
Danny Green
Lance Stephenson
Chauncey Billups
Mavericks:
Emeka Okafor
Dirk Nowitzki
Shawn Marion
DeShawn Stevenson
Jason Kidd.
Carlisle noticed D'Antoni had tucked defensive ace Tony Allen on the bench, saving him to counter Dallas's second-unit firepower.
Center court. Okafor and Lin Yi squared up for the opening tip. Okafor still remembered the humiliation from last season, when Lin's highlight dunk had gone viral overnight. He inhaled sharply, determined to rewrite that clip.
The ref tossed the ball. Okafor exploded upward—but Lin Yi beat him clean. New York ball.
Dallas set up a tight zone immediately, Marion shadowing Lin Yi. The veteran Matrix crouched low, eyes locked.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Lin Yi dribbled with deliberate rhythm, testing angles, feeling the floor vibrate beneath his shoes. Then—shift. A sudden burst, a shoulder feint, two lightning changes of pace. Marion's balance wavered for just a heartbeat, and Lin slid past, a blur of white and blue.
If Marion were five years younger, the lane might have closed. Tonight, it stayed wide open.
Lin Yi knew exactly what this game demanded: pure scorer's mode. Against Miami, he had to wrestle with Bosh and LeBron's length. Dallas offered no such natural counter.
He rose, body gliding through the air, the Garden swelling to a single roar.
Slam!
The rim rattled as Lin Yi hammered home the first points of a heavyweight showdown.
"Marion's still crafty, but you can see the years catching up with him," Mike Breen said, his voice tinged with respect more than pity. "The Matrix used to be everywhere at once. Father Time really is undefeated."
Mark Jackson nodded slightly, eyes fixed on the floor. "True, but that's the thing about Dallas. They might have a few more miles on the car, yet that experience counts for something. Youth gives the Knicks a spark; the Mavericks have the calm of men who've been through every kind of war. Tonight we'll find out which matters more."
On the court, Dallas wasted no time answering back. Dirk Nowitzki slid up from the elbow to set a solid screen for Jason Kidd. Kidd shook free for a split-second—just enough daylight for most guards to rise and fire. But Kidd, forever the reluctant gunner, hesitated. The ball swung back to the German maestro.
Dirk rose smoothly, almost casually.
Swish!
The net barely moved.
"That release is ridiculous," Mike said, leaning closer to his mic. "High arc, soft touch—the man makes it look like art every single time."
Lin Yi, watching from a few steps away, felt it too.
Score tied, 2–2.
Chauncey Billups brought the ball up, directing traffic with one hand and a glance. As expected, the first option was Lin Yi. The Garden crowd buzzed the moment he caught it.
Marion tightened his stance, bodying up. Lin planted a shoulder, spun hard toward the lane.
Here came the double—Dirk, shading over, ready to trap him near the baseline.
But Lin snapped the ball behind his back and gave the faintest nudge with his left hand. The basketball skipped out like it had eyes, finding Danny Green perfectly stationed at the arc.
Green didn't hesitate.
Splash!
2-5, Knicks.
"Lin Yi's no-look pass," Mike Breen laughed, half incredulous. "That move keeps bailing them out of tight corners."
Mark pointed toward the replay monitor. "And check Okafor's face—pure disbelief. Meanwhile, Green has been rock solid from deep since January. Even when the Knicks hit that rough patch, his field goal percentage was forty. That kind of consistency is priceless."
"From water boy to key rotation sniper," Mike added with a grin. "Not a bad climb for Danny Green."
Dallas, unfazed, settled back in. They stretched the floor, forcing New York's defense to fan out. Kidd and Marion executed a crisp give-and-go, and the veteran Matrix cut hard for a smooth layup.
4–5.
On the Mavericks' sideline, Coach Rick Carlisle folded his arms, thinking.
We can't completely smother Lin. But in the playoffs, nobody puts up superhuman numbers every single night. If we stay steady, keep the ball moving, we can grind them down.
Across the way, Mike D'Antoni crouched by the scorer's table, equally absorbed.
If Danilo and Shaun heal up in time, our depth changes everything. Tonight, we need every spare minute to rest Lin—this game might stretch deep.
The first quarter played out like a careful chess match. The Knicks held a narrow 25–28 lead when the buzzer sounded.
As the second quarter loomed, D'Antoni's mind was on rotations. The Mavericks' bench could swing the game if New York's reserves wavered.
Dirk can't sit too long, he reminded himself. But Lin's edge is stamina. Keep our pace high, buy him the minutes.
He signaled the next unit. O'Neal, Battier, Tony Allen, Lou Williams, and Stephon Marbury jogged to the scorer's table.
Dallas countered with Mahinmi, Cardinal, Corey Brewer, Jason Terry, and Monta Ellis.
"Interesting," Mike Breen murmured. "Ellis coming in early means more breathing room for Kidd. Dallas wants fresh legs when it matters."
Lin Yi, catching his breath on the bench, studied the matchups. Their second unit can really push. We've got to weather this stretch.
Just before play resumed, a giant hand landed gently on Lin's head.
"Relax, young fella," Shaquille O'Neal rumbled, grinning beneath the Garden lights. "Big Diesel's still got a few miles left. Let me handle this run."
Lin chuckled, the tension easing from his shoulders. Shaq's confidence was contagious.
It struck him again what a smart move it had been to bring the veteran center aboard last summer. O'Neal wasn't the unstoppable force of old, but the presence, the leadership, the sheer aura—those didn't show up on a stat sheet.
This is his final ride, Lin thought, watching the big man stride toward the paint. One more season to smash through whatever's in front of him.
Shaq glanced back and gave a little wink. "Time to remind these kids what a real low-post wrecking ball looks like."