After Game 2, when the Mavericks tied the Finals at 1–1, Knicks fans couldn't lie to themselves—they were nervous.
Memories of the Ewing era still lingered like a scar, and no one in New York wanted to see history repeat itself. The city tried to ease the pressure in any way it could: pep talks, banners, even superstition. But when the team boarded their flight to Dallas, the mood among fans was heavy, almost funereal—like heroes marching off with no guarantee they'd return.
Then came Games 3 and 4. Two straight wins on the road. Suddenly, the tone flipped. From fear to belief. Knicks fans started whispering—and then shouting—that maybe, just maybe, this was finally the year a banner would be raised again in Madison Square Garden.
Because history says it all: no team in NBA Finals history has ever blown a 3–1 lead.
For New Yorkers who had waited since 1973, this wasn't just basketball. The last time the Knicks were champions, the fans who cheered Clyde Frazier and Willis Reed are now gray-haired, telling stories to their grandkids about nights at the Garden.
And now, Lin Yi had given them new memories to pass down.
In Game 4, he delivered yet another triple-double: 35 points, 14 rebounds, 11 assists. But the stat line wasn't what reporters wanted to talk about afterward. Everyone wanted to know about the shot—the cold-blooded three in the final minutes, the one that silenced the arena and cut through the Mavericks' spirit like a scythe.
"What was going through your head as you rose for that one?" a reporter asked.
Lin Yi smiled, calm, almost shy. "Kobe once said, in moments like that—if you make it, fantastic. If you miss, you live with it. No regrets."
The room chuckled. Everyone knew Lin Yi wore the Kobe fan tag proudly.
Another question followed: "This series has clearly taken more out of you physically than any before. You've pushed yourself to the limit. How are you doing it?"
Lin Yi nodded. His voice softened but carried weight. "If making history was easy, no one would chase it."
Because he knew better than anyone: physical pain in training fades. Losing, though? That pain sits in your chest.
Meanwhile, the Dallas press turned its fire on Monta Ellis. His late missed layup and costly turnover had stalled their comeback, and by the morning headlines, he was painted as the villain. Ellis himself looked gutted—like even breathing was a mistake.
Carlisle, though, wasn't having it. He shouldered the loss himself in the postgame. He'd known the risks of leaning on Ellis, the good and the bad. Yes, they were down 3–1, but he reminded everyone: the series wasn't over yet.
Still, the Knicks had their match point. The Larry O'Brien Trophy was already shipped to Dallas, tucked away in a back room. If New York closed it out in Game 5, it would be theirs—the first time in 38 years.
Behind the scenes, Adam Silver reportedly nudged David Stern, half-joking, half-serious:
We should stretch this to seven. Make the whistle more favourable and milk it."
Stern waved it off. He knew better.
On paper, this Finals looked even—55 to 50, Knicks to Mavericks. New York's Death Five lineup had cracked the stalemate, but if the league leaned too heavily into drama, who knew? Dallas could be the first team in history to claw back from 1–3.
But Stern wasn't chasing dollars this time. He saw what was at stake. If Lin Yi finished the job, his reputation and place in history would rocket to a level the league itself might struggle to measure. If Dirk pulled off the comeback, he'd etch himself into immortality, too.
Either way, the storyline was already bigger than money.
The truth was, Stern didn't care about chivalry—but this time, he chose not to interfere.
And as talk of a looming lockout simmered, Stern allowed himself a private smile. Because at least for now, people were talking less about Jordan in these two years. For once, the conversation had moved forward.
...
Game 5 of the Finals was set for June 9th. Knicks fans, though secretly hoping to see a trophy lift at Madison Square Garden, kept chanting the same line online: "Don't come back—finish it in Dallas!"
Fans can be funny like that. To them, it didn't matter where the champagne was popped. As long as the trophy came home, the parade would take care of the rest.
On June 8th, both the Knicks and Mavericks were locked in last-minute preparations. That night, Lin Yi's phone buzzed with a call from Kobe Bryant.
"Lin, remember this— 'Someone has to win. Why can't it be me?'" Kobe said, his voice firm but calm.
Classic Kobe. Always dropping lines like a poet of the hardwood.
Truth be told, after being knocked out by Dallas himself, Kobe wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of Dirk lifting that long-awaited ring. Still, watching Lin fight reminded him of the hunger it took to get there. In his own complicated way, he wanted Lin to succeed.
For more than an hour, Kobe walked Lin through the little things—angles on defense, how to punish mismatches, the importance of wearing opponents down possession by possession. By the time Lin hung up, he felt this was the longest time with Kobe on the phone.
"You were on the phone with Kobe that long?" Shaq asked, raising his eyebrows.
Lin Yi nodded.
Shaq's grin soured almost instantly. In his head, he was already plotting:
Fine. When I retire, I'll become a commentator and roast this kid every chance I get.
What Shaq didn't know was that one day, TNT's coverage would be so centered around Lin that fans would jokingly call it LinTV—and Shaq would be one of the main culprits.
By this stage of the Finals, Coach D'Antoni didn't have much more to say. After a light training session, the players waited for some grand, fiery speech. Instead, D'Antoni said, "Get some rest."
Lin chuckled to himself. Maybe this is why the Suns always ran out of gas in the clutch. But he knew better than to take it seriously.
…
By the morning of June 9th, all eyes were on the American Airlines Center. Game 5 had turned into the only topic that mattered in basketball circles.
Rick Carlisle shuffled his deck, sliding DeShawn Stevenson into the starting lineup while Monta Ellis went back to the bench. Dallas was desperate. No one had ever climbed out of a 3–1 hole in the Finals—but someone had to be the first, right?
Meanwhile, Knicks fans were whispering their own prayers: Don't come back. End it here. Bring the trophy home tonight.
"If the Knicks win this game," Yu Jia's voice rang through the CCTV broadcast, hoarse but steady, "they'll end a 38-year wait for the championship. And Lin Yi could make history—potentially becoming the first active player since Michael Jordan to appear in the All-Star Game and All-NBA team in the same year, and sweep the All-Star MVP, regular season MVP, and Finals MVP honors."
Records always had that one old rogue waiting to defend them. But Dallas wasn't ready to watch Lin Yi rewrite history just yet.
Game 5 was about to tip off.
...
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