It was easy for Mavericks fans to pin the blame— "Ellis, it's on you."
When Tony Allen flung the ball skyward and the buzzer sounded, every ounce of frustration in Dallas spilled out.
Nowitzki stood with his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling heavily. The veteran had emptied the tank in this Finals run.
And yet, when the dust settled, the Germinator, who averaged 32.8 points, 8.6 rebounds, 3.4 assists, and a block per game, wore the calm expression of a man who'd been through it all before.
Would this setback crush him?
Not a chance.
His numbers told the story: 52% from the field, 47% from deep, 95% from the line. A model of efficiency, a proud member of the 180 Club who'd lived up to its name in the brightest spotlight.
"Congratulations." He said to Lin.
He lingered by the Mavericks' bench, watching Lin Yi hugging teammates, O'Neal and Billups popping champagne, Marbury shouting like a man reborn.
There would be time to rebuild. There always is.
"Tony, you're unbelievable!"
"Tony, I love you, man!"
"You're our Havlicek!"
Allen was mobbed by his teammates. For once, the Knicks could let go and celebrate without hesitation. Dallas wasn't Istanbul in UCL 2005, but the impossible had happened: New York had taken three straight in Dallas.
Allen averaged just 3.9 points this series. Tonight, he finished with 2 points, a rebound, and a steal. But that steal—without it, who knows how this game ends?
The Mavericks had cracked the code in Game 5, using rotations and teamwork to neutralize New York's Death Five. But it wasn't enough. Lin Yi knew it too: three years, ten million—he owed Danny Ainge thanks for sending Tony Allen his way.
"New York, baby!" The chants rang out.
Lin Yi soaked it all in. Nobody could guess how much sweat and thought he had poured into this. Tonight, it was worth every drop.
Still, his joy wasn't as wild as O'Neal's or Marbury's. For Marbury, the moment was deeply personal—his city, his story. Whatever came next, he would always be that kid from New York, now crowned a champion in his hometown.
On the sidelines, D'Antoni exhaled, finally free from the weight of doubt. The word echoed in his mind: championship, championship.
He remembered the heartbreak with Phoenix, year after year falling to the Spurs. The collapse, the despair. And now? He understood what drove Popovich to sacrifice everything for a title. Sometimes you have to lose it all before you cherish it more.
Gallinari and Lou Williams clinked bottles of champagne, while Green leapt onto Lin Yi's back.
"Danny, better back up the truck, big money's coming!" Lin Yi teased.
Green laughed; his quieter nature completely cast aside. Even before the All-Star break, he'd told his agent—if the Knicks' offer was fair, he was staying.
Nearby, Pat Ewing Jnr grabbed his phone. "Dad, we did it! I'm a champion!"
Livingston hugged his teammates, then bent down and tapped his knees, as if asking them:
"Are we still good?"
The answer, tonight, was yes.
Shaq danced across the locker room. "Lin, Dallas really is your lucky city!"
Lin Yi grinned, but said nothing. He'd seen the look in the eyes of Dallas fans—empty, heartbroken.
One team rises, another falls. That's the cruelty of the game.
There can only be one champion.
And though winning it at home would have been sweeter, tonight in Dallas, the Knicks claimed the throne.
...
Lin Yi won the Finals MVP—without the slightest bit of suspense.
Across the series, he averaged 36 points, 13.6 rebounds, 8 assists, 2.4 blocks, and a steal a night. On top of that, he shot 50% from the field, 44% from three, and didn't miss a single free throw.
"Let's congratulate Lin Yi!" Yu Jia's voice carried through living rooms and classrooms all across China. "He's now the first active NBA player since Michael Jordan to sweep the All-Star Game MVP, Regular Season MVP, and Finals MVP in one season—while also being named to both the All-NBA First Team and the All-Defensive First Team!"
For Chinese fans, it was a moment of pure pride. Three MVPs, two First Team honors—all in one year.
On stage, Lin Yi accepted the Finals MVP trophy from the legendary Bill Russell, as Commissioner David Stern looked on with a wide smile. Lin gave Stern a small, respectful nod, as if to say: Relax, I won't go off-script.
And he didn't—though his words felt oddly familiar.
Reporters whispered, wasn't this almost the same speech as his regular season MVP? Just a shortened version?
Lin kept his speech brief. Behind him, O'Neal and the rest of the Knicks were impatient to hoist the O'Brien trophy.
For Shaq, this was ring number five, and the big man couldn't hide his grin. He was already thinking about calling Kobe, just to stop hearing about Kobe's five titles every other conversation.
But when the trophy came out, it wasn't Shaq or Lin or Billups who lifted it first—it was Marbury.
That had been decided before the Finals began. No matter what, the first pair of hands on the O'Brien would be Stephon Marbury's.
In Madison Square Garden, when fans saw their hometown kid raise the championship trophy, every old grudge, every bitter memory melted away.
"Congratulations once again to the New York Knicks!" the announcer boomed.
"They are the 2010–2011 NBA Champions!"
In the stands, Dallas fans could only watch in envy. Raising that banner was as hard as it looked.
Afterward, the media swarmed the floor. As always, Lin Yi drew the biggest crowd.
Wu Xiaolei, who had covered Lin since his NCAA days, finally managed to squeeze to the front.
"Lin Yi," she asked with a smile, "can you tell us how you feel right now?"
Lin, carrying the NBA and Finals' MVP trophy, paused for two seconds, then answered simply: "Very happy."
Reporters leaned in, waiting for more. Nothing came. That was it.
On the other side of the world, Zhang Xiaowei pounded his chest in front of the TV. "That's my Lin! Haha!"
Lin fans across the globe flooded the internet, celebrating like one massive family.
Lin himself kept a modest front, at least outwardly. He knew better than to be too brash—especially now, with the Anti-Lin Alliance already sharpening their knives. He was thrilled, but also composed.
Deep down, he knew: one title wasn't enough. Not for someone aiming to be the greatest in history. Winning was addictive.
As one suspicious Kobe quote on Weibo once said, "Friends come and go, but a championship banner hangs forever, swaying in the rafters."
For Lin Yi, this wasn't the end. This was only the beginning of the next chapter.
...
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