February 25th,2012
All-Star Weekend, Amway Center, Orlando.
Lin Yi wasn't in any individual events this year, so for once, he could sit back and just enjoy the show. After two years of being part of the entertainment, it felt kind of nice to be a spectator.
At least, that was the plan—until a giant hand suddenly landed on his head.
Big Yao grinned as he took the seat beside him, rubbing Lin Yi's head like he was polishing a trophy. He didn't stop for a solid thirty seconds.
Lin Yi: "…"
Big Yao: awkward smile.jpg.
Lin Yi looked toward the ceiling, speechless. He'd been relieved that Duncan wasn't playing this year, thinking he'd finally escaped the annual rub Lin's head tradition. But apparently, fate had other plans.
They were relentless. Every player who stopped to greet him just had to mess up his hair.
Gallinari was the worst offender.
"Lin, you could actually make money off this," Gallo said with a smirk.
"Huh?"
"Here—take a hundred."
He gave Lin's head a quick pat, tossed a $100 bill on the floor, and strolled off.
Lin Yi: "…"
So this is what despair feels like.
What Lin didn't realize was that on the other side of the court, Durant was watching all this, feeling a little left out.
Why doesn't anyone say hi? He thought gloomily.
To be fair, he wasn't exactly blending in tonight. At Westbrook's brilliant suggestion, Durant had shown up in a bright pink suit. During his camera close-up, he even struck two poses—confidently, perhaps too confidently.
"I finally get why his popularity can't touch yours," Paul said, walking back after tossing his own bag in the trash.
Lin Yi raised a brow. "Yeah?"
Paul patted his chest. "Being shabby isn't a crime, but being shabby and dressing to offend everyone? That's a talent."
Good thing Durant was sitting far away. Otherwise, Paul's comment might've turned the All-Star Game into the All-Star Fight Night.
This year's All-Star Game wasn't quite as thrilling as the Dallas or L.A. editions, and the locals were feeling it—especially those who'd hoped to make a small fortune off the weekend hype.
As the cameras kept cutting to Lin Yi in the stands, fans started joking online that Lin's not participating in the competitions caused it not to be thrilling.
And the reason was the Lockout.
If there hadn't been a lockout, Lin wouldn't have skipped the Dunk Contest, and viewership wouldn't have dipped.
But honestly, few felt sorry for Orlando. This was the same city whose media had spent months bashing Dwight Howard—so much that fans nearly voted him out of his own hometown All-Star Game.
Many fans said, "Why hold back with someone like Howard?" He had the body of a beast but the mindset of a clown.
Meanwhile, LeBron—say what you want—never blamed coaches or teammates. When he joined Wade and Bosh, that wasn't forming a super team. That was brotherhood basketball.
And when he went back to Cleveland? That wasn't chasing assets. That was hometown basketball.
Sure, Kyrie left later… but details, details.
The point is, many thought Howard deserved the criticism.
Sadly, even scolding him couldn't wake him up from his happy-go-lucky beast phase. He wasn't just behind Shaq in skill—he lacked the hunger, too.
The first event of the night was the Shooting Stars Challenge.
This year, Yao represented the Texas team, and he absolutely nailed it—sinking two half-court shots in both rounds. Lin Yi cheered as Big Yao smiled, hoisting the trophy like a giant kid.
"That was awesome!" Lin Yi said, giving him a thumbs-up.
"Amazing? Please," Yao chuckled. "It's just an exhibition."
Lin Yi clicked his tongue. "Fine, enjoy your humility, champ."
Next up was the Skills Challenge.
Lin Yi, last year's winner, wasn't competing—but his clone, DeMarcus Cousins, was. The big guy had gone around bragging to the guards beforehand that big men could handle skills, too.
That… didn't age well.
Cousins fumbled in the prelims, failed to advance, and looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. Meanwhile, Tony Parker quietly slipped through and won the whole thing with composure and precision.
Watching from the sidelines, Lin Yi buried his face in his hands.
Kenny Smith laughed from the commentary table.
"Lin's probably thinking: 'DeMarcus, are you a contestant or a comedian?'"
Cousins sulked, but Lin Yi knew it wasn't all bad—his fundamentals were solid. He just needed more composure. That's what separated Parker from the younger guys like Kyrie Irving. When Kyrie made a mistake, he panicked. Parker just adjusted and finished strong.
The night's highlight was the Three-Point Contest. Durant—now suitless—battled Kevin Love in a tense showdown.
Both tied with 16 points in the final, forcing a tiebreaker. Love hit clutch after clutch to take the title, earning high praise from analysts.
This version of Love was a beast: 20 points, 15 rebounds, 3 assists per game—Garnett-like numbers with a modern twist.
Then came the Dunk Contest… and let's just say, it was painful.
Barkley sighed into the mic, "Man, this is rough. Forget perfect scores—forty would be generous tonight."
Lin Yi, watching from his seat, was secretly pleased.
The worse the dunks, the more people would miss him.
After all, Carter's 2000 performance still lived rent-free in fans' memories. Lin Yi knew what he was doing—build the legend, let the nostalgia do the rest.
So when Jeremy Evans from Utah lifted the trophy to a chorus of muted applause mixed with boos, Lin Yi quietly stood up and slipped out of the arena.
He had an appointment with ESPN's Insider.
Time to share his thoughts on what he just saw.
...
Even before the 2012 All-Star Game tipped off in Orlando, the weekend was already taking heat online.
Fans were fuming — especially about the Slam Dunk Contest. Many locals said they showed up to the Amway Center buzzing with excitement, only to sit through one of the weakest dunk shows they'd ever seen.
Lin Yi wasn't surprised. He knew this stretch of All-Star history was infamous for its disappointing dunk contests. The NBA had tried tweaking the format, changing the judging, even adding gimmicks — but nothing worked. It wouldn't be until a certain Zach LaVine showed up in the future that the event would truly catch fire again.
Right now, though, Commissioner David Stern was practically pulling his hair out. He knew most fans came for the Dunk Contest.
But what could he do? Lin Yi had saved the show two years in a row — you couldn't expect him to carry it forever.
Poor Jeremy Evans. The Jazz rookie had barely lifted the trophy before the entire arena was chanting "Refund! Refund!" His big moment turned into a nightmare, all because Lin Yi's legendary performances in past years had set the bar absurdly high.
...
"Lin, what do you think about the fans booing Evans after the dunk contest?" asked ESPN's Tom, who was already waiting for him in the parking lot. Lin Yi climbed into Tom's tiny Beetle, folding his tall frame awkwardly, and chuckled.
"I think people are being too harsh. Honestly, Evans did fine," Lin said. "The 2012 contest just… wasn't great overall. He wasn't bad; the others were just worse."
Tom smiled. "A lot of people think the drop in All-Star attention this year has to do with you not competing. Any thoughts on that?"
"Huh? I'm not that powerful," Lin replied, grinning. "Fans don't all show up just to see me, right? I think there are plenty of reasons. But if fans really want me back in the dunk contest… well, I'll seriously think about it."
Lin didn't mind taking the blame. In fact, he kind of liked it.
If ratings drop because I didn't show up, he thought, then maybe that just proves I'm doing something right.
Sure, the lockout had hurt viewership more than anything else, but Lin didn't mind carrying the league's fall guy tag. After all, if someone had to be blamed, why not him?
Tom raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying you'd actually come back for it?"
"Serious — more real than a heart attack," Lin said with a grin. He really was considering it. Most of his best ideas had already been used, but he still had a few streetball tricks left in the bag. And, honestly, judging from recent competitions, he didn't see anyone capable of matching him anyway.
Lin knew how powerful the dunk contest could be. His meteoric rise in popularity these past two years had a lot to do with those nights in Dallas and Los Angeles.
Put simply: dunk contests make stars. Vince Carter proved it in 2000 — that single performance made him immortal. Even years later, people still talked about it. And Lin wanted that same kind of legacy.
This was a shortened season, and he'd been pacing himself. But if he managed to repeat as MVP this year, a third straight MVP next season would be history-making. Only Bill Russell, Chamberlain, and Larry Legend himself, Bird, had ever done it in his past life.
If Lin wanted to be considered one of the greatest ever, his résumé had to be outrageous. Three straight MVPs would defy expectations.
He knew the politics behind it, too. The league couldn't just hand him another MVP without backlash. If he really went three-for-three, it would crown him as one of the top five players in NBA history, maybe higher. That was a lot for the NBA to sign off on.
But Lin had never been afraid of a challenge. In fact, he thrived on it.
If the NBA is a movie, he thought, I don't just want to act in it — I want to direct it.
For him, greatness wasn't about waiting for history to be written — it was about writing it himself.
...
As soon as the All-Star events wrapped up on the 25th, and the internet began roasting the weekend, ESPN dropped a bomb: Lin Yi was seriously considering returning to the Slam Dunk Contest next year.
The story blew up instantly.
David Stern, who had been mentally drained all weekend, suddenly felt alive again.
"Get me up," he said to his staff. "I've got ten more years in me!"
To him, Lin Yi wasn't just a superstar — he was a godsend. The Dallas All-Star weekend had been a global spectacle. Los Angeles broke records. And now, just one hint from Lin, and suddenly, fans were hyped again. Stern knew the truth: attention equals money.
The Knicks' championship the previous year had already made them the most valuable franchise in North America — proof of what star power could do. Stern smiled. Basketball was king again.
Within hours, Lin Yi's Twitter exploded. Traffic didn't just spike — it multiplied. Fans flooded his mentions, begging him to confirm. It was like a million-person petition in real time.
Lin, of course, stayed calm. He'd said he was considering it, not confirming it. You don't waste good hype by giving away the ending too soon.
Besides, Lin had learned a thing or two from his competitor, LeBron — never spoil the storyline before it peaks. When the time came, if he did return, it would be on live TV, with all eyes watching.
Still, teammate Chris Paul couldn't resist teasing during practice with the East squad the next day.
"Yeah, Lin's thinking about it," he said to reporters. "But for now, we're focused on defending our title."
That little confirmation set the internet on fire again.
Meanwhile, the Orlando fans could only groan. "Why not our city, Lin? What did we do to deserve this?"
On the 26th, as the spotlight returned to Dwight Howard's home court, the crowd turned on their own star. Superman looked across the court at Lin Yi, envy written all over his face.
...
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