After the Knicks' emphatic second-half opening, the Nets burned nearly twenty seconds on their first possession of the third quarter before Joe Johnson calmly pulled up for a jumper.
They were clearly trying to slow the pace. Around the league, teams were pushing tempo more than ever this season, but as Barkley liked to say, the best tactic was always the one that fit your roster.
If the Nets tried to run with the Knicks all night, their legs would not hold up.
Joe Johnson's isolation game was still reliable. As a rhythm scorer, he handled Danny Green's tight defense better than most.
55–69.
On the other end, the Knicks settled into a half-court set. Green and Big Mo spaced out in the corners. This time, it was Tyson Chandler, stepping up to set a high screen for Paul.
Brook Lopez looked miserable.
More than any other opponent, he hated playing the Knicks. Even after trimming a bit of weight in the offseason, his lateral movement remained a weakness. The Knicks loved initiating offense through high pick-and-rolls, and that put slow-footed centers like Lopez under constant pressure.
Tonight, it felt like Lopez was running shuttle drills. In fourteen minutes, he had just two points and three rebounds.
What frustrated him even more was what happened earlier in the first half. After checking in early, he had been taught a lesson twice by Yao Ming in the post.
For a ground-bound center like Lopez, Yao was a nightmare. Lopez could not move him, but Yao backed him down with ease and finished calmly every time.
This was the same Brook Lopez who averaged nineteen points and seven rebounds and had started shooting threes this season. Many fans saw him as the Nets' future cornerstone.
Watching him tonight, that optimism felt shaky.
Back on the floor, Paul came off Chandler's screen and exploded into the paint. The defense collapsed instantly. Paul lifted the ball high.
Lin Yi was already there.
He caught it in stride and hammered it home with both hands.
55–72.
The Garden erupted.
It was Lin Yi's fourth alley-oop dunk of the night, and every one of them belonged on a highlight reel.
On TNT, O'Neal laughed. "Chris and Lin don't need to look at each other. That chemistry is real. Best duo in the league right now."
Barkley and Kenny Smith exchanged glances. If this kept up, O'Neal might actually win his bet.
The thought of losing it made Barkley visibly uncomfortable. Kenny looked even worse.
Thankfully for both of them, the Knicks cooled off a bit midway through the third. Winning mattered more than padding numbers, and Paul stopped forcing passes.
By now, whatever anger Paul had carried from his Twitter spat with Rondo was long gone.
The truth was simple. The bet meant nothing.
The Knicks were rolling. The Celtics, even after beating the Heat, sat at 6–6. They were no longer the measuring stick.
As for the empty title of best point guard in the league, Paul had stopped caring who claimed it after his head cooled off in the game.
That was part of why Lin Yi was helping him tonight.
Paul was famously competitive. He competed in everything. On this team, he would even bet on who reached the locker room fastest.
That edge was not a flaw. Without it, a player might as well be Wiggins.
But Lin Yi hoped Paul would learn to keep that fire controlled. As the season went on, opponents would target every weakness. Personality included.
In his second year, Lin Yi had learned this firsthand. Teams loved assigning trash-talkers to guard him. It never worked. When it came time to stay calm, he stayed calm all the way. Plus, his clap-backs weren't bad either.
Tim Duncan once said it best. Be patient, be humble, and you will last.
This season, the Knicks could not afford cracks. There was only one goal.
A championship.
In that sense, Rondo had actually helped them. He reminded Lin Yi. He reminded Paul.
You are aiming for something bigger.
Late in the third quarter, Paul found Klay in rhythm. The shot beat the buzzer.
77–96.
Paul's twenty-first assist.
In the fourth, Paul looked ready to sit. Lin Yi caught his eye and smiled.
"Don't be polite," he said. "Go pad a little more."
Paul froze for a second, then laughed. Lin Yi never bothered hiding his intentions.
Why should he?
Last season, when Lin Yi chased eighty-six points, pride had not mattered. When records were on the table, D'Antoni never stopped him.
The Fried Chicken Duo understood each other perfectly.
And when reporters complained about Lin Yi playing in garbage time, Coach Mike always gave the same answer.
"Get a ring, then we talk."
That usually ended the conversation.
Paul was on track to set a career-high in assists, and Lin Yi was not sitting either.
Even fifty points still counted.
After all, Lin Yi's scoring average had been stuck lately.
And every point mattered.
. . .
At the start of the fourth quarter, with the Knicks keeping Paul and Lin Yi on the floor, Nets coach Johnson finally gave up any thought of resistance.
Paul, twenty-seven, and Lin Yi, twenty-three, weren't showing signs of fatigue so early in the season. But with a Western Conference road trip coming up, Johnson didn't want to burn his team's energy just to stop the Knicks.
Lin Yi opened the fourth with a smooth face-up three over Blatche, bringing his personal tally to 51 points.
After the Nets failed to score, Paul delivered a crisp pass, and Lin Yi pulled up again—
Swish.
Blatche, already carrying extra weight this season, couldn't keep pace with Lin Yi.
His love for playing around kept him from reaching his full potential.
Since moving to Brooklyn, Blatche had been a regular at New York nightclubs. Had he shown a bit of self-control, his mix of retreat-and-attack style might have been a pathway in this era of declining big men.
By the three-minute mark of the fourth, the Nets seemed done. Lin Yi had hit 58 points, and Paul had 24 assists—so Coach Dan subbed them both out.
Fifty-eight points. Another milestone. This was Lin Yi's third 50+ game in his career.
Lin Yi imagined Paul explaining it in a post-game interview: "Twenty-four assists because I'm organizing the team 24 hours a day."
Oddly, Paul didn't seem thrilled about it. Maybe it was the Madison Square Garden DJ repeating Lin Yi's 58-point performance over the speakers, which didn't help when Lin rubbed it in. Nothing like a good banter.
By the final buzzer, it was 127–98. O'Neal celebrated like he'd won a title, teasing Barkley and Kenny Smith with a kiss, kiss gesture.
Barkley and Smith ignored him, clearly thinking, Not happening.
Shaq looked flustered. "Damn it, Kobe, you can't play like this," he muttered.
Barkley and Smith praised Lin Yi instead. "The kid's incredible," Barkley said. " Job well done."
"Best player in the league already," Kenny added.
Even Shaq couldn't argue with that. Eventually, O'Neal agreed to let the joke slide, nodding to Kenny's clever compromise.
With the Nets defeated, the Knicks' dominant start left no doubt. They were serious this season. Lin Yi, with multiple 50+ games and a single-game three-point record already this month, was redefining expectations.
Fans were already dreaming of Lin Yi winning three consecutive MVPs, especially with the Heat showing cracks in their start.
Lin Yi wasn't concerned with public opinion. He wanted history. The Knicks were loaded this year, their bench was deep, and the team had the chance to chase the Bulls' legendary 72–10 record.
After their win over the Nets, Lin Yi brought it up in the team meeting.
"Should we go for the record?"
The room erupted in agreement. Even Battier, normally quiet, spoke up. "That's the Bulls' dynasty record. If we don't chase it, why are we playing?"
. . .
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