After talking with Derrick Rose for a while, Lin Yi ended up staying up all night playing games with him.
Later that night, after beating Rose for the twelfth straight time in 2K, Lin Yi leaned back and laughed. "Derrick, be honest. I am different."
Rose threw his controller onto the couch. "If you are so good, stop picking the Knicks."
"Why would I not use myself?" Lin Yi shot back. "That is confidence."
In the latest version of 2K13, Lin Yi's overall rating had climbed to 98, the highest in the game. Even LeBron James had been adjusted down to 97.
What made it worse for LeBron users was the dribbling requirement. Post-dribble acceleration needed at least an 86 ball-handling rating. LeBron was only 70 in this version, which made him feel heavy and stiff on the sticks. Many Heat fans admitted that Dwyane Wade was the easier player to control.
It was not personal. Earlier in the season, a reporter known for criticizing LeBron had asked him after a game about his skill bag, "Can you even do a crossover?"
LeBron's expression tightened for a moment, but he handled it calmly. He smiled and replied, "I can use any move. Some nights I just need to attack differently."
It was a smart answer. If he said yes, people would clip it and mock him. If he said no, it would become a headline for a week.
Anyone who has watched basketball knows a crossover is not some mythical skill. There are many variations. The issue was style. LeBron has never been about flash.
Expecting a power forward in a wing's body to move like Allen Iverson, Kyrie Irving, or Stephen Curry is unrealistic. His game is built on strength and timing.
Still, the comparisons kept coming. In many fans' eyes, Lin Yi had the same physical profile but could handle it with flair. Fair or not, that narrative stuck.
LeBron could only shake his head.
…
On the 23rd, after beating the Minnesota Timberwolves at home, the Knicks finally headed into their Christmas break.
Earlier in the season, Minnesota had shocked the Lakers, and for a brief moment, it looked like a turning point. It was not. They followed that win with a seven-game losing streak. Kevin Love learned quickly that one big night does not change a team's ceiling.
This Timberwolves team had real talent inside. Nikola Pekovic and Love were both double-double machines. One operated the paint, the other stretched the floor. On paper, it looked balanced.
In reality, the wings lacked athleticism. Peković struggled defending in space. Love was not a rim protector. The Knicks drove to the basket almost at will.
Offensively, Minnesota relied on Peković grinding in the post and Love stepping out for jumpers. It worked in stretches, but it was not sustainable. Tyreke Evans had regressed since his rookie year, and there was no true floor general to organize the offense.
Head coach Rick Adelman had hoped to install a Princeton-style system, similar to what he once ran in Sacramento. The pieces in Minnesota did not quite fit. What they needed was a defensive identity and athletic wings, something closer to the blueprint of the Grizzlies.
After the loss, Love waited near the tunnel and caught Lin Yi before he left.
This season, Love was putting up over 20 points and 15 rebounds per game. On paper, the numbers placed him near the top tier. In public perception, it was different. Analysts called him productive but questioned his impact on winning.
"Lin," Love said quietly with his hands on his mouth, "maybe I am not cut out to be the main guy. I put up numbers, but we still lose."
Lin Yi looked at him for a moment before answering. "Leadership is not just about stats. It is about structure. The right system. The right pieces. Do not carry everything alone."
He did not say what he was thinking. Love's skill set was ideal as a second option. He could score without dominating the ball. His shooting range was rare for a big man. On the right roster, he would thrive.
There had been a time Lin Yi considered pushing for a trade to bring Love to New York. That door closed when Love signed his max extension.
So Lin Yi kept it simple.
"Keep working. You are too good not to figure this out."
Love nodded, though the frustration was still there.
In Minnesota, the future felt uncertain. In New York, momentum was building. The gap between numbers and wins had never felt wider.
. . .
After the night the Knicks handled the Timberwolves, Christmas Eve no less, the Warriors quietly reshaped their future.
The deal with the Bucks was official. Jerry West had made his move.
Milwaukee sent Andrew Bogut to Golden State. In return, the Warriors gave up their first-round picks for the next two years, plus Andris Biedrins and Carl Landry.
Around the league, the reaction was simple. The Logo Man had done it again.
On paper, it looked bold. In context, it looked surgical.
The Warriors were close to finishing their rebuild. West could see the arc forming. The pieces were young, the spacing was there, and the shooting was elite. What they lacked was an interior structure. Bogut, for all the bust labels that followed him after going first overall, was still one of the better rim protectors in the league. That mattered.
Milwaukee's direction made the trade possible. They had missed the playoffs and had no intention of being competitive this year. The front office had already shifted into rebuild mode. They were eyeing Giannis Antetokounmpo out of Kentucky and understood that losing now improved their odds later.
Brandon Jennings suddenly had unlimited freedom. A year earlier, every off-balance jumper would have made executives twitch. Now, if he went 7 for 30, no one complained. Losses were an asset.
Monta Ellis, who once seemed tied to Bogut in trade talks, was still running things in Denver. West read the situation quickly. If Milwaukee wanted to bottom out, he would take advantage of it.
From the Golden State's perspective, the risk was manageable. Their upcoming picks were unlikely to be high. The team was already trending toward the playoffs. Biedrins and Landry were expiring and had slipped out of the long-term picture. Bogut fit the timeline better than people realized.
There was another layer. DeMarcus Cousins was brilliant and volatile in equal measure. The talent was obvious. So were the technicals, the mood swings, the strain he put on his own body. Adding Bogut reduced the physical burden on him. The coaching staff did not expect Cousins to suddenly mature. They just needed insurance.
Lin Yi watched it unfold and shook his head.
"It doesn't matter?" he muttered. "I will still win."
The numbers backed up the optimism. The Warriors were 17 and 7, sitting fourth in the West. Stephen Curry was averaging 3.5 made threes per game, leading the league, and doing it efficiently. Khris Middleton was at 1.8 threes a night on 41 percent shooting. Warriors fans had started joking that Curry and Middleton were their own version of the Splash Brothers.
Kawhi Leonard was quietly putting up 14.5 points per game, and his mid-range game was becoming reliable. Cousins had overtaken David Lee as the second option statistically. Harrison Barnes came off the bench. The offense alone could overwhelm most teams.
West looked at the group and saw more than regular-season promise. It was time for them to feel playoff intensity, to understand what it meant to win four games against the same opponent.
Meanwhile, the Knicks kept absorbing the noise.
Every talk show seemed to circle back to New York. Lin Yi felt the urge to grab a microphone.
"Why is it always us?" he said to Olsen, who was in his arms.
Olsen snuggled deeper into his embrace and looked into his eyes. "You are the best."
"Damn, woman. You are playing a dangerous game."
Lin leaned down to kiss her.
"I like danger."
. . .
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