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Chapter 399: The Coming Storm Of The 2011-12 NBA Season
🕑 Added 2025-10-14 13:33:45 +0000 UTCOn the 18th, the Knicks headed across the river for their first preseason away game — a short trip, but one filled with noise.
The Nets, newly settled into Brooklyn’s Barclays Center, were supposed to christen their home with excitement. Instead, they found themselves drowning in a sea of blue and orange.
When the Knicks stepped out of the tunnel, the crowd erupted. The cheers were deafening — and very clearly not for the home team.
You could see it on the faces of the Nets players. They went silent. So did their fans.
Madison Square Garden might be the Mecca of basketball, but tonight, Barclays Center was just an annex.
Even Nets head coach Avery Johnson, in his pregame interview, tried to put on a brave face, though his smile looked like it was holding back a sigh.
After more than a hundred days without NBA action, Knicks fans were starved for basketball. The Nets soon realized that even at home, every time they touched the ball, they were met with loud, mocking boos.
The Knicks, meanwhile, didn’t let up. From tip-off, the difference between the two sides was clear.
The highlights?
The renewed Paul vs. Deron Williams rivalry, Lin Yi’s experiment at small forward, and the surprisingly mature performances from the Knicks’ young guns.
For about 15 minutes, fans got to relive that old duel between Chris Paul and Deron Williams. Once hailed as equals, the two were now moving in opposite directions. Deron wasn’t quite the player he used to be, but he still had the upper hand in their one-on-one exchanges, muscling Paul around and reminding everyone that he still had bite.
Lin Yi watched closely and sighed inwardly — Deron’s new, aggressive style was asking for trouble. The man was built for a short peak; once he lost his quickness, it was downhill from there.
Paul, still adjusting to the Knicks’ system, looked visibly frustrated. In just 20 minutes, he went 4-of-12 from the field, finishing with 8 points, 3 rebounds, and 1 assist.
Lin Yi wasn’t in full rhythm either, but in 23 minutes, he still put up 17 points, 8 rebounds, and 8 assists — another near triple-double, because apparently that’s his idea of rusty.
With Lin Yi moving to small forward, the Knicks’ offense opened up completely. Opponents couldn’t just pack the paint anymore, and their big men got exposed trying to keep up with the ball movement.
The Nets’ frontcourt simply couldn’t handle it. Kris Humphries, newly re-signed for $8 million, looked lost all night. Brooklyn’s interior defense collapsed under the relentless lobs, quick passes, and screens — Lin Yi was orchestrating it all like a conductor.
Paul could only watch as Lin Yi hijacked what should’ve been his assists.
“That’s supposed to be my job,” Paul grumbled from the bench.
Across the league, similar frustrations were brewing. In Los Angeles, Nash — last year’s assist leader — was being handcuffed by Kobe’s ball-dominant style. Two assists in 19 minutes.
Lin Yi smirked when he saw the stat line and jokingly thought.
And people still doubt I’m a Kobe fan?
Between him and Kobe, stealing assists had become an art form. And the season hadn’t even officially started.
…
Among the Knicks’ rookies, one name stood out: Klay Thompson.
His mission?
Replace Gallinari’s lost three-point firepower.
Klay didn’t hesitate for a second. D’Antoni told him to take at least six threes per game.
The Knicks’ playbook now featured a buffet of off-ball screens and hand-offs designed for him. His release was quick, his confidence even quicker.
In his debut, he shot 8-of-14 from the field, including 5-of-6 from deep, dropping 21 points without a single free throw.
The New York media went wild. SBC was old news — they’d found their new weapon. The Sniper, the headlines read.
Watching Klay drain shot after shot, Paul sat back and muttered, “I finally understand why Billups only averaged 4.7 assists last season.”
He wasn’t joking. Lin Yi had turned every possible assist opportunity into a highlight for himself.
“Hello, 911? Lin Yi’s stealing assists again,” Paul joked, exasperated.
And it wasn’t just his playmaking — Lin Yi’s isolation game had grown sharper. Every time Paul set up a beautiful pass, Lin Yi would fake, spin, and turn it into something else entirely.
“Chris,” Lin Yi teased on the bench, “that best guard title’s looking a bit shaky. Look at our rookie — Klay’s almost our new floor general.”
Paul responded by thumping Lin Yi’s knee like a drum, to the laughter of the whole bench.
Without Shaq around, no one could stop Lin Yi’s mischief.
…
When the teams met again on the 22nd, this time at Madison Square Garden, the Nets fought harder — but only just.
Lin Yi played just 20 minutes before resting, while Brooklyn rookie MarShon Brooks came alive. The young guard showed flashes of brilliance with his free-flowing, shot-heavy style.
Lin Yi, watching from the sideline, had to admit the kid had guts — though he knew that kind of play wouldn’t fly long-term in the NBA.
Paul, meanwhile, finally rediscovered his rhythm with his minutes staggered from Lin Yi’s. Running the second unit, he tallied 13 points and 6 assists, 4 of which went to Klay — who, of course, was still shooting like a man possessed.
Lin Yi turned to Coach D’Antoni, smiling. “Coach, I’ve got a bold idea…”
D’Antoni looked back at him suspiciously. “Oh no."
...
After two straight preseason wins, the Knicks returned to the training court on the 23rd. Coach D’Antoni kept the session light—more about rhythm than intensity.
The following day, Christmas Eve, he surprised everyone by giving the team the day off. “Rest up,” he said with that familiar grin. “The real show starts soon.”
Truth be told, two preseason games weren’t enough to gauge the Knicks’ full potential. But after last season’s championship run, D’Antoni had every reason to believe his squad had evolved. The chemistry was better, the roster deeper, and the confidence unmistakable. The new season was about one thing: defending the crown. Everything else was just noise.
On the 24th, Lin Yi decided to host a small Christmas gathering at his place and extended an invitation to Klay Thompson. Most of the team had already flown home to spend time with their families, but Klay, being new to the city and the team, was left without plans.
Originally, the rookie had his sights set on hitting a nightclub to celebrate the holiday properly. Lin Yi, horrified by that idea, took it upon himself to stage a little intervention.
He handed Klay a neatly wrapped box filled with books—philosophy and biographies of great thinkers.
“Here,” Lin said earnestly, “something to keep you grounded. You’re too young to be out there wasting brain cells on vodka shots.”
Klay groaned. “Lin, no offense. First,” He raised a finger, “ you ain’t older than me by much, and second, who gives books as Christmas gifts? Where are the sneakers or, I don’t know, PlayStation games?”
“Hey, where is the respect, rookie?” Lin tried to sound intimidating, “And don’t disrespect these books, knowledge is the greatest gift of all.”
Klay rolled his eyes.
Yeah, says the guy with a girlfriend and a villa.
Indeed, it didn’t take long for him to regret coming over. Watching Lin Yi and Olsen exchange soft glances over dinner, flirting with each other made him feel like a third wheel at a honeymoon retreat. To see the current MVP acting like a romance drama was an experience. Eventually, he found comfort in Sakazuki. At least the dog didn’t flirt.
But it felt strange how the hamster gave him stares, almost looking contemptuous.
Nah, I got to improve my game. Even hamsters are judging me, Klay thought.
…
“Tell me the truth, Lin,” Klay muttered later, tossing a toy across the floor for Sakazuki to chase. “You didn’t invite me for Christmas dinner, did you? You just wanted an audience.”
Lin grinned. “Come on, don’t be jealous. You’re part of the family now.”
After dinner, Lin suggested they play NBA 2K12 together. Klay flat-out refused. “No way. You always pick the Knicks. It’s not even fair.”
Lin laughed, spinning a controller in his hand. “What? You scared?”
“Scared? Bro, your player rating is ninety-six! That’s basically a cheat code,” Klay shot back.
It was true. In 2K12, Lin Yi’s stats had been juiced to near-mythical proportions. The developers, wary of breaking the game, had capped him at 96 overall, even though fans swore he deserved higher. Standing at 7-foot with unreal agility, he was a nightmare in-game—faster than Yao Ming, stronger than Durant, and apparently immune to fatigue.
Meanwhile, Klay had been handed a humble 74 rating.
He glanced over at Lin’s screen, saw Stephen Curry rated 84, and nearly exploded. “Eighty-four?! Are you kidding me? I’m at least that good! Next year, I’m getting an 80—mark my words!”
Lin chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Work hard, shoot well, and who knows—maybe they’ll even give you a signature celebration.”
“Yeah, right,” Klay muttered. “Probably another 75.”
In truth, Lin found the whole thing amusing.
If my in-game version is that good, he thought, real-life me better step it up this season.
Across the community, 2K12 had already sparked heated debates. Knicks fans were outraged that LeBron’s rating sat at 98 and Wade’s at 96.
“Lin should be a 99!” they cried on forums.
As the night wound down, Klay left. It was time for some alone time for Lin and Olsen.
Lin Yi stood by the window with Liz in his embrace, city lights glittering below, snow drifting lazily across the skyline. Tomorrow would be calm, but after that—chaos.
Because the storm of the 2011–12 NBA season was about to begin.
