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Chapter 383: Championship Parade And Champs' Food Festival
🕑 Added 2025-10-07 14:17:00 +0000 UTCJune 12th — New York City.
The Knicks’ championship parade turned Manhattan into a massive street party.
After thirty-eight long years, the O’Brien Trophy finally came back to New York. The whole city had been holding its breath for decades, and now it was ready to explode with joy.
Millions of fans flooded the streets, turning the parade into a full-blown carnival.
Knicks owner James Dolan, of course, went all out. For comparison, the Lakers’ 2010 parade cost about $3.5 million—half of which was covered by the Los Angeles city government.
Dolan? He just laughed that off.
“Money? Please,” he said. “Five, ten million—it’s pocket change. I’ve got it covered.”
And considering that the Knicks had somehow managed to win the title without paying luxury tax—and with one of the lowest total payrolls in the league—Dolan had every reason to be in a good mood. The man could probably wake up laughing in his sleep.
As part of the festivities, the New York government even cordoned off a street for what Dolan called his Champs Food Festival. In his own words: “Eat well, drink well, play hard—don’t worry about anything else!”
Many players brought their families along. Lin Yi showed up hand-in-hand with Olsen, officially confirming what everyone had already guessed. Gallinari, watching from the sidelines, muttered something about how proud he felt.
The parade had rolled into Madison Square Park, where the city had set up a massive Champs Food Festival. The air was thick with the smell of sizzling hot dogs, grilled steak, and seafood boiling in giant pots. Food trucks lined the streets, each one flying a Knicks flag and blasting music loud enough to rattle soda cans.
“Only in New York,” Tyson Chandler said, grinning as he waved to a group of fans holding a sign that read: ‘Free Seafood Boil for Life, Dolan!’
Dolan himself stood nearby, clearly proud of his festival idea. He’d ordered entire sections of the city to be turned into open-air dining zones.
“I told them,” Dolan boasted to the press, “no half measures. If we’re going to celebrate, we do it New York style—with food, music, and chaos.”
Knicks players mingled among the crowd. Lin Yi walked with a paper plate piled high with food, his championship cap slightly tilted.
“Man, this lobster roll is good,” Lin said, chewing. “New York really does everything big.”
“Try the spicy noodles!” Gallinari shouted, his face red from the spice. “It’s like fire in a bowl!”
“Danilo, you put half the chili jar in it,” joked Lou Williams, laughing.
Nearby, fans were taking selfies with the players, some crying, some laughing, all talking at once. A little kid holding a “#17 Forever” poster handed Lin Yi a napkin.
“Thanks, champ,” Lin said, crouching down to ruffle the boy’s hair. “You keeping your grades up?”
The boy nodded shyly. “Yeah! My mom says I can stay up late if I watch Knicks games.”
Lin chuckled. “Tell your mom I said that’s good parenting.”
Lance Stephenson, wearing sunglasses and a white apron, had taken over one of the barbecue stands from the fans.
“I told you I could cook!” he shouted, flipping steaks while a small crowd cheered. “This is how champions eat!”
O’Neal, of course, turned the moment into a show. Standing beside a fan’s massive pot labeled “Shaq’s Secret Stew,” he held up a spoon like a microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed, “this stew has more flavor than Kobe’s entire fadeaway collection!”
The crowd erupted in laughter. Someone yelled, “We love you, Shaq!”
He winked. “I know you do. Eat this stew and you’ll be dunking in your sleep.”
Meanwhile, Lin Yi wandered over to a stall selling skewers and dumplings. Olsen was beside him, filming on her phone.
“You know, for a guy who eats like an athlete, you look way too happy right now,” she teased.
Lin shrugged. “Winning makes everything taste better. Even street dumplings.”
She laughed. “Careful, the fans are recording you. Don’t choke.”
A group of fans shouted, “MVP! MVP!” as Lin Yi waved with a grin, a dumpling still in his mouth.
Gallinari, now armed with a bubble tea and a hot dog, joined him. “Lin, we should open a food truck. You can call it ‘Lin’s Hot Pot Express.’”
Lin rolled his eyes. “You just want free food.”
Gallinari smiled. “Exactly.”
The whole festival felt alive, like the city itself was breathing in rhythm with the players. There were no egos, no distance between fans and stars — just one city, one team, celebrating together.
Lin Yi looked around at the sea of orange and blue, people dancing, eating, and singing. Olsen caught the look on his face.
“What are you thinking?” she asked.
Lin smiled. “That it’s good to be alive. And even better to be in New York.”
At the end of the parade, Lin Yi, ever the showman, handed out hundreds of red envelopes—not with cash, but with autographed star cards from the Knicks roster. Fans went crazy for them.
One lucky fan, 11-year-old Bilson Jorge, managed to grab several envelopes. He handed one with O’Neal’s autograph to his dad.
“Dad, the Death 2s just dropped six new colorways,” the kid grinned.
Old Jorge sighed, staring up at the sky. “Got it. I’ll buy you a pair tomorrow.”
Bilson nodded seriously, then frowned. “Actually, I don’t know how big my feet will get. How about… a pair in every size?”
“Buy, buy, buy!” Old Jorge said, trying to sound firm while thinking to himself, Thank God your mother doesn’t know about my hidden stash.
All across the city, people were celebrating. This championship meant everything. For once, the Knicks had stolen the spotlight from the Yankees and the Giants. Times Square was practically a sea of blue and orange.
Meanwhile, O’Neal’s son, Shareef, stepped in as a guest host for the parade. When it was Lin Yi’s turn to speak, he grinned and said,
“Live for today, don’t wait for tomorrow. If you’re afraid to fail, you’ll never win. This championship isn’t the end—it’s just the beginning. I believe New York will be hosting another Champs Food Festival soon!”
The crowd roared. Lin Yi’s speeches—half motivational, half self-aware—always hit differently. The media had already revealed how much work he’d put in behind the scenes, so when he spoke about perseverance, people listened.
But the moment that really got everyone emotional was Marbury’s turn on the mic. Tears ran down his face as he spoke. This title was the closing chapter of his redemption story. Lin Yi couldn’t help but think—if Marbury went on to create a basketball legend in China, his life would truly come full circle.
Then came O’Neal.
The big man, true to form, couldn’t resist teasing Kobe.
“Now I’ve got one more Finals MVP than Kobe,” he joked, earning a wave of laughter from the crowd.
But when he officially announced his retirement, the atmosphere turned sentimental. Fans chanted his name, sending him off with love.
Shaq had no regrets. Sure, missing the 30,000-point milestone because of those free throws still stung, but with three straight Finals MVPs, five championships, one regular-season MVP, and countless All-Star selections—he’d done it all.
For many, he was the greatest center ever.
Interestingly, both Shaq and Kobe now had five rings apiece, which left fans wondering—would Kobe try to chase number six?
At 32, he still had time.
Lin Yi, ever the realist, chuckled privately. If history really could be changed, and Kobe never got hurt, he’d probably just set a new record… for most missed shots.
When the confetti settled and the parade ended, Dolan pulled Lin Yi aside for a chat.
He didn’t talk about celebrations—he wanted to talk business. The labor talks between the league and the players’ union had collapsed, and Dolan knew a lockout was coming. He didn’t want Lin Yi to think he was one of the stingy owners.
Lin Yi smiled. He understood. This was just business—owners and players fighting for their own interests. There were no heroes or villains, just negotiations.
Besides, Lin Yi wasn’t planning to get involved in the labor war. He’d seen what happened to Patrick Ewing after running his mouth during past negotiations.
In the end, their conversation went smoothly. Dolan was no fool—like every owner, he dreamed of having a Jordan-type star who could sell out every game. The ones who frustrated him most were those fringe stars demanding max contracts after one good season.
But today wasn’t about business or politics. It was about joy, confetti, and the city that finally got its miracle.
