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Chapter 326: A Call Back From Home
🕑 Added 2025-08-30 12:36:10 +0000 UTCLin Yi’s choice for Donnie Walsh was bold, almost outrageous by conventional standards.
Stephen Marbury.
Yes—the same Marbury whose contract Donnie himself had negotiated to buy out not too long ago.
The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Marbury, born and bred in Brooklyn, had once returned to New York as a prodigal son, vowing to help the Knicks regain respectability. But what he received in Madison Square Garden was not love—it was relentless boos, back-page headlines, and scorn from the same city he longed to embrace.
Years later, in Lin Yi's past life, Marbury would say it was in Beijing where he truly felt at home. There, he found respect, admiration, even love.
But now, in the late 2000s, he was a name gathering dust on the free-agent list—one that most NBA executives wouldn’t dare touch.
Marbury’s past was complicated. Nicknamed Starbury, he’d once been Kevin Garnett’s closest friend and running mate in Minnesota before egos broke that apart. With the Nets and Suns, he was an All-Star. When he returned to New York in 2003, he said with genuine pride, “I’m home.”
But as he later learned, New York can be the coldest home of all.
After bouncing to the Celtics in 2009 and then leaving the NBA, he went East—far East, China. And there, everything began to change. In Shanxi and Foshan, crowds greeted him as a hero, not a pariah. For the first time in years, he felt wanted. He discovered joy in passing, in lifting teammates, in being more than just a scorer.
Lin Yi knew this version of Marbury. Not the brooding, maligned star of MSG, but the veteran who had begun to reshape his game, his mentality, and his identity.
Looking down the list of uninspiring free agents Walsh had drawn up, Lin thought grimly: Do we really want to sign guys whose names don’t even ring a bell? Why not give Marbury a shot? At least he can steady the floor.
So, at the next team meeting, Lin raised the idea.
The reaction was immediate.
“Oh no, no, no. Lin, come on, man—this idea’s crazy!” Shaquille O’Neal was the first to speak up, shaking his head vigorously. “Steph? Here? You trying to start a fire in the locker room?”
Other Knicks players exchanged uneasy looks. Marbury’s reputation lingered like a shadow.
Lin had anticipated the pushback. He came prepared. On the projector, he pulled up clips of Marbury in the CBA—running the offense, feeding teammates, even laughing during interviews.
Shaq squinted at the footage, genuinely baffled. “Wait. This is Steph? The same dude? Man… he looks like a completely different person.”
“Exactly,” Lin said. “He’s changed. He’s humbled. Look, nobody’s saying he’s an All-Star anymore. But he’s still got enough in the tank to guide a second unit. He wants to play. He wants to prove himself again.”
The room fell into a thoughtful silence. Billups, the veteran, eventually spoke. “I’ll tell you this—at his peak, Marbury was no joke. One of the toughest matchups I had. If he’s even half that now, he can help.”
And Lin drove the final point home. “Guys, I’m not worried about him blowing up. Not anymore. If he gets another chance to wear a Knicks jersey, he’s not going to waste it. Sometimes, a prodigal son values home more than anyone else.”
There were nods around the room now. Some cautious, some skeptical, but no one outright objected anymore.
…
Half a world away, in Foshan, Guangdong, Marbury was wrapping up practice with his Chinese teammates when his phone rang. He glanced down at the caller ID—and froze.
Donnie Walsh.
He hadn’t heard that name in years, not since being told to clear out his locker in New York. Marbury excused himself, told teammate Li Ke to carry on with drills, and squatted in the corner with his phone pressed to his ear.
“Stephen,” Walsh began, his voice measured, “should be around noon for you in China, right? Listen… I’ve got something I want to discuss with you.”
Marbury’s first instinct was disbelief. He actually chuckled under his breath. The same man who’d pushed him out was now calling him back?
Then Walsh said it. “Would you consider coming back to the NBA?”
The word hit Marbury like a jolt. NBA. Three letters he once thought defined his life, then later believed had abandoned him for good.
He swallowed hard, masking the emotion in his tone. “This isn’t April Fool’s, Donnie?”
Walsh sighed heavily. There was a pause, and then a new voice came on the line.
“Hello, Stephen. I’m Lin.”
Marbury blinked, his hand tightening on the phone. Lin Yi? The kid from New York? Calling me?
“Lin Yi…” he whispered to himself, stunned.
How could Marbury not know the name Lin Yi? He liked to tell reporters he no longer followed the NBA, but deep down, he never stopped glancing at the box scores, never stopped keeping tabs. He was a son of New York—how could he not notice the kid who had suddenly taken the city by storm?
Yet here he was, phone in hand, hearing Lin’s voice for the first time.
“Hello, Lin.” Marbury’s reply was a bit shaky due to the shock, the words catching in his throat.
Lin Yi didn’t bother with small talk. “Stephen, come to the Knicks. Let’s win something together. Let’s bring a trophy back to New York.”
Marbury went quiet. The words cut straight through him.
Lin pressed on, steady and direct. “I already asked around about your Foshan contract. You’ve got that exit clause, don’t you? You can leave the CBA the moment the NBA calls. If you didn’t care anymore, if you really had no interest, you wouldn’t have put that in. You’d have burned the bridge completely.”
He paused, then softened his tone. “Look, I know New York and you didn’t work. The dream crushed hard. I know the boos cut deep. But Stephen… don’t you want to go back and show them? Show them you’re not a villain. Show them you’re still their own.”
“The CBA has given you a second life, and that’s amazing. But what if you could grab a ring first? What if you could write your own ending in the NBA before you keep building your legacy in China?”
Lin’s voice sharpened, passionate now. “We don’t need the old Starbury. We need someone steady, someone who knows how to fight. Be our backup point guard. Give this city one last run. Come back and prove that you are—always were—a child of New York.”
On the other end of the line, Marbury lowered himself onto the hardwood floor of Foshan’s practice gym, burying his face in his hands.
Memories surged.
He’d left Minnesota because he felt overshadowed.
He’d walked out on New Jersey because he didn’t see a future.
He’d gone to Phoenix chasing stardom.
He’d come home to New York with pride, only to lose himself in nightlife, bad habits, and bitterness.
Every choice, every mistake… he could hide behind youth back then. But youth runs out. And excuses only carry so far.
In China, he had rediscovered joy in the game. But beneath that joy was an ache he could never quite silence. Because he was still, and always would be, a New Yorker.
A backup point guard? Ten years ago, the thought would have insulted him. Now, it felt like redemption.
His Foshan teammates had no idea what was happening. They stared at him in shock. The stoic American, suddenly teary.
Li Ke, the young Chinese guard, edged closer and gently tapped his shoulder. “Stephen… what’s wrong? Do you need help?”
Marbury wiped at his eyes, forcing a smile through the tears. His voice trembled as he answered: “It’s Lin… it’s Lin Yi.”
The name spread through the Foshan gym like wildfire. Gasps, laughter, disbelief. Lin Yi? The Knicks’ Lin Yi? Calling here?
Players crowded around, trying to catch a word. Someone shouted half in English, half in Chinese: “Oh my god, Lin Yi is on the phone! Brother Lin, talk to us!”
Marbury chuckled helplessly through his tears and handed the phone to Li Ke.
On the line, Lin Yi could hear the commotion—half a dozen Chinese accents yelling his name, laughing, clamoring for attention.
“Bro! Say hello to us!” Li Ke blurted out, his Beijing twang so thick it made Lin wince and grin at the same time.
“Alright, alright,” Lin said warmly. “Hello, everyone. Keep working hard. The CBA needs you guys.”
There was a cheer from the Foshan players, but Lin’s tone quickly shifted back to business. “Now, give the phone back to Stephen.”
“Okay, okay, but don’t hang up yet!” Li Ke said hurriedly, before thrusting the phone back into Marbury’s hands.
Marbury had calmed now. When he spoke again, his voice was steady, filled with something new—resolve.
“Lin,” he said firmly, “I want to play New York basketball.”
Lin grinned on his end of the line. That was all he needed to hear.
“Good. Then tell Li Ke and the rest of Foshan our guys will be scouting for a new import soon. We’ll take care of the rest.”
Lin ended the call and leaned back in his chair, finally letting out a long breath. He had pulled it off.
Until Shaun Livingston returned, the Knicks would need someone to keep them steady. Lin had promised Shaun they would reach the Finals floor together—and he intended to keep that promise.
