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Chapter 313: Lakers vs Knicks 2
🕑 Added 2025-08-23 13:47:56 +0000 UTCThump, Thump, Thump
Right joystick ↘ ↓ ↘ ↓ ↘ ↓ Accelerator → ← Left joystick ↖ ↑
“Lin Yi with another crossover, now shifting to his left hand!” Yu Jia’s commentary quickened in excitement on CCTV.
This time, Lin Yi made a subtle adjustment. He knew Odom well by now — a left-handed forward with plenty of skill, but when forced to shift right, his movement always lagged by half a beat. Lin Yi had picked up on this weakness after just a few possessions.
He exploded forward. Odom gave chase from a diagonal angle, reaching across to contest. But in the middle of that motion, Lin Yi suddenly pulled up — his release smooth, compact. Odom’s arm stretched desperately, but it was too late.
The ball left Lin Yi’s left hand.
And that was the difference. Lin Yi wasn’t just right-hand dominant. His left was polished, too — something he’d quietly sharpened over the years. It wasn’t showmanship; it was simply the smartest way to finish this possession.
The shot splashed. Knicks fans roared.
14–15. The Knicks nudged ahead once again.
The Lakers came back quickly, running their familiar triangle. Artest — before the name change — swung the ball to Kobe. His stare was enough to tell the story: Boss, one elbow, and we’re in business.
Kobe didn’t hesitate. That night, Kobe looked untouchable. Tony Allen could only sigh from the sidelines.
What more can I do? Body him up, swipe at the ball, even sneak in a shot to the ribs — and he still drains fadeaways like he’s painting portraits.
Kobe had entered that rare, terrifying mode where he seemed less like a player and more like a force of nature. Phil Jackson, the Zen Master, knew it well. Over the years, he’d spent endless hours figuring out how to unlock this side of Kobe. Sometimes the formula was complicated; other times it was as simple as flipping a hidden switch — “Download the Kobe Jumper App and let it run on autoplay.”
16–15.
Lin Yi rubbed his chin on the way back up the floor, his mind racing. Kobe had dropped 60 in his farewell because of sheer will — but if you thought back far enough, wasn’t it Shaq who had always been the real trigger for this god-mode version of Kobe? Maybe the big man’s shadow had pushed Kobe to these extremes.
The irony wasn’t lost on him. The two had fought, feuded, and yet, in some strange way, completed one another.
…
By the end of the first quarter, the Lakers were on top, 33–27. Scoring over 30 against the Knicks’ defense was no small feat, but the Lakers had managed it, almost entirely because Kobe had erupted for 22 points in just twelve minutes.
On the Knicks’ bench, Mike D’Antoni wore the same anxious expression he always had when opposing superstars caught fire. Lin Yi leaned over, resting a hand on his coach’s shoulder.
“Coach, I know what you’re thinking — what if we run into another guy like this in the playoffs, someone who just explodes? But trust our defense. Look at him.” Lin Yi pointed to Kobe, hunched over and gulping for air. “Twenty-two in a quarter is insane, but even he’s human. We’re making him work for every bucket.”
D’Antoni exhaled, reassured if only slightly. He had almost forgotten how brutal New York’s recent schedule had been — a gauntlet of contenders and endless travel. The Knicks weren’t even at their sharpest tonight. The Lakers, by contrast, had arrived in New York earlier, rested, and still needed Kobe’s brilliance just to build a small lead.
Lin Yi wasn’t arrogant. He knew his team’s limits. But at the same time, he also knew when to give himself and his teammates credit. They were far from perfect, but they had built something resilient.
…
The second quarter opened with the Knicks’ bench unit taking charge. Shaquille O’Neal — nearing the twilight of his career, but still full of charisma — stood from the sideline and waved his towel, egging on the Garden crowd. Every small Knicks run felt magnified by the roar of their fans.
On the Lakers’ side, Kobe itched to return immediately, but Phil Jackson was firm. He pressed him down onto the bench, knowing full well that burning Kobe out early was a trap they couldn’t afford.
The truth was, these Lakers were shackled by their payroll. Between Kobe, Gasol, and Bynum, nearly all of their cap space was tied up. Reinforcements weren’t coming. The bench lacked punch, and when Kobe sat, the system sagged.
“They don’t really have a second option in crunch time,” Lin Yi thought quietly. “Every possession, every big moment — it’s all on Kobe’s shoulders.”
He pictured a scenario where the Lakers could’ve added depth, where they could’ve relieved Kobe of the constant burden. But as things stood, unless they sacrificed one of their towering bigs, the math just didn’t work.
At the start of the second quarter, the Lakers came up empty on offense, and immediately the Garden crowd roared as the Knicks pushed the tempo. Shaquille O’Neal, still carrying the aura of his younger days, lumbered into the paint like a bomber coming in low. He gave Matt Barnes a gentle shove, sealed him under the rim, and—just for old time’s sake—threw down a thunderous dunk.
The crowd loved it.
Kobe, watching from the bench, couldn’t hold back a laugh, covering his mouth as if to hide the grin. Lin Yi shook his head at the sight.
A moment later, though, Shaq overdid the theatrics. The 221 cm giant flopped onto the floor, laughing and milking the spotlight.
“Shaq just injected a bit of fun into what’s been a taut game so far,” Kenny Smith chuckled on commentary.
Barkley jumped in with his trademark grin: “Shaq, don’t waste your time—retire already and join us on TNT. We’ve got a chair waiting!”
The reality for the Lakers, though, was less funny. Their bench production was awful. Ever since Phil Jackson had shifted Lamar Odom into the starting lineup, their most reliable scoring punch off the bench had disappeared. Ironically, one of their more serviceable pieces, Shannon Brown, had been snapped up by Lin Yi’s Knicks the year before.
It was a common problem across the league. Even the Miami Heat were dealing with it. In an era where the salary cap hadn’t yet ballooned, teams were forced to choose between paying stars or building depth. Most picked the stars, and nights like this exposed the trade-off.
The Knicks took advantage. Their bench unit clawed back possession by possession, and by the time Lin Yi checked back in, the scoreboard read 40–40.
Phil Jackson’s decision to rest Kobe that long might’ve looked strange on paper, but it made sense. As much as the Zen Master and Kobe had clashed in the past, Jackson still trusted his superstar implicitly. He had made a career of shaping Jordan and Pippen in Chicago, and in Kobe, he saw the same ruthless streak—the same ability to bend games to his will.
Sure enough, the moment Kobe returned, he went straight back to work. A quick mid-range jumper, then a drive through contact. Six more points in a flash. The Knicks threw Danny Green at him for some fresh legs, but Kobe had too many tools. Fadeaways, turnarounds, footwork drilled to perfection—pick your poison.
Lin Yi knew this script. In the future, LeBron James would face the same problem. No matter how disciplined the defense, when a true superstar was locked in, sometimes there was simply nothing you could do.
By halftime, Kobe looked well on pace for 30-plus. The Knicks, meanwhile, were being saved by the timely shooting of Chauncey Billups. His shots weren’t flashy, but they kept the game balanced—46–46 with just minutes to play before the break.
The Knicks’ winning streak had given them a quiet confidence. Falling behind didn’t rattle them anymore; they trusted their system, trusted each other. And then came the moment that shook Madison Square Garden.
Fisher lined up yet another jumper on the perimeter. For once, he missed cleanly. Gasol moved in to secure the rebound, finally hoping to leave a mark on the game. He reached up—only to feel a force crash into him from behind.
Lin Yi had taken flight.
He rose so high that his head cleared the rim, his body seemingly suspended in the lights. Then—boom. He hammered the ball through with such violence that Gasol, helpless underneath, looked as though he’d been folded into the basket itself.
The Garden erupted.
Lin Yi pounded his chest, roaring as chants of “M-V-P! M-V-P!” rained down from every corner.
“Oh my goodness! Lin Yi just baptized Pau Gasol at the rim!” Kenny Smith screamed.
“This might be the dunk of the year!” Barkley howled, nearly falling out of his chair.
Gasol, meanwhile, trudged back down the floor deflated. Lin Yi had just provided the league with a brand-new poster.
The crowd knew it. The commentators knew it. Even players around the league knew it. Lin Yi had a growing reputation not only as a scorer, but as the NBA’s most ruthless Backboard Artist—turning unlucky defenders into unwilling stars of his personal highlight reel.
“Did you really guard Lin Yi if you haven’t been dunked on?” one fan joked in the stands. The line caught on.
With Blake Griffin already delivering his own nightly dunk packages, fans now salivated at the thought of the upcoming Slam Dunk Contest in Los Angeles. Griffin versus Lin Yi—who could throw down harder?
But for anyone who remembered the Dallas All-Star Game last year, the sight of Lin Yi in midair already carried a familiar weight.
