While the celebrations in Los Angeles hadn't even begun, the New York Knicks' joy delivery service was already up and running.
On the 4th and 5th, the Knicks took care of business against the 76ers, winning both the home and away games without much drama.
That summer, Philadelphia had been part of a four-team blockbuster trade involving Superman. They sent Andre Iguodala to Denver and received Andrew Bynum from the Lakers.
On paper, it looked like a gamble worth taking. In reality, Bynum managed to drive the 76ers' front office to despair before he even put on the jersey.
Fresh off summer surgery, Bynum showed no interest in changing his lifestyle during rehab. Parties came first.
Recovery work?
Pleease, who gonna clap dem booties?
Training sessions, strict schedules, medical warnings—none of it seemed to matter to him.
Just how carefree was this so-called "joyful beast"?
Not long after his surgery, Bynum stopped at a gas station late one night. Still half-asleep, he pulled out and hit the road, fully embracing his love for speed.
When he finally arrived at his destination, he realized—much too late—that his luxury sports car had been dragging an eight-foot gas hose down the highway the entire time.
By then, the Philadelphia front office had run out of patience. Their plan was simple: once Bynum recovered enough to play, they'd see if any team was desperate—or foolish—enough to take him off their hands and let him become someone else's problem.
Of course, the league wasn't naive. Lin Yi remembered how this story ended. Midway through the season, a completely fed-up Philadelphia front office would waive Bynum outright.
Reality proved one thing: if someone refuses to learn, trouble eventually catches up.
Bynum, who always believed he was no worse than the big boys and carried an inexplicable level of self-confidence, would slowly fade from the public eye after that.
Back to the court.
The Knicks handled both games against the 76ers with ease. Lin Yi didn't even need to play the fourth quarter in either matchup, clocking out after three quarters both nights.
The 2012–13 season marked the official start of Philadelphia's tanking phase. Trading away a motivated Iguodala was supposed to make losing easier.
What the front office didn't expect was that even without Iguodala, the roster still had plenty of players who refused to cooperate.
Don't be fooled by the Knicks' comfortable wins. The 76ers didn't play badly. Led by a rapidly maturing Jrue Holiday, they stayed competitive through most first halves and traded blows with New York early on.
In fact, Holiday was the biggest obstacle standing in the way of Philadelphia's tanking plans.
Before the season even began, he'd made his stance clear: he was going to push himself to the limits.
The front office, internally: Couldn't you just take it easy for once?
Holiday, openly: "No. I want to play like it is the playoffs. I'm not letting Stephen Curry and James Harden leave me behind."
In later years, Holiday would earn the nickname Jruth. In Lin's past timeline, his strong 2012–13 campaign even earned him an Eastern Conference All-Star selection.
Watching Holiday play with energy and purpose only made things more awkward for management.
They didn't believe his ceiling was high enough to build around, but they also didn't want to give up a talent like him for nothing. Their solution was cold and calculated: let Holiday put up numbers for a year, then trade him for draft picks.
Holiday had no idea that the harder he worked, the more inconvenient he became to the people upstairs.
After sweeping the 76ers, the Knicks finally caught a break—three full days off. The schedule this season felt merciful by comparison.
Last year's brutal stretches of back-to-back-to-back games had been enough to drain anyone.
With the new season underway, Lin Yi's shift in playing style quickly became a hot topic.
. . .
On the 7th, during an ESPN post-game show, Jeff Van Gundy pointed it out directly:
"Through the first three games, Lin Yi is shooting nearly 70 percent from the field. That kind of efficiency changes everything. He's not just scoring—he's setting the tone for how the Knicks play. This is something the old heads have been pushing for. "
The host turned toward Van Gundy, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
"Jeff, from your perspective, what stands out the most about Lin's game this season?"
Van Gundy nodded thoughtfully.
"First, it's his work in the low post. Lin clearly added some weight in the offseason, and that's made him far more effective down there. Second, his role in the pick-and-roll. His screens are solid, he forces switches, and once that happens, he's very good at slipping into space or cutting behind the defense for easy looks."
The host leaned in a little.
"But Jeff, historically speaking, we've seen plenty of great big men in the NBA. A lot of retired centers don't think Lin's post-game is truly unguardable. So, isn't it possible for teams to just put a traditional big on him?"
Van Gundy let out a quiet sigh.
"That's exactly the point I've been wrestling with. I coached Yao Ming, and compared to Yao, Lin's post-game obviously isn't that level of sheer dominance. But the problem is this—Lin isn't a traditional big."
He picked up the tactical board and sketched quickly as he spoke.
"The Knicks are huge across the lineup. If you assign a big man to Lin, you risk what we saw from the Heat in the opener. Lin just drags him out to the perimeter and attacks from there."
The host raised his eyebrows.
"So what you're saying is, most teams end up having to use wings on him?"
Van Gundy nodded.
"Exactly. Yes, the decline of the old-school center is real. If Lin only played with his back to the basket, teams would still find ways to manage him. But he's athletic, he can handle the ball, he can drive, and he can shoot. All of that forces defenses to put wings on him."
He paused briefly, then added,
"And once that happens, Lin becomes extremely difficult to stop in the post."
The host couldn't help but sound a little excited.
"So… are you saying Lin is basically unstoppable already?"
Van Gundy shook his head with a small smile.
"No, not quite. I've been thinking about this a lot over the past few days. There are ways to limit him, but they require discipline, timing, and the right personnel."
When Van Gundy finished, the host broke into applause.
"Jeff, this is why people still call you one of the best defensive minds in the game."
Van Gundy waved it off, slightly embarrassed.
Meanwhile, in front of the TV, Lin Yi stared at the screen before angrily tossing the remote onto the couch.
This was getting ridiculous.
I'm still a kid, he thought. Do they really need to break me down like I'm the final boss?
Why wasn't Van Gundy spending this much time studying the Heat—or the Bulls?
Lin Yi had barely enjoyed three games of peace before the league started dissecting him again.
Maybe this was just one man's opinion—but if Van Gundy set the tone, and the league's best tactical minds followed suit, padding stats wasn't going to be easy anymore.
By coincidence, Rick Carlisle—head coach of the Dallas Mavericks and the Knicks' next opponent—had also watched the segment.
Carlisle agreed with much of it. Van Gundy had gotten sharper since moving to the booth. If the Mavericks managed to beat the Knicks, Carlisle decided, he'd owe that bald man a nice dinner.
Later, during the Mavericks' pregame meeting, Carlisle looked around the room and said calmly,
"Alright. Today, we're going to focus on one thing—how we defend Lin."
. . .
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