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...
DeJuan Blair was built like a tank—solid, wide, low to the ground. A real brick wall. But even brick walls have weak spots.
The guy was barely two meters tall and didn't exactly have Inspector Gadget arms. Sure, if he got into position, even legit bigs struggled to move him. But still, Lin Yi had faced this kind of chunky brawler before.
And he knew exactly what to do.
Don't play the wrestling game. Don't try to box him out.
Blow by him. Beat him with speed and length.
Popovich, of course, picked up on it right away.
"Lin's just crashing the boards now," he muttered on the sidelines. "He's not even fighting for position. Just sprinting straight in. That's... disrespectful."
To be fair, Blair wasn't completely useless. The No. 2 rookie still managed to snag a few boards for the Spurs. If not for him, San Antonio might've been completely buried in that third quarter.
There's a reason coaches say, "Control the glass, control the game." It's not just a saying.
But Pop had bigger problems. The biggest one?
Tim Duncan was running out of gas.
Yeah, he was the Stone Buddha. But even stone erodes with time.
Lin had done it on purpose—he'd gone right at Duncan in the first half. Every pick, every drive, every contested board. It wasn't just about scoring—it was about wearing him down.
So why didn't the Knicks do this from the jump?
Part of it was strategy—they didn't want to show their hand too early. The other part?
Duncan, fresh and focused, still had enough juice to dominate the boards. They had to wait.
But now, with Duncan fading and no real size left behind him, the Knicks went all in.
Pop tried. He did. But who was he supposed to turn to?
McDyess? Lovell? Veterans, sure—but throwing them in now would be like waving a white flag.
And to make it worse, Lou Williams was heating up like a microwave.
Pull-up threes. Step-backs. Deep bombs after picks. That little hesitation dribble into a one-legged fade.
Everything was falling.
It felt like every time Lou touched the ball, the Knicks scored. In the final minute of the third quarter alone, they ripped off a 10-2 run.
Score: 68-70. Knicks take the lead.
Talk about a swing.
Popovich stared at the scoreboard, almost in disbelief. A leak in the roof during a storm—that's what it felt like. Just one thing going wrong after another.
He took a deep breath. He was pissed. But also... a little impressed.
He'd underestimated them. That was on him.
The truth was, this Spurs squad had flaws. The perimeter defense wasn't elite. Outside of Duncan, they didn't have a true interior anchor. He knew this. He'd built the roster.
But how the hell did the Knicks know all that?
Could it be... D'Antoni?
Pop scowled.
"Of course it's D'Antoni," he muttered. "Same guy I knocked out of the playoffs three years in a row with Phoenix. Still salty, huh?"
He shook his head.
Most East teams didn't bother breaking down the Spurs like this, especially not for a regular-season game. The two teams only met twice a year. Why waste the prep?
But the Knicks tonight... they came out like this was the Finals.
They targeted every weakness. Pressed every button.
If he didn't know better, Pop might've thought they were playing the Lakers, not the Knicks.
He sighed. "What is this, personal?"
Yeah. It kinda was.
Popovich made a mental note to check D'Antoni's star sign when he got home. Scorpio, maybe? That would explain the grudge.
Back on the Knicks bench, though, D'Antoni wasn't feeling smug at all.
Sure, he always studied upcoming opponents with his assistants. They ran the numbers. Broke down the tape. Tried to anticipate the other team's moves.
But even the best scouting is still a gamble. You don't know what's gonna click until the game starts.
Tonight?
Everything clicked.
And the Knicks were making the most of it.
Of course, D'Antoni knew the Spurs. He'd seen more film of them than most people had of their weddings. But lineups change, rotations shift—what he understood was the soul of the team. The Spurs' GDP: Ginóbili, Duncan, Parker.
But tonight? Tonight felt spooky.
Because some of the things Lin Yi had suggested before the game… they weren't just smart. They were spot on.
"Dan, didn't Lin mention he likes breaking down film on his own?" D'Antoni asked, glancing over at his brother, his third assistant.
"Yeah," Dan nodded. "Like, a lot. He watches more tape than half our staff."
D'Antoni blinked. "Well, hell," he muttered. "What is this kid, some kind of basketball fortune teller?"
If Lin could've heard that, he'd probably just laugh and say, "Coach, if you time-traveled from the future and put in the work to study the opponents, then maybe you will get it ."
Plus, Lin Yi was a die-hard Kobe guy… but he was also a full-on Spurs junkie. Thorn-honey to the core.
He knew that this 2009–10 version of the Spurs was vulnerable. Their roster had cracks—just like in 2012, when OKC ran them off the floor with sheer athleticism.
That's why Lin told D'Antoni: if it's a series, the Knicks probably lose. Seven games? Pop figures it out, no doubt.
But just one game?
Anything could happen.
Especially if Lin could wake up Melo and unleash a scoring frenzy.
That was the secret weapon tonight: the element of surprise.
The Knicks were attacking from the shadows. The Spurs were standing in the spotlight.
End of the third. Knicks up,72-83.
At the Garden, the crowd was going nuts. And on the Knicks bench, Lin came over to D'Antoni.
"Coach, I need a breather," he said, gasping. "Just the start of the fourth. I'll be back."
He was running on fumes, chest heaving. But man, he'd left everything out there.
His defense in the paint? Ridiculous. He looked like he belonged in an Avengers movie.
D'Antoni just shook his head, almost laughing.
"What can't this kid do?" he muttered to himself. "Need a leader? He's that. Need someone to do the dirty work? No problem."
Just in the third quarter, Lin Yi had grabbed eight rebounds. One of them was on the offensive glass, which shut up all the critics saying he couldn't crash the boards.
Forget pretty basketball. This wasn't a highlight reel.
This was war.
Training day in, day out. Watching films. Breaking down tendencies. Using every inch of his frame, every bit of skill, just to win.
Total dedication.
As the fourth quarter was about to start, Lin sat up, wiping the sweat off his face.
He looked at his teammates, eyes sharp.
"Get ready," he said. "Pop's not done. He's got one last play up his sleeve."
D'Antoni heard it and smiled to himself.
He knew it too.
The Spurs weren't gonna just roll over.
And Lin Yi?
Still calm. Still locked in.
Still thinking like a leader.
D'Antoni whispered, still shaking his head.
"Seriously. What kind of monster am I coaching?"
...
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