Lin Yi won the opening tip with ease, but the Knicks immediately stumbled on their first possession. Before they could even settle into their set, Kobe Bryant read the passing lane like an open book. One clean steal, one long stride down the court, and he finished the fast break with that smooth touch off the glass.
2–0, Lakers.
The Garden fell into a hush, while the Lakers' bench rose as if they'd already landed a punch in a heavyweight fight.
New York came back with a more patient build, but their offense wasn't flowing. Ron Artest—his trademark elbows swinging like steel beams—leaned into Lin Yi on the block. Lin spun away, but his jumper clanked off the rim. Artest huffed as if it were all part of the plan.
Kobe, meanwhile, was on a mission. He wasn't just engaged; he was hunting. After grabbing a rebound, he waved off Derek Fisher, who had been ready to bring the ball up. Fisher—veteran, union president, and all-around steady hand—gave a resigned shrug. In Los Angeles, when Kobe wanted the ball, everyone else knew their role: stay out of the way.
Bryant crossed half court, pulled Tony Allen into his orbit, and rose for a midrange fadeaway that painted the picture of his career: high arc, perfect release, and a defender helpless against him.
Swish.
4–0. Just like that, Kobe had all four.
When Bryant started like this, it wasn't about who was guarding him. Tony Allen had a reputation as a stopper, but even elite defense couldn't put a lid on Kobe when the rhythm was flowing. That was the cruel truth of superstardom—sometimes, your best effort just wasn't enough.
The Knicks were rattled. Lin Yi glanced at the scoreboard and then at his teammates. He knew what this meant: Kobe had entered "kill mode."
Even so, New York finally cracked through. On their third attempt, Lin Yi drew Gasol to the elbow, then slipped a slick pass to Tyson Chandler, who thundered home a dunk. Madison Square Garden roared as if someone had opened the windows after a storm.
4–2.
But the Lakers weren't slowing down. Fisher finally touched the ball on the next play, but he barely held it for two seconds before spotting Bryant. Kobe's eyes were blazing, so Fisher wisely swung it back.
That was triangle basketball at its most deceptive: yes, it had structure, but in truth, it bent around the whims of its stars. And right now, every triangle in Los Angeles points straight to Kobe.
Another dribble, another fadeaway over Allen. Bucket. 6–2.
On the sideline, Phil Jackson sat with his arms folded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He'd seen this script before—Bryant seizing the rhythm, dictating the pace, and dragging the Lakers with him. Against a team like the Knicks, who relied so heavily on flow, the Zen Master knew offense was his hammer.
New York looked shaky. The West was a gauntlet this year, and the Lakers couldn't afford to drop games. They played with that urgency, that edge that said: not tonight, not us.
Lin Yi finally broke through, slicing past Artest and Odom with those deceptive side steps of his. He floated to the rim, kissed it softly off the glass, and heard the Garden erupt.
Kobe, watching from the wing, shook his head with a grin. If only he had Lin Yi's wingspan, he thought, maybe he'd block that and go at the kid one-on-one all night.
The scoreboard read 8–4 after another Bryant jumper, and Lakers fans online were in full celebration mode.
Lin Yi tried to respond on the next possession, nearly finishing over Gasol, but the ball rattled out.
And, almost mockingly, Kobe drilled another pull-up. 10–4.
Mike D'Antoni signaled for a timeout, his frustration clear. He wasn't Phil Jackson, but he knew he needed to steady the Knicks before the Lakers turned this into a runaway.
After the break, Lin Yi attacked again. Lamar Odom, long and versatile, slid in front of him. This was Odom's peak year, his Sixth Man of the Year campaign, but Lin Yi made him look flat-footed. Still, Odom recovered just enough to force Lin into a tough kick-out. Luckily, Chauncey Billups was there, catching Lin's pass in rhythm and burying the three.
"Close one," Lin Yi muttered, patting Billups' shoulder. "Nearly gift-wrapped a turnover."
Bryant missed his next shot—the first time he blinked all night—but the Lakers still carried themselves with swagger. They weren't rattled; they knew the ball would find him again soon.
For the Knicks, Lin Yi tried another approach, setting a strong screen for Danilo Gallinari. The Italian slipped free, took a Billups pass, and drilled a triple. Just like that, it was 10–10.
The Garden roared.
This was New York's weapon: three-pointers. They averaged nearly 30 attempts per game. When the outside shot started dropping, no lead felt safe—not even one built on Kobe Bryant's brilliance.
.
O'Neal often says the thing he admires most about Lin Yi isn't just the stats or the highlight reels, but his feel for the game. When Lin's shots aren't dropping, he doesn't stubbornly force the issue. He knows when to pull back, when to get others involved, and that's a quality you don't see in a lot of young stars. Shaq might clown him every now and then for having an off night, pointing out those dips in his shooting percentage, but deep down, the big fella respects it. He knows Lin isn't out there chasing numbers—sometimes he's deliberately sacrificing to give his teammates rhythm.
That's why Lin Yi's been leading the league in last-minute possessions this season. It's not just because he's the most reliable option, but because he carries himself like a leader. He doesn't sulk if things aren't perfect, and that composure has rubbed off on the Knicks.
The game was tied again, and Phil Jackson—The Zen Master himself—didn't bother calling a timeout. Instead, he let Kobe do what Kobe does. Bryant went into isolation, rose, and kissed another jumper off the glass.
Once Kobe finally eased up from his "God Mode," Lin Yi could breathe a little easier.
The Knicks ran their offense with patience. D'Antoni's system had them sprinting through off-ball cuts, flare screens, and horn sets designed to open shooters. The ball swung beautifully around the arc until Gallinari found himself wide open in the corner. The shot looked good out of his hands, but clanged off the rim. Score still locked at ten apiece.
Gasol corralled the rebound, and sensing the team needed balance, he looked inside rather than deferring to Kobe yet again. Pau hit Odom cutting down the lane, and Odom finished with a smooth layup. Lakers back in front, 12–10.
But the Knicks answered immediately. Chauncey Billups, Mr. Big Shot himself, wasn't going to let Fisher off the hook. He sized him up, hesitated just enough to freeze him, then pulled up right in his face. Net. 12–13, Knicks reclaim the lead.
And here's the thing—Billups has been living in Fisher's nightmares for years. Back in their prime matchup, Billups once torched him for 39 in a regular-season game. On that night, Derek Fisher had just 4 points, a single rebound, and couldn't buy an assist, while Chauncey drilled 9 of 13 from deep and hit nearly 70% of his shots. For Billups, it was target practice.
Career-wise, Chauncey sits at a healthy 38.7% from three. Against Fisher, though? He jumps closer to 42.5%. It's like he saves his best for this particular duel. And it's not just offense—Billups makes him work both ends of the floor, bullying him in post-ups, chasing him defensively.
Now, Fisher isn't quite the 185 cm the roster lists him as, and while he's always had the heart and grit of a veteran, he's the type of guard Billups thrives against. Chauncey relishes that kind of matchup.
You could see Fisher's frustration bubbling. He didn't have the tools to go one-on-one and answer back, so he did the only thing he could—handed the ball straight back to Kobe.
And Kobe obliged. Never one to turn down that kind of challenge, he took a dribble, pulled up with that slight backward lean that's so hard to contest. Tony Allen flew at him with a desperate block attempt, but the shot arced over cleanly.
Swish.
14–13. Lakers ahead again, and fans everywhere—especially Kobe's die-hards—were in a frenzy.
Bryant, ever the showman, gave Shaq a little shrug after the make, as if to say, "See? Still got it."
Shaq just turned his head, pretending to be busy chatting with Ewing Jr. on the sideline. "Didn't see it, fella. Didn't see a thing."
The crowd roared at the playful antics, but Lin Yi just sighed.
Back on the floor, the Knicks reset.
Lin Yi brought the ball up, pounding the dribble rhythmically as he grinned. The Showtime, as fans called him, was ready to go to work.
Thud. Thud. Thud…
The Garden was waiting.
...
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