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Chapter 187:Knicks vs Sixers
🕑 Added 2025-06-14 15:27:10 +0000 UTCPhiladelphia 76ers head coach Eddie Jordan was having a rough day.
The Knicks were coming to town, and the Sixers still didn’t know how the hell they were supposed to guard Lin Yi.
A couple of his assistants had already come up with all sorts of shady excuses—stomachaches, emergency girlfriend pregnancies... you name it.
Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration—but you get the picture.
Then there was Dalembert.
The team’s big man straight-up refused to guard Lin anymore.
The once-confident center now flinched whenever Lin’s name came up.
And you can’t blame him.
Lin Yi had cooked him the last time they met.
So badly that fans were calling Dalembert’s flailing defensive stance the "R-kneel defense" on YouTube. Clips of Lin finessing him had gone viral.
Dalembert used to be all about the stats. He was hoping to pad his numbers and lock down a comfy contract before retirement. But how do you stat-pad when Lin Yi is dragging you up and down the court like a ragdoll?
Eddie Jordan saw through all of it.
Dalembert’s fake smiles. Even the interns were starting to mysteriously disappear around practice time.
It wasn’t just about Lin scoring—it was the mental toll.
Even Elton Brand looked like he’d rather fake a doctor’s note than step on the court with Lin again.
Once upon a time, Brand dreamed of punching Garnett in the mouth and outplaying Duncan. Now? Now he was just trying to make it to retirement without getting dunked on by a Chinese rookie again.
Damn kid was ruining his post-career highlight reel.
So, who the hell was left to guard Lin Yi?
Just when Eddie Jordan thought he was out of options, Iguodala stepped up.
A light shone down from the heavens.
Eddie almost cried.
“Alright, you’re up,” he nodded. Good luck, hero.
...
Wachovia Center, Game Time.
The Knicks were in town, and the Sixers were sitting 12th in the East.
Still, Allen Iverson wasn’t going down without a fight.
Before tipoff, the legend gathered the squad and barked out: “Let’s defend our house! We’re sniping New York tonight!”
He wasn’t putting up MVP numbers anymore, but his heart? Untouched.
Iverson’s presence had lit a fire in the locker room. Guys like Jrue Holiday would later say that AI was the one who taught them how to really play the game—how to hustle, how to survive.
And the Sixers came out blazing.
They threw themselves into defense. The Knicks, still a young squad, got rattled fast.
Iverson? He looked like his old self, even if it was just flashes.
His dribbles were still hypnotic, the rhythm in his handle still a thing of beauty.
Score: 2-8. Sixers lead.
AI was 3 for 5 from the floor in the first quarter.
New York looked stunned. D'Antoni hovered near a timeout.
But before he could call it…
Lin Yi stepped forward.
D'Antoni held back. He trusted Lin to steady the ship.
“That kid… he’s my Duncan,” D’Antoni whispered to his staff.
Lin looked across the court.
Iguodala.
Not bad. Low center of gravity, wingspan for days, and those fast hands…
You couldn’t just muscle through him. So Lin chose the patient route.
He backed Iggy down, felt the resistance… then suddenly noticed something was off.
Wait—why did Iggy feel… lighter?
Then it clicked.
He’s baiting me.
Lin faked a left shoulder dip, then spun right—and there was Iggy, waiting. Dude had scouted the hell out of him.
But Lin didn’t panic. He had his counter ready.
He protected the ball tightly—he knew Iguodala loved stripping players before they could rise—and with a clean motion, he turned, elevated, and fired.
Iggy’s hand was right in his face.
Didn’t matter.
Lin floated up like silk, and swish—the net kissed it gently.
MWAhh
Score: 4-8.
Even the Philly crowd gasped.
D'Antoni just chuckled.
Iguodala just smiled and nodded. He’d played perfect D—but sometimes, perfect just isn’t enough.
Iguodala knocked down a clean mid-range jumper off a dish from Iverson—no drama, just business.
But on the next play, Lin Yi was right there, skying for the rebound like it was gift-wrapped for him.
The Sixers had done their homework. Their transition defense was locked in tonight. They even swapped in Speights for Brand—just to keep up with the Knicks' pace. Speights wasn’t as strong, but he moved better, and that mattered.
With no fast break available, Gallinari pulled up, scanned the floor, and flipped a high pass to Lin Yi.
Lin snatched the ball in stride with his right hand and casually hid it behind his back like he had all the time in the world.
“Huh...”
He paused for a second.
Was it just him, or did the basket suddenly feel massive?
Like... ocean-wide.
It was the kind of feeling you don’t question—just ride with.
That surreal clarity, like the rim was calling to you?
Lin didn’t overthink it.
He stepped in. Turned. Rose.
Splash. Two more. 6–10.
The Knicks' bench jumped up, towels swinging like helicopters.
Barron and Duhon—both resting tonight—were practically doing a conga line on the sideline.
It wasn’t just the make—it was the way he made it.
Lin’s fadeaway wasn’t stiff. It was fluid. Smooth like ink on rice paper. The movement just flowed. Pure artistry.
“Don’t take it personally, Dre,” Iverson said, patting Iguodala on the back. “Even Duncan wouldn’t have blocked that.”
Iguodala didn’t say a word. He’d played perfect defense...
So, how the hell did that go in?
Philly fans—even the haters—were stunned.
Yeah, Lin was the enemy tonight, but damn... that was clean.
The game rolled on. Iverson attacked the paint, floated into a fading jumper—but it bounced off.
Close, but no cigar.
Knicks ball. David Lee cleaned up the board, and they were off again.
Lin Yi drifted to the right wing, caught the ball at a 45-degree angle.
He felt it again. That click.
Same rhythm. Same shot pocket.
He jabbed, took one step in, turned...
Up. Over. Pure.
Iguodala was all over it, hand up in his grill.
Didn’t matter.
Swish.
*8–10. *
Even Iguodala blinked like he couldn’t believe it.
“Is the rim betraying us?” he muttered.
Some Philly fans couldn’t help themselves—they groaned, then cheered.
You hate the Knicks... but you respect that kind of bucket.
“Tonight, Lin Yi is possessed!”
Chuck’s voice jumped a few decibels.
Kenny didn’t even need to chime in yet.
The Sixers inbounded quickly.
Iverson wasn’t about to let the kid show out on his floor without a fight.
He dribbled hard, froze the defender, rose—and this time, drilled the jumper.
The crowd roared.
Chants of “AI! AI!” filled the arena. But something felt... conflicted.
They cheered Iverson like always—but deep down, they were still thinking about Lin.
The Knicks went right back to him.
Another iso.
But this time, Iverson came over to help.
Big mistake.
You don’t trap Lin that late.
He recognized the double instantly—but instead of forcing a pass, he trusted the moment.
Lift. Tuck. Balance. Release.
Picture-perfect fadeaway.
The arc was a chef’s kiss.
Bang.
Four straight fadeaways.
Knicks bench? Losing their minds.
Harrington had to physically stop the guys from running onto the court.
Then he gave up and ran to Lin himself.
“Yo Lin, GIVE ME YOUR KNEES!” he yelled, laughing.
Even Iverson had to chuckle. He turned to Iguodala and clapped him on the shoulder again.
“You good, man. You played that perfectly.”
But deep down?
Allen Iverson felt a little... nostalgic.
It wasn’t too long ago that he was that young gun, cooking everyone in his path, making fans fall in love with every crossover.
Now he was the one passing the torch.
“Damn... when did I get so sentimental?” he thought.
Meanwhile, the crowd couldn’t hold back anymore.
They were clapping. For Lin.
Enemy or not, what they’d just witnessed was special.
Four straight tough fades. All net.
All art.
