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Chapter 161: Patting Legends
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 22:17:05 +0000 UTCIt had to be said—when it came to D’Antoni’s coaching days with the Suns , that was some beautiful basketball.
That Phoenix team? Pure poetry on hardwood. Flashy, fast-paced, no-look passes and lights-out shooting. They looked like champions. But looking good and being good? Two different things when the Spurs were standing in your way.
In ‘04-’05, D’Antoni dropped the run-and-gun bomb on the league. Turned the Suns into title favorites. Nash grabbed his first MVP, and the team was scoring like a video game—110 points a night, easy.
But then, boom—Joe Johnson gets injured right before the Western Conference Finals. And the Spurs? Clinical as always. Took advantage, shut them down, 4–1.
Two years later, it looked like the Suns were ready. Stronger. Smarter. More focused. Then Game 4 happened. Robert Horry body-checked Steve Nash into an advertisement sign like it was hockey. The Suns' bench exploded—Stoudemire and Diaw jumped up to defend their guy. And just like that, the NBA handed out suspensions.
Horry got a slap on the wrist. Stoudemire and Diaw? Suspended for a crucial game. The Suns lost the series, 2–4. Again.
Next year, D’Antoni brought in Shaq. They were done playing nice. Time to hit back. Coach Popovich responded with Hack-a-Shaq right out of the gate. Slowed the game to a crawl. Ugly, choppy, borderline unwatchable.
The Suns lost. Again. 4–1. D’Antoni left town after that. And deep down?
Yeah. He never got over it.
...
December 26th, 2009
Knicks practice.
D’Antoni was unusually quiet.
During a water break, he stood near Lin Yi, arms crossed, watching the floor like it had wronged him personally.
“Lin,” he asked suddenly. “You think we can beat the Spurs?”
Lin looked up, half mid-sip. “Coach, come on. That’s not even a question. You gotta believe in yourself... and in us.”
D’Antoni let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re right. I’m the coach, and I’m out here asking rookie-level questions.”
Lin smiled. “The Spurs just… they do something to people.”
And it was true. The Spurs didn’t just beat teams. They got into your head. Slowed the game, took the fun out, turned offense into mud. Lin remembered what LeBron said once—how Duncan told him, “The future is yours.”
Then handed him L after L.
“Didn’t you say it was my future?” LeBron probably wanted to yell.
And Duncan probably just looked at him with that deadpan face: “Relax. It’s coming.”
Popo? Man, don’t trust that friendly grandpa act. He’d smile at you while his team carved you up piece by piece.
A thousand teams had walked into the Spurs’ butcher shop. Few walked out whole.
....
Back at practice, the players could feel it. This Spurs game meant a lot to D’Antoni. He kept shouting “Defense!” over and over like it was the only word in his vocabulary.
Even Danilo Gallinari looked off. Lin walked over, gave him a quick pat on the back.
“You good, man? You look like someone stole your Vespa.”
“I’m broken,” Gallinari sighed. “Coach is running boot camp today. Feel like the world gave up on me.”
Lin nodded sympathetically. Then grinned. “Danilo… the world never gave up on you.”
Gallo looked up, eyes softening.
Lin clapped him on the back again. “Because the world never needed you to begin with. Now move that ass!”
Gallo: “…”
...
December 27th.
Madison Square Garden, New York
Spurs vs Knicks.
Old rivals. New pieces.
D’Antoni vs. Popovich.
Lin Yi couldn’t help it. During warmups, he caught sight of Ginobili and got the sudden, terrible urge to touch his bald spot.
Thankfully, Gallinari wandered by, chasing a ball. Lin reached out and ruffled his hair instead.
A photographer caught it. The broadcast zoomed in.
“Seems like Lin Yi and Duncan both like patting their teammates on the head,” said Yu Jia on CCTV.
“Yeah, it’s because they’re the tallest guys,” Director Zhang chimed in. “Nobody else can reach them.”
Yu Jia chuckled. “If Lin Yi and Duncan played on the same team, who would get to do the patting?”
“Tough call,” Zhang grinned. “But hey—have you noticed Manu’s hair is vanishing at lightspeed?”
On the court, Duncan caught Lin Yi’s eye. They locked eyes for a second too long. Duncan smiled faintly. Lin’s lips curled into a grin.
“…Are they making eye contact?” Gallinari whispered.
David Lee leaned in, dead serious. “Wanna hear a story?"
"Sure."
Lee, with some dramatic flair, started "Duncan once said to Lin, ‘You’ve got talent, kid.’ And Lin replied, ‘Right back at you.’ Then Duncan said, ‘The future is yours,’ and Lin said, ‘Nah man, it’s yours.’”
Gallo, ever the believer, asked. “Wait—how do you know that?”
“I made it up,” David Lee said hiding his laughter.
Gallo: “???”
The truth was, something did pass between Lin and Duncan.
They just stood there staring.
Long pause.
Still stood facing each other like statues, silent as the MSG lights dimmed behind them.
Finally…
“What are you doing?” Duncan asked, eyebrow raised.
Lin stepped forward, solemnly placed his hand on Duncan’s head.
“…This.”
