In the first round of the Eastern Conference playoffs, during the Bulls–Hawks series, the famously stubborn Rose had declared with conviction, "Born to be strong!"
And then—everything fell apart.
To Lin Yi, Thibodeau's decision-making bordered on madness. Rose had only just returned from injury, yet he was pushed as if nothing had happened, run straight into the ground.
The Bulls were clearly superior to the Hawks. Unless Joe Johnson suddenly turned into Michael Jordan, there was no realistic chance of an upset.
But Thibodeau was that stubborn.
So when the Bulls won Game 1 at home, not a single fan in Chicago felt any real joy. The victory felt hollow.
When the MRI results came out, the truth hit like a hammer.
Rose had torn his ACL. Estimated recovery: ten months.
At best, he wouldn't be back until late next season. And without their franchise star, no one would be lining up to bet on the Bulls anymore.
Lin Yi called Rose immediately.
For the first time, the proud, hard-headed Rose sounded small. Almost wronged.
"Lin… I should've listened to you."
Lin Yi let out a quiet sigh. "Focus on getting healthy, Derrick. Take your time. Don't rush it. Your body's yours—you only get one."
He went further, carefully suggesting that Rose rethink his playing style. Fewer reckless, full-speed changes of direction. Less explosive cutting without deceleration. That style was brutal on the knees.
It reminded Lin Yi of Ronaldo's dribbling in football—spectacular, but punishing. Even Ronaldo himself had to adapt later in his career.
"I will," Rose said after a pause. "When I'm back… I'll train with you."
Lin Yi knew that meant something. Aside from teammates and family, he was one of the few people Rose had spoken to. For all his All-Star status, Rose was quiet, guarded, and didn't have many close friends.
Lin Yi didn't want to see a rose fade like that.
Even if Rose never fully returned to his peak, if he adjusted his mindset and stopped gambling his body on every drive, there was still room for him among the league's elite point guards.
Rose's injury became a wake-up call across the playoffs. The lockout season didn't just compress schedules; it shaved years off careers.
Look at the Spurs.
Against the Hornets, they won comfortably by fifteen without ever looking hurried. Gallinari had a brief scoring burst, but Popovich never panicked. Duncan stayed glued to the bench.
With nothing to do, Duncan casually reached over and patted Ginobili's head. Manu didn't even resist, wearing the expression of a man who had fully accepted his fate.
…
On May 1st, the Knicks took a commanding 2–0 lead over the 76ers at home.
Final score: 120–91.
Philadelphia's offense showed some improvement, but the third quarter decided everything. Lin Yi caught fire, drilling deep threes from well beyond the arc, and the Knicks surged forward without mercy.
That night, the system repeatedly flagged Lin Yi as having a "hot hand."
Ironically, his biggest frustration now was not knowing why it triggered. There were plenty of nights when his shot felt just as good—nothing happened.
Earlier in the game, he'd tried to activate it twice and instead got greeted by a frozen basketball. It felt less like motivation and more like mockery.
At that point, Lin Yi briefly wondered if he should head to Africa and have a shaman fix his luck.
…
On May 4th, the series shifted to Philadelphia.
76ers fans were starting to miss Iverson badly. This stretch of time was when AI nostalgia hit hardest.
Even Meeks knocking down six threes couldn't save them.
On the other side, Lin Yi, Chris Paul, and Klay Thompson combined for sixteen threes.
Series lead: 3–0.
Despite likely missing out on Rookie of the Year, Klay was brimming with confidence. After scoring fifteen in Game 2, he took a subtle shot at Kyrie Irving, who had eleven points in his playoff debut.
"I don't think I'm worse than anyone," Klay said. "I'm the best rookie in the 2011 class."
Lin Yi approved. Confidence mattered. Without it, even legends couldn't complete their journeys. He'd already sharpened his razor—just waiting for the day Klay reached enlightenment.
...
On May 6th, backed into a corner, the 76ers finally played their best basketball of the series.
Fueled by the home crowd, they traded blows with the Knicks all night.
At halftime, Philadelphia led 57–55. That alone sent waves of excitement through Knicks critics everywhere.
But then came the third quarter.
The familiar Knicks surge arrived right on schedule.
This time, Chris Paul took command. Under the sustained pressure, the 76ers unraveled.
Charles Barkley commented, "This is the Knicks. They struggle sometimes, but their resilience is unreal. I think they defend their title. Even injuries won't stop them."
If Lin Yi had heard that live, he would've told Shaq to shut Barkley up with a Splash. Praising them like that was dangerous.
Barkley's jinxes were real.
Still, the Knicks completed the sweep, winning 4–0.
Afterward, D'Antoni adjusted the rotation, bringing in Chandler Parsons.
The reason was unfortunate.
Markieff Morris was injured in the fourth quarter of the closeout game. While fighting for a rebound, he collided with Spencer Hawes, landed awkwardly, and came down hard on his wrist.
The MRI showed a fracture. Two months out—his athletic build spared him something worse.
But his playoffs were over.
When Lin Yi and the team visited him in the hospital, the rookie was crying openly.
Lin Yi joked that if the Pacers were already eliminated, maybe Morris's brother could suit up instead.
Just jokes.
Lin Yi understood how much this meant to him. For a rookie, how often do you get a real shot at a championship in your first season?
No one wanted to be the first to lie down.
...
On the 7th, after the Knicks became the first team to advance to the Eastern Conference Semifinals, the Western Conference also saw its first team punch a ticket.
Surprisingly, it wasn't the Spurs.
Not the Bulls.
Not even the Thunder.
It was the Memphis Grizzlies.
A clean 4–0 sweep of the Lakers.
Marc Gasol eliminated his own brother, and the Lakers' supposed advantage in the paint flipped completely on its head. Zach Randolph bullied Andrew Bynum throughout the series, and Kobe—locked inside the Grizzlies' suffocating defense—never found the space he needed.
There would be no miracle explosions. No historic scoring nights.
Over four games, Kobe averaged 26.7 points—but shot just 39.5 percent from the field.
Lakers fans watched him at the final buzzer, hands on his hips, chest rising and falling, and felt a familiar ache settle in. At the same time, his critics were quick to pounce.
After the series, though, the most shaken person—aside from Kobe himself—might have been Steve Nash.
The league's assist leader from the previous season had looked lost all year, regular season and playoffs alike.
After the final game, Nash lingered on the court, staring up at the rafters of Staples Center.
"Am I really this old?" he murmured to himself.
The championship banners hanging above were beautiful—but none of them belonged to him.
...
On the 8th, as the Knicks began preparing for the Eastern Conference Semifinals, another familiar figure arrived in New York.
Yao Ming.
He came to see Lin Yi in person.
While sitting in Lin Yi's home, the big man smiled faintly, a mix of relief and resignation in his expression.
"I'm retiring, Lin," Yao said quietly. "It's time."
There was no drama in his voice—just acceptance.
And somehow, that made it heavier.
...
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