Irving came downhill fast. Even though Klay borrowed the whole Uncle Drew persona from him, there was no denying it—Irving's handle on the move was elite. Smooth, controlled, deadly.
Two points—
Hold up. Wait a minute. Something ain't right.
Just as Irving glided to the rim and flipped up what looked like an easy layup, Lin Yi—already back in transition—suddenly took off.
No warning. No hesitation.
A one-handed block.
Lin Yi rose high, his right arm sweeping through the air in a wide arc before snapping down like a whip, ripping the ball cleanly out of the air. The motion looked eerily familiar—very McGee-like.
Irving froze for a split second.
"…."
As Lin Yi landed, their eyes met. Lin Yi had learned last season how difficult Irving was to block—but this time, Irving had been careless.
He never noticed Lin Yi sliding in behind him.
The Knicks pushed back into offense, and Dallas went right back to its high-pressure defense. Lin Yi exchanged a glance with Paul, then immediately started moving—cutting, circling, sprinting without the ball.
Gerald Wallace stayed with him, but the longer it went on, the more confused he looked. Lin Yi wasn't calling for the ball. He wasn't posting up.
He just kept moving.
Possession after possession, Lin Yi barely touched the ball—but his off-ball movement never stopped.
Carlisle didn't react immediately. From his perspective, the plan was working. Halfway through the first quarter, Dallas led 13–5.
Shaq, finally getting a word in, said bluntly,
"It's obvious Lin still has a lot of room to grow."
What he didn't say—but clearly meant—was: Back in my day, I cleared space by myself.
With 5:39 left in the first quarter, the Knicks called a timeout.
D'Antoni held the whiteboard up, quickly sketching out Dallas's defensive rotations. As the huddle was about to break, he considered subbing Klay in for Chandler and shifting Lin Yi to the five.
Lin Yi shook his head.
"Don't worry, Coach. They can't keep this up."
There was no panic in his voice—just certainty.
Lin Yi wasn't ignoring the Mavericks' plan. He'd already seen through it. This defense required constant movement, nonstop communication, and full commitment from all five players.
And that came at a cost.
"If they defend like this all night," Lin Yi added quietly, "they'll run out of gas before we do."
His relentless movement wasn't just dragging Wallace around. Dallas's defense was interconnected—every time Wallace followed, someone else had to shift, rotate, or recover.
That was why Paul hadn't forced him for the ball.
Paul nodded.
"Let me handle the rest of the quarter."
So the floor general flipped the switch—from facilitator to scorer.
Lin Yi smiled and nodded back.
"Then I'll take the second with the bench."
That was the luxury of having two engines. One could ease off while the other carried the load.
As the quarter wore on, Carlisle began to see it too.
There was a reason these coaches had stayed successful for so long. Carlisle understood what Lin Yi was doing—but even so, he felt he'd slightly underestimated him.
Dallas knew this defense couldn't be sustained forever. Carlisle planned to deploy it in bursts—just enough to keep the Knicks from building momentum.
Teams like New York, once they caught fire, could bury you quickly. Carlisle's priority was simple: keep them uncomfortable.
By the end of the first quarter, the Mavericks led 29–21.
Lin Yi had an unusual stat line—zero points, five rebounds, one block.
During the break, Barkley chuckled.
"Hey, what's this? Is Lin paying tribute to Kobe or something? Didn't even take a shot."
In Chuck's mind, only Kobe would go an entire quarter without shooting and still look satisfied.
Kenny Smith shook his head.
"Probably not. Lin's shot attempts are way up this season, but he's efficient. Nobody's questioning his decision-making."
The second quarter began, and for the first time this season, the Knicks rolled out a different look. Yao Ming sat, and Lin Yi led the bench unit alongside Draymond, Little Chandler, Klay, and Livingston.
Carlisle leaned forward slightly.
"They're trying to win the bench minutes."
For the next six minutes, his instructions to Dallas's second unit were simple:
Slow it down.
Control the pace.
And don't let the Knicks breathe.
In tactical basketball, every move comes with a trade-off. Lin Yi hadn't rested at all and was still leading the bench unit, so Rick Carlisle never assumed the Mavericks' second unit could truly contain him.
What caught Carlisle off guard, though, was Lin Yi's approach. The usually aggressive forward didn't force the issue at the start of the second quarter. Instead, he focused on moving the ball, repeatedly setting up his teammates for easy looks.
This season, the Knicks' offense had clearly evolved. Isolation plays were no longer the only option. High-post facilitation, quick handoffs, and off-ball cuts had become just as important. It was a more efficient way to score than grinding through possession after possession of one-on-one basketball.
From the sideline, Coach D's intentions were obvious. He wanted to tap into the full depth of the roster and take some of the load off the Duo.
With 6 minutes and 14 seconds left in the second quarter, both teams began subbing their starters back in. By then, the Knicks had quietly cut the deficit to five points, 41–37.
Carlisle immediately called a timeout.
"Stay with the plan," he told his players. "No changes."
Out of the break, the Mavericks struck first. Dirk Nowitzki faded away over the defense and knocked it down. 43–37.
The Knicks answered.
Lin Yi, who still hadn't taken a shot all night, drifted into the free-throw-line area. Chris Paul found him right on time. As Lin caught the ball, Kyrie Irving hesitated, half-committed to a double-team.
Wallace was on Lin Yi. Amar'e Stoudemire was nearby as well. If Irving stepped in, someone was going to be wide open.
On the sideline, Carlisle frowned.
Is he really thinking about taking this two-on-one?
Yes. He was.
Lin Yi had already read the coverage. The middle of the paint was the soft spot. He knew Wallace would make first contact, and he knew Amar'e would slide over to help.
Lin Yi leaned in.
One hard shove sent Wallace off balance. He spun, drove straight into Amar'e's chest, and lifted the ball high with his right hand. The semi-hook floated just out of reach.
Money.
43–39. Lin Yi's first points of the night.
The next possession, the Mavericks came up empty again. Same setup. Same spot.
Lin Yi backed Wallace down, felt the help coming, and didn't slow down this time.
He exploded.
Bang.
The rim at Madison Square Garden shook as Lin Yi finished with authority. What looked like a routine drive turned into a full-blown poster. It was the kind of dunk that felt unfair—one second you expect a layup, the next someone's on the highlight reel.
After adding weight, Lin Yi had embraced this kind of contact. The collision. The resistance. The certainty that once he got a step, there was nothing the defense could do.
Tonight, Lin Yi was taking the space.
. . .
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