After the first quarter, China trailed 24–27.
The FIBA officials in attendance were quietly impressed—especially by the significant changes the Chinese team had undergone since Lin Yi joined.
Most FIBA games tended to devolve into grinding, physical battles, but throughout the group stage—aside from the matchup with Russia—China had leaned into an attacking style. The pace was high, the plays were sharp, and the games were genuinely fun to watch.
Some neutral fans even joked that China's games were more entertaining than Team USA's.
Lin Yi knew why.
It wasn't disrespect—it was just fatigue. Watching dominance every night eventually got dull.
Early in the second quarter, Lin Yi checked back in alongside Wang Zhizhi, Zhu Fangyu, Zhou Peng, and Liu Wei.
Argentina countered with Gutierrez, Kammerichs, Nocioni, Jasen, and Delfino.
Throughout the Olympics, Ginobili was averaging close to thirty-five minutes a night, with most of his rest coming in the second quarter. Lin Yi understood the window immediately.
This is the stretch, he thought. This is where we push.
Ginobili was already thirty-five. Lin Yi had read more than enough about Manu to know that stamina—not skill—was the only place time could still touch him. There was no way Lin Yi was letting him sit comfortably on the bench and recover.
Argentina's bench unit simply couldn't match up. Gutierrez, solid but slow, had no real answer for Wang Zhizhi or Lin Yi. Inside, China could pretty much pick their spots.
Basketball was simple at this level: maximize what you're good at, avoid what you're not.
Argentina's perimeter wasn't weak, but it wasn't dominant either. If Lin Yi kept dumping the ball outside and letting the guards force things, he'd just be wasting the advantages he and Wang Zhizhi were creating inside.
When China pushed the score to 33–29, Julio Lamas stood up immediately and called a timeout.
Barely two minutes later, Ginobili was back on the floor.
Lin Yi exhaled quietly. As expected.
He tapped Zhou Peng on the head as they jogged past each other.
"Zhou," Lin Yi said calmly, "be physical. If you foul, fine—but don't give him an and-one."
Zhou Peng nodded. His perimeter defense was among the best on the roster, and Lin Yi needed him to make Ginobili work for every touch. Every bump, every cut, every extra step mattered.
The game settled into a fast, punishing rhythm. Against most teams, Argentina's interior held up well—but against China's twin towers, it was under constant stress.
The game's changing, he realized. Big men don't stay big anymore.
Midway through the second quarter, the score was tied at 43–43. Both teams were flying up and down the court. Lin Yi could feel his legs getting heavier—but Argentina was worse off. Their core rotation was burning fuel fast.
When Yao Ming and Yi Jianlian checked back in, the pace finally slowed. Shots started rimming out. Possessions turned into half-court battles.
At the buzzer, Yao Ming dropped in a soft hook.
51–50. China led at halftime.
"That score looks more like an NBA game than a FIBA one," Yu Jia remarked.
"China's done well," Xu Jicheng agreed. "Argentina's shooting hasn't been bad, but they simply can't deal with China inside."
...
In the locker room, a small but telling moment unfolded.
Coach Dan instinctively handed the whiteboard to Lin Yi.
During Knicks games, Lin Yi and Paul were already used to breaking down coverages at halftime. Yao Ming noticed and laughed.
"Lin," he teased, "you do this in the NBA too?"
Lin Yi coughed once, embarrassed, but didn't hand the board back. He pointed at the diagram and spoke evenly.
"In the second half, we keep pushing the pace," he said. "Look at them. Scola and Ginobili are already carrying too much."
At the break, Scola had twelve points and five boards. Ginobili had nineteen. They were productive—but they were also working hard for everything.
"If we keep the pressure on," Lin Yi continued, "they won't last."
He started to instruct them on the plays to be used.
Back on the other side of the hallway, Lamas placed a hand on Ginobili's shoulder.
"Manu," he said quietly, "Argentina needs a medal. We're counting on you."
Ginobili nodded.
He'd answered that call his entire career—beating Team USA, winning with Spurs, pulling off impossible finishes, standing toe-to-toe with legends. Time had slowed him, but it hadn't emptied him.
He wasn't ready to put the blade away.
...
The third quarter opened with Ginobili taking control. Shot after shot, drive after drive, he carried Argentina forward. Fans watching back in China could only shake their heads.
Consistency—that was Ginobili's greatest weapon.
Argentina surged. China called timeout.
55–66. Thirteen straight points from Ginobili.
Lin Yi sat down and took a long breath. He'd expected a run—but the margin mattered. If it stretched too far, even tired legs wouldn't be enough to save them later.
At the end of the timeout, Coach Dan grabbed Lin Yi's arm.
"Yao's solid. Yi's playing well," he said honestly. "But if we're coming back, it's on you."
Lin Yi smiled, steady and relaxed. He gave Dan's shoulder a reassuring pat.
"Got it," he said.
"Leave it to me."
...
Earlier in the tournament, after the opener against Spain, Yao Ming had once asked Lin Yi a simple question: What would the Knicks do in a game like this?
The answer wasn't complicated.
Run. When things stalled—simplify and trust the star.
Back before the team left for London, D'Antoni had said to one of his assistants, half-joking but dead serious:
"If nothing works, give the ball to Lin and clear the floor."
Now, Coach Dan was doing exactly that.
Coming out of the timeout, he subbed out Yi Jianlian and Sun Yue, bringing in Wang Zhizhi and Zhu Fangyu—shooters who could stretch the floor and give Lin Yi space.
Argentina's head coach, Julio Lamas, stiffened the moment he saw Lin Yi bring the ball up as the point guard. He knew Lin could do it—but seeing it in this situation still made his stomach drop.
On the floor, Ginobili waved his teammates closer.
"Watch him," he said again, quietly but firmly.
He'd already said it once in the huddle.
"He is the NBA MVP."
That sentence landed hard. A few of Argentina's younger players instinctively glanced at Lin Yi, a mix of respect and tension in their eyes.
China's offense began to spread out. As Lin Yi crossed half-court, Ginobili suddenly felt a strange familiarity. Lin didn't play like Duncan—but something about his calm, the way the game bent around him, felt eerily similar.
After all, who else on this team could make Yao Ming drift to the baseline and wait?
Clear out. No screens. No tricks.
Lin Yi dribbled in rhythm—sharp, deliberate, controlled. Nocioni didn't dare reach. All he could do was shift his feet, reacting, guessing.
One hesitation. A burst.
The crowd roared.
Shammgod!
Nocioni's legs gave out. He could only watch Lin Yi glide past him. Scola slid over to help—but hesitated.
In the 2011–12 NBA season, Lin Yi led the league in and-one opportunities. At 120 kilos, once he got downhill, stopping him usually meant paying the price.
Scola was smart. He knew when to sell contact, when to step back. Earlier in the game, he'd tried to draw a charge—but Lin Yi slipped around him like water.
This time, Scola's position wasn't right. A late step would've been a blocking foul.
So he raised both hands.
Lin Yi didn't force it. No dunk. Just a clean, switch-up layup.
"Finally, Lin Yi breaks the drought for China," Yu Jia exhaled, wiping his brow.
57–66.
Argentina came down. Ginobili was breathing heavier now. Delfino dumped it into Scola. He spun, went to his hook—but hesitated just enough, worried about Yao Ming looming behind him. The shot clipped the rim.
Yi Jianlian secured the rebound and immediately found Lin Yi.
No slowdown. No reset.
Lin Yi attacked Nocioni again.
Wear down the forwards. Drain their legs. Make the fourth quarter survivable.
Ginobili was still lurking. Lin Yi wasn't giving him fresh teammates to work with later.
Nocioni barely slid into position this time—but that was enough. Lin Yi rose the moment Nocioni shifted his weight.
Boom.
A left-handed dunk.
The bench exploded. Dunks didn't just count for two—they lifted the whole team.
59–66.
Lamas called a timeout immediately.
In the huddle, he leaned toward Ginobili.
"Do we trap him? Force the others to beat us?"
Ginobili nodded.
"Double him. Andres is already rattled."
Out of the timeout, Ginobili answered with a step-back jumper. 59–68. Four minutes left in the third.
The arena buzzed with nerves. Every possession felt heavy.
China came back up. Lin Yi dribbled into a trap—Nocioni and Prigioni closing fast. Zhu Fangyu was open on the wing. Lin didn't hesitate. A high, clean pass over the top.
Zhu Fangyu caught, rose, and fired.
Swish.
62–68.
"Lin Yi's passing is just as hard to deal with as his scoring," Yu Jia said.
"When he lifts the ball with both hands, defenders are basically guessing," Xu Jicheng replied.
That three changed things.
On the next possession, Argentina missed—and Zhu Fangyu hit another three.
65–69.
Now Argentina had a problem.
Delfino responded, drilling a pull-up three of his own.
65–72.
He wasn't flashy, but he was reliable—just like the rest of Argentina's veterans.
Lin Yi glanced at the scoreboard, then pushed the ball again. This time, Argentina hesitated to trap.
One fake drive. Nocioni flinched.
Step-back.
Three.
Swish.
68–72.
The arena erupted.
"MVP! MVP!"
"That's 30 for Lin Yi tonight," Yu Jia shouted. "He's going for 40!"
"This is why he's the ace," Xu Jicheng said. "After the Knicks' failure to defend their title, Lin has being playing like a man on a mission. It looks like his vacation did a lot of good."
Lin Yi grabbed another rebound moments later and sprinted past half-court. Argentina fouled immediately. They were already in the penalty.
On the bench, Coach Dan shook his head with a quiet laugh.
"No wonder Mike always pulls him aside when things get stuck."
Because players like Lin Yi solved problems.
With Argentina over the limit, Lin Yi attacked without hesitation. By the end of the third quarter, China had closed it to 75–76.
Red flooded the stands. The momentum had fully shifted.
Ten minutes remained.
History was within reach.
. . .
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