Champion Rules

Chapter 172, Section 168: We must continue to seize the present! (Seeking monthly votes!)

The Kings of New York will surely come back strong, and we haven't come away empty-handed this season. At the very least, we swept the Cleveland Cavaliers 4-0 in the regular season once again. —The New York Times

Will the New York Knicks be able to effectively strengthen their roster this summer? "This team can't rely on Lynch scoring 48 points every night to win; that's not a long-term solution," Charles Barkley commented on a program.

The man who saved New York recounted the team's final tragedy, yet his eyes remained clear as water. — Sports Illustrated headline, cover featuring Lynch standing in Madison Square Garden staring at the scoreboard.

Lynch said he would immediately throw himself into preparing for next season, eager to win his third ring, which is his goal. It's a heart that desperately wants a championship, even though he's already won one. —NBA Time and Space

Sam Cassell announces his retirement, and the New York Knicks will lose a special face. —The New York Times

Baron Davis has announced he is opting out of his contract and seeking a maximum salary extension. —San Francisco Chronicle

The Phoenix Suns have decided not to exercise Steve Nash's final-year team option and instead plan to offer him a two-year, $20 million contract extension. — Phoenix Herald

He said, "Congratulations, Catalan Gluten." I told him, "Let's talk about it when I win the championship, Caesar." I think the hometown fans will definitely be excited about this year's results. — Pau Gasol, a Barcelona native, told reporters about his conversation with Lynch after the game.

Why did the Cleveland media remain silent and not mock Lynch? Because LeBron was eliminated before Lynch was. Therefore, they had no right to speak out. —Stephen A. Smith Radio Program
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Nike should have given the New York Knicks a big promotional push after their elimination.

LeBron James's first-round exits this season have silenced all Nike media outlets.

What's more, LBJ lost to Dwight Howard, who is widely considered the weakest member of the "Dream Team," which was truly astonishing.

As a key figure in the LeBron James camp's propaganda efforts, ESPN reporter David McMenamin has long systematically denigrated Dwight Howard through his column. In constructing the concept of the "Dream Team," he even argued that "Dwight's inclusion on this list is somewhat forced."

This calculated strategy serves a dual purpose: to keep Dwight Howard in the spotlight and maintain his popularity, while ensuring he remains in the shadow of LeBron James.

Simply put: Dwight Howard can be strong, but not too strong.

He must be qualified to be compared with the other four, but not overshadow LBJ. Because usually, in a comparison, the second and last place are often the most awkward.

David McMenamin's job was to create someone to be at the bottom, ensuring that LBJ would never fall to last place.

Therefore, it's not hard to imagine how much of a blow LBJ's loss to Dwight Howard dealt to Nike's media narrative.

Howard's original role as a goalkeeper was suddenly changed, and the scenario that James' team least wanted to see has finally become a reality.

As Nike's heavily promoted star, he lost in a direct confrontation to a deliberately downplayed competitor. This dramatic upset turned all the previous marketing efforts into a boomerang aimed at their emperor, causing structural cracks in Nike's carefully cultivated system of ranking new generation stars.

As a result, Nike's media outlets remained collectively silent this summer.

They cannot comment on Lynch.

Otherwise, when Reebok retaliates, LBJ's league standing will be devastated.

So at least Lynch won't have to deal with the Nike-affiliated media this summer, which are as annoying as mosquitoes.

He can focus on his own affairs.

In May, the streets of New York were filled with the lingering tension of the post-war war. On the giant screen in Times Square, the Reebok advertisement’s slogan, “We will come back,” appeared faintly in the neon lights, like a sword mark left on the city wall by a hero at the end of his road.

Over the past four seasons, Lynch has reached the conference finals once and the NBA finals twice. This is the first time he's started his vacation so early, a feeling that feels completely unfamiliar to him.

Lin Qi gazed at the passing light and shadow outside the car window, his knuckles unconsciously stroking the leather seats of the Rolls-Royce Phantom. The car's fragrance, mixed with the unique scent of leather, fermented in the enclosed space.

This mobile palace witnessed his rise from nothing to glory, and also his first low point in his NBA career.

He glanced at Sam Presti beside him and decided to lighten the mood with a conversation: "My new girlfriend, Xenia Sukernova, doesn't like this car. She's convinced there are a lot of marks left by Alexandra and me on it. Sam, if I were to get a new car, do you have any recommendations?"

“Oh, I have a lot of recommendations here,” Sam Presti said, pulling out his phone and showing pictures of some beautiful women. “Like, the 2006 Miss World, or this Victoria’s Secret model, they would definitely love your Rolls-Royce Phantom. Lynch, which one do you want? Or all of them?”

Lynch let out a short, bitter laugh. As expected of a meticulous team general manager, his way of thinking was different from ordinary people.

Since this Miss Europe 2007 doesn't like this car, then let's find someone who does like riding in it, right?
Lynch's smile quickly faded like a spark falling into an icy lake; the simple joke failed to liven up the atmosphere.

Outside the window, the lights of New York City were fading into the distance. This unusually long holiday, which had arrived too early, gave Lynch a sense of the desolation unique to the changing of dynasties.

Sam Presti put the photos away: "Lynch, have you made a decision?"

The leather seats creaked slightly as Lynch adjusted his posture, gazing at the lights across the Hudson River: "He knelt on the Phoenix floor and grabbed my hand back then, and now I have to let go myself." His Adam's apple bobbed, and Lynch's fingertips tapped lightly on the car window. Ultimately, he couldn't win another championship with Stephon Marbury, couldn't ensure the New York son's place in history as a dynasty.

“It’s not easy for Sam, but I respect Stephen’s choice,” Lynch replied. “I’m not going to persuade him; I’m just going to say goodbye.”
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Stephon Marbury's residence is far less grand than Lynch's estate, but the aroma of blueberries mingling with the laughter of children creates a unique and sweet atmosphere.

The faded peach wood picture frame gleamed amber in the warm light of the chandelier. Lynch's gaze swept over those frozen moments—newspaper clippings of Marbury High School dunking at Madison Square Garden, hugs with family on draft night, and family photos taken when they first moved into their new home from the Coney Island slums.

But Lynch was surprised to find that many of the frames contained images related to him: an embrace under a shower of confetti at Madison Square Garden, two hands clasped together in the players' tunnel, and the moment Lynch pulled him up from the Phoenix court. Of the twenty-three frames in the room, nine recorded their journey of fighting side by side.

Mabel Marbury's voice interrupted Lynch's thoughts as she placed a cast-iron baking pan on the coffee table with her wrinkled hands, blueberry jam bubbling through the cracks in the pastry: "Stephen has been sitting in front of the oven stirring the batter since four in the afternoon. The kid said he had to let you taste the real Coney Island flavor."

“Lynch, Sam, you absolutely have to try this!” Marbury deftly sliced ​​off a piece of blueberry pie with a serrated knife, icing crumbs falling softly onto the bone china plate. “It’s the best thing in the world, I’ve been eating it for over thirty years and I still haven’t gotten tired of it.”

Lynch bit into the crisp pie crust, the excessive sweetness almost overwhelming him, but he still showed an expression of amazement: "It tastes amazing, thank you for your hospitality, madam."

After taking a bite of the blueberry pie, Sam Presti decided to get straight to the point:
"Stephen, we can grant you a waiver, which would indeed free up a considerable amount of salary cap space for the team instantly. But you need to think carefully. If no team claims you, according to the current collective bargaining agreement, we cannot sign you back, at least not this season. So, you will very likely disappear from the NBA for a while."

Furthermore, your final year contract isn't fully guaranteed. If you don't play, you'll likely only receive half your annual salary.

“Lynch, do you remember that nightmare in Phoenix?” Marbury didn’t answer, but pointed to the photo in the frame of Lynch pulling him up. “I was curled up on the floor, and thousands of gaping maws in the stands were about to tear me apart. That’s when you grabbed my hand and said, ‘Get up, Stephen.’ That scene was like a Bible story my mother told me; I received God’s salvation.”

“So, you’ve done enough for me. Even if I disappear from the NBA because of this, I have nothing to complain about. I’ve won two championships, I’ve become the pride of New York again, and all of that is because of you. Now, it’s my turn to do something for you,” Marbury gestured for Sam Presti to take out the amnesty agreement. “Once I help New York clear salary cap space, those bastards in Miami and Los Angeles will be trembling. You need better help, not an old guard who averages 11 points per game.”

"Stephen, I'm sorry I have to leave at this time."

Marbury interrupted Lynch, "No, no, no, don't say that. It's not about abandoning me. It's about not being able to match your intensity anymore. You've given me achievements far beyond what I could have achieved. When kids at Coney Island are still wearing my jersey, when young players at Coney Island still idolize me, that proves to me that my career has been successful enough."

“Damn,” Lynch took another bite of blueberry pie, and suddenly it didn’t taste sweet at all. In this bitter night, the sweetness was just right. “I said goodbye to Eddie the day before yesterday, then Sam yesterday, and they both decided to retire this summer, and now it’s you. In just a few days, the locker room has suddenly become much less crowded.”

"This is the end of an old era and the beginning of a new one. Please, stop making that face. Go create even greater history, Lynch. God shouldn't weep for mortals."

An hour later, Lynch and Sam Presti left Marbury's house with the signed pardon agreement.

The departures of Eddie Jones, Sam Cassell, and Stephon Marbury have freed up a significant amount of salary cap space for the Knicks this summer, giving them ample room to maneuver.

But Lynch remained in low spirits, because this marked the end of an era for the New York Knicks. Including Grant Hill, who left last season, almost half of the Knicks' key rotation players had disappeared.

He was saying goodbye not just to a few teammates, but to four glorious years from rookie to king of New York.

Lynch wasn't overly saddened; he knew he carried greater expectations and had to look forward.

The first stop ahead is the talent show.

"Sam, about this year's draft."

"We will pursue Serge Ibaka with all our might. That player, also from Real Madrid, idolizes you and is very willing to come to New York. Mr. James Dolan is also willing to pay to buy out his contract with Real Madrid. But as far as I know, there are many other teams interested in him, and they may very well snatch him up beforehand."

If we can't draft him, we'll try to pick DeAndre Jordan. He's projected to be a lottery pick and has received an invitation to the green room, so theoretically we have no chance. But his poor performance during the workout makes me feel like his draft position might be a surprise.

In the second round, I would choose either Goran Dragic or Luc Richard Mbah a Moute.

"Our team is getting younger, Lynch, that's the foundation for your future comeback."

“Don’t talk about the future, Sam!” Lynch frowned. “Only those who have lost the present focus on the future, but we haven’t completely lost the present yet. We need to keep seizing the moment! Don’t let their sacrifices go to waste. Aside from the draft, you have to bring me a few capable free agents this summer no matter what!”

"Of course, I will take care of it."

"Sam, I'm glad at least you're still by my side."

"Always at your service, God of New York."

With the New York Knicks aging completely, a glimmer of hope shines in the night skies of Miami, Detroit, and Los Angeles.

Young Caesar intends to spend a summer devouring the glimmer of hope in other cities.

(Thanks to the generous donors He Feng, Lin Yu, Book Friend 20250226131022734, Book Friend 20220426202814100, and others for their generous donations.)

(End of this chapter)