The Brooklyn Nets are playing their best basketball of the season, in large part due to the return of Jeremy Lin. A return that means so much to so many outside of the borough of Brooklyn.
For every pick-up game I’ve joined, for every court I’ve stepped on, I’ve known that I’m more than likely to hear one thing, “Go pick-up Jeremy Lin.” It’s a phrase that just about any Asian-American has heard since the start of one of the most surprising stories in NBA history. And it’s something I’ve never been upset with.
I’m smart enough to know race is a/the factor, but every time I hear it I only feel a sense of pride. It instantly floods my mind with the hype Jeremy Lin, a Harvard grad, received at peak Linsanity, which was covered in large part by Pablo Torre, another Harvard grad who has also had a great impact on my life. (Neither of them are even Korean like myself -Lin is of Taiwanese descent, while Torre is Filipino- but the impact of Asian-Americans in sports is so far and few that you can’t really blame me for getting attached.)
Linsanity was an inspiration to all young Asian athletes simply because Lin himself is relatable. He’s not absurdly large like other NBA players; he’s incredibly quick, faster than most, but he resonated with me even more than Yao Ming did, because, well… I’m nowhere near 7-foot-6, 311 pounds. Lin is a guard, and looks like fairly small amongst his opponents.
It’s difficult for me to relate to players like Yi Jianlian, Ming or Ha Seung-Jin, in the same way it is to relate to Anthony Davis or DeAndre Jordan. Like most humans on Earth, I’m just not big enough to. When Lin plays he looks about the same size I do when compared to everyone else, which instantly drew me to him.
There’s a little bit of a mirror affect in him – meaning it’s easier to see yourself in him – and it looked like his hype was never going to end. Then suddenly, it was gone.