remove if posted. JASON GAY July 18, 2012, 4:05 p.m. ET Link: http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10000872396390444464304577535081027315006.html July 18, 2030 The man stepping to the podium at the New New New Madison Square Garden was not the phenom who'd captivated this franchise so many years ago. Twenty NBA seasons—a longer career than any expert ever imagined for him—had taken a toll. His walk, slowed by knee surgery, was cautious, and his hair, though still asymmetrically hip, was now gray. Jeremy Lin was 41 years old, and a New York Knick again. "Hello everyone," he said, smiling behind those familiar thick glasses, so trendy once. "Remember me?" How many of us do? It seems like such ancient history, when a 23-year-old Lin entranced this city, a backup to the backup, summoned off the couch in his brother's apartment to become the starting point guard for an imperfect team. There was a magical fortnight, an incandescent win streak, and an epic 38-point outburst versus the Las Vegas Lakers, then of Los Angeles. In a half month he became the most popular athlete in the city, a global phenomenon with a buzzy nickname: Linsanity. But it got weird, fast. Lin was injured, missed the playoffs. It was presumed he'd be back, but when the Houston Rockets presented a three-year $25 million offer, the Knicks grew irritated, comically stingy, and passed. Linsanity vaporized as another New York fad, like that summer everyone in Brooklyn decided to become a beekeeper. What happened next is better forgotten. The Knicks sunk deeper into the muck. Over the next three seasons Carmelo Anthony (remember him?) averaged 39 points and .004 assists but the Knicks never cracked .500. Amar'e Stoudemire lost another fight with Miami's fire extinguisher. The Knicks signed the fire extinguisher. The point-guard rotation was so bleak the Knicks brought aboard a loopy Stephon Marbury, who insisted on playing each game barefoot, with a green parrot on his shoulder. Then the inevitable happened. Isiah Thomas returned to the front office, then the bench, then finally, the court, at 54. "I feel like I'm the best option for this team," Isiah said. "Where's Jim?" Owner James Dolan signed Thomas to a five-year, $120 million deal, then, bizarrely, attempted to trade him three hours into it, finding no takers, before trading Thomas back to himself, and signing him to a 10-year, $240 million deal. A parade of coaches rotated through the locker room: Mike Woodson, Mike Dunleavy, Mike Dunlap, Mike Bibby, Mike Francesa. It was known as Dolan's Mike Period. Larry Brown returned for six weeks, then quit for a "once in a lifetime opportunity" to coach a Belgian slow-pitch softball team. Dolan grew furious and hired ancient rocker Lou Reed to coach. Sticking to a strategy of sitting Carmelo, reading old copies of Interview magazine and taking a nap on the bench during the second half, Reed did shockingly well; the Knicks made the second round of the playoffs. But the details are just details. The end result was the same. There's been no title banner since the days of Clyde and Walt, almost 60 sorrowful years. Brooklyn, smug and annoying, has won four. In Houston, Lin proved steady. He was not a Hall-of-Famer but he was consistent—17.5 points a game, nine assists, better than anything the Knicks ever got. The Rockets were lousy in the first year of the deal but they improved, reached the Western Conference finals by Lin's third season. Lin pushed on to Los Angeles, where he rejoined former Knicks coach Mike D'Antoni in a high-octane offense led by a veteran Kevin Durant, taking it all the way to a Finals Game 7 before losing 232-229. He made a few All-Star teams. He earned a lot of money, became one of the most recognized athletes on the planet. But there was always the nagging melancholy of an opportunity lost, by leaving New York too soon. Given a choice between risk and stubborn, stubborn won. Here was an effort to correct the past. Dolan, still in control, shook Lin's hand at the podium, but took no questions. The irony of Lin's new deal was not lost: four years, $50 million, twice what New York declined to pay in 2012. Lin will be 45 when it's through. Lin said all the polite things. He offered a hearty hello to the new Knicks coach, Gwyneth Paltrow. He said he was thrilled to play with Knicks center Marcus Camby, active at 56, in the first year of a new 11-year deal, and praised the recent signing of journeyman Juwan Howard. He offered nice tributes to his former teammates. Lin still speaks to Steve Novak every day. Carmelo Anthony, he heard, was averaging 78 points and .008 assists in Luxembourg. Landry Fields started a venture capital fund in Palo Alto. Amar'e had become a firefighter. J.R. Smith was now a U.S. senator. "J.R. could be president," Lin said. "Amazing. Just like President Tebow." When the questions were over, a small scrum of fans circled the podium. An older gentleman reached into a white plastic bag and removed an article of clothing, covered by a thick layer of dust. It was a blue and orange T-shirt. LINSANITY 17, it read on the back. "Where did you find this?" Lin asked, inspecting the 50/50 tee. "The Duane Reade pharmacy," the man said. "They still have a pile of them, in back. Twelve for $2." Lin smiled and signed the shirt. He was back: older, richer, wearier, on the downside. What he was then, he was not now. He had finally become a true New York Knick. A version of this article appeared July 19, 2012, on page D6 in the U.S. edition of The Wall Street Journal, with the headline: The Inevitable Return of Jeremy Lin.
