Jeremy Lin

by Ted Kluck

  2

  New York Knicks vs. Dallas Mavericks

  February 19, 2012

  Once you become aware that the main business you are here for is to know God, most of life’s problems fall into place of their own accord.

  —J. I. Packer, Knowing God

  “Lin didn’t Tebow before the game,” explains my buddy Caleb, as we pick up the ABC telecast. “I was waiting to see if he would.” “Tebowing”—in other words, kneeling and praying—is now a verb. The fact that Lin doesn’t “Tebow” is, to me, one of the most endearing things about him. As Lin is being gushed about by the general public, he’s also in the process of being ushered onto the front row of the Evangelical Superstar Bandwagon. This can be one of our culture’s creepiest and most confusing bandwagons, where the gospel and commercialism intersect. Part of me mourns the fact that he’s going there, even though I’m in the process of trying to usher it in (see: dilemmas, moral).

  In the first quarter Lin makes a subtle stutter step to create his own 20-footer. “He’s a very cerebral player,” explains the network talking head. Lin is, of course, cerebral. He’s Harvard cerebral (a perfect score on the math portion of the SAT as a freshman in high school), but he’s also basketball cerebral. But I would argue that it’s not the “cerebral” that people are loving about Jeremy Lin. It’s the incongruity of an Asian guy who plays like a black guy. Noticing this shouldn’t make us uncomfortable—in fact, such observations are a fact of life in team sports, where racial tension is often much less tense than it is in the rest of society. Lin’s game, and even his vernacular in interviews, is tinged with black influence, as is the whole of the NBA product. It’s an indelible part of the marketing of the league, and it’s what makes white kids in cornfields pretend to be black guys on their driveway courts (I was, for some reason, “Chocolate Thunder” Daryl Dawkins and then later Indiana Pacer Waymon Tisdale). Black players like Bill Russell, Elgin Baylor, and Wilt Chamberlain brought explosiveness to the NBA in the late 50s and early 60s, and the league, for the most part, has never looked back.

  On court, the Knicks spread the floor for Lin, and he has the freedom to slash to the hoop. And slash he does. He has been the object of racial epithets since high school, through college, and, one would assume, in the NBA. But perhaps more telling, racially, is how surprised everyone is that he’s actually good.

  Lin says that the racial comments are something he’s gotten used to as an imperfect part of the game, and it’s a chance to be salt and light. “It’s a good opportunity to reflect the grace of God when you don’t say anything back, or when you’re really respectful in return,” he told interviewer Timothy Dalrymple in 2010. “That says something powerful.” But Lin is far from a choir boy, and anything but soft on the court. In the same interview he described himself as “naturally competitive and cocky.”

  “It’s hard to maintain efficiency, consistency, and energy every single night because the schedule is so brutal,” Lin explains in an interview before the Mavs game. “I’m on the scouting report now, so teams are going to figure out how to guard me.”

  Lin is being guarded by Jason Terry. The Garden crowd oohs and ahhs nearly every time he touches the ball. When he dribbles behind his back the crowd surges. Again when he attempts a three-ball with Jason Terry in his face (miss).

  When Lin stutter-drives to the hoop for a layup, the crowd roars. The atmosphere in Madison Square Garden is different than in most NBA buildings—even for a nationally televised Sunday afternoon game. There’s a sort of sameness from one NBA building to the next in the post-old-arenas-with-character era (see: Chicago Stadium, The Boston Garden, Market Square Arena, The Philadelphia Spectrum, and even that old building where the Milwaukee Bucks used to play that had the low ceiling). Same tinny music. Same slightly detached crowd full of corporate types in the lower arena and diehards up above. Same mostly empty seats (if you live in Cleveland or Detroit). Today’s Garden crowd feels like a college crowd, in the best possible way.

  Opposing defenses still appear surprised when he creates off the dribble, as though they’re saying to themselves, “He’s Asian; he’s not supposed to play like that.” Non-black players are supposed to be “gritty, cerebral, or hardworking.” We got this paradigm from guys like Larry Bird and John Stockton, who were both legendary, but the stylistic opposite of high-flying and flashy. We also got it from guys like Will Perdue and Chris Dudley, who were patently uncool. Lin, like Stevie Nash, is somewhere in the middle. Lin chest bumps with teammates after a three-pointer forces a Dallas time-out. He waggles a tongue after hitting a floater in the lane. If he has anything approaching a signature move, a week and a half in, it’s this. Here’s hoping he doesn’t go all the way and get a neck tattoo.

  * * *

  Aside: This afternoon a low-level ESPN employee will be fired and a regional talking head will be given a thirty-day suspension for using the figure of speech “chink in his armor” in conjunction with a Jeremy Lin article. The phrase caused a mild uproar. ESPN knows who pays its bills, and it isn’t regional talking heads.

  * * *

  Lin played in the Vegas summer league with the Mavs, when he went undrafted out of Harvard. It causes one to ask, “What is it about today’s Lin that is different from the summer-league Lin?” Why is he now gashing defenses and scoring almost at will? Or stated another way, what did the Knicks see that the Mavs didn’t?

  The answer is, in part, confidence. Even though he doesn’t exhibit the “typical” NBA symptoms of “swagger”—excessive trash talking, chest thumping, and stare-downs of opposing players—he is clearly playing like someone who thinks he belongs on the court.

  “The Knicks’ point guard position was a disaster until this guy got his opportunity,” explains analyst Hubie Brown. Lin knocks down a three-ball from the corner. “He has outstanding peripheral vision . . . and he can finish. Big guys love his game because of the lob passes on the money.”

  Lin almost never leaves the floor, and if his early games are any indication, he’ll play nearly every minute of this one. He ends the first quarter with a floater from the paint. It falls, and the home crowd goes berserk. He has 10 points and 3 assists by the end of the first quarter, contributing to the Knicks 32–20 lead.

  The Mavericks make a 9–2 run to open the second quarter with Lin on the bench. Lin, in his first seven starts, has scored more points (229) and dished more assists (86) than Magic Johnson (129, 49), Isaiah Thomas (172, 45), and John Stockton (68, 75).

  He returns and immediately finds Amare Stoudamire underneath the basket for an easy dunk. His next trip down he air-balls a three-pointer.

  “He’s a professional athlete now,” says Lin’s high school coach in a mid-game interview. The interviewer says that Lin described himself as “arrogant and selfish” until his junior year of high school. “I think he’s too hard on himself,” the coach explains.

  However, it’s Lin’s ability to admit to sin in his heart that makes him a different, and more interesting, public figure than Tebow. Perhaps Lin’s struggles over the last two years have given him a level of inner reflection that wouldn’t be possible for a player like Tebow, who has had a charmed athletic life (again, more on that later, but it seems semi-impossible to talk about Lin without talking about Tebow).

  “There’s a re-energized atmosphere here at Madison Square Garden,” says broadcaster Mike Tirico. Lin is the reason for that re-energizing. The Mavs game represents the second “good” team Lin has faced in his run as a Knick. By midway through the third quarter, the Knicks are down by 10. If football is a game that turns on violent collisions and emotion, basketball is a study in interpersonal combinations and interactions. The Knick offense seems to visibly stagnate with Lin on the bench.

  In the NBA, good teams tend to adopt the personalities of their key players. The Stockton/Malone–era Jazz were tough and workmanlike. The Jordan-era Bulls were subservient to Jordan himself, who willed them to win and win often. The Bad Boy–era Pist
ons were dirty and combative like their leader, Isaiah Thomas. Before Lin, the Knicks were a team with good players (Stoudamire, Anthony) but no personality. Lin has given them, for the moment and while times are good, a personality—likeable, joyful, and energetic.

  With nine minutes remaining in the game, the Knicks have pulled to within a basket. Lin dishes to Steve Novak in the corner, who knocks down a three-pointer to give the Knicks the lead. The Garden explodes. The ubiquitous Spike Lee wears a Jeremy Lin Harvard jersey. He leaps out of his courtside seat and pumps a fist in the air. Lin’s assist may represent the best of the racial/social conscience that Lee strives for in his films—an Asian guy dishing to an awkward white guy (Novak) on a team full of black stars. After Novak hits the three-ball, he makes the Aaron Rodgers title-belt move. It is, like most white celebrations, painfully awkward, but in this case still endearing.

  Lin finishes with 28 points and 14 assists, a career high, and the Knicks vanquish their second quality opponent during the Lin era.

  3

  Jeremy Lin in the Context of Tim Tebow

  Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

  James 1:2–4

  Lots of writers and fans have compared Jeremy Lin to Tim Tebow—Broncos quarterback, Great American, and famous evangelical. I think they couldn’t be more different if they tried.

  In many ways it looks and feels like Tebow was born and bred from the cradle to be a professional football player and media darling. He was the subject of an ESPN documentary creepily titled “The Chosen One” while still a high school student. He was a nationally sought-after recruit who went to college at a jock factory (Florida), where he routinely played in front of huge crowds and was on television nearly every week of his life. He was a first-round draft choice, guaranteed to sell season tickets and jerseys if not exactly guaranteed to succeed on the field. He was nothing if not on message about his Christianity via eye black and predictable postgame interviews.

  Tebow has also, for the most part, been a statistical failure at his professional sport. He’s completing passes at a 47 percent clip, which puts him in the neighborhood of known quarterback failures like Ryan Leaf (48.4 percent), and which has made him the subject of a recent Gentleman’s Quarterly feature titled “The Year of Magical Stinking.” But Denver’s proximity to one of our country’s New Jerusalems (Colorado Springs), a rabid evangelical fan base, and some miraculous field goals by Matt Prater, have all helped keep Tebow at the forefront of public opinion. Especially Christian public opinion.

  * * *

  Aside: I once wrote something similar about Tebow in a Christianity Today piece and had every homeschool mom in the country wanting to punch me in the face. Hell hath no fury like a Christianity Today comments section.

  * * *

  What Lin and Tebow have in common is their work ethic and the way they actually play their games. They both play with great joy. I’ve always argued that by far the most interesting thing about Tebow is what he does on the field. Off the field he is, in many ways, the worst kind of boring and predictable. Off the field, he’s a subpar entertainer (and that’s the point of all this, right?), but on the field, he’s a signature performer, even in spite of the statistical mediocrity. If you’ve heard one Tebow interview, you’ve heard them all, because he’s more or less been giving the same speech since adolescence. Lin looks and feels a little more genuine and off-the-cuff in the interview room. But they both play the game with passion and exuberance.

  Still, Tebow’s excessive, um, Tebowing made him a lightning rod for attention last season. It even got him mocked, in game, by a few opposing Detroit Lions, setting off a mini uproar in Christendom. I, regretfully, felt compelled to blog about it even though I knew it was going to create a day’s worth of abuse for me. Why? Because for some reason I found Tebow way too interesting not to blog about. He had become a great barometer by which to measure evangelical attitudes. Think about it. If I blogged about a Christian leader like John Piper or Mark Driscoll, a good two-thirds of my audience probably wouldn’t care on a given day. But Tebow has been on real (non-kooky, non-religious) television nearly every day of his life starting from his freshman year at Florida. When he retires he will inevitably run for office or be the Evangelical Talking Head called upon by networks whenever an Evangelical Talking Head is necessary.

  In my blog post I said that it was okay for the Lions to make fun of Tebow’s excessive Tebowing. I explained that they weren’t making fun of God at all, and that they all basically respect Tebow as a player, but what they were making fun of was the “celebration” itself. Much like they would make fun of a Terrell Owens or Chad Ochocinco celebration. I would categorize the various responses I received as follows:

  Why don’t you stop piling on Tebow like the rest of “the Culture”? This is a response along the lines of “all media is liberal and evil.” I’ll agree that Tebow has been a polarizing figure, but I don’t know that being a Heisman Trophy winner, the most celebrated player in college history, and drafted in the first round while making millions of dollars playing football, making millions more in endorsements, and being semi-deified by most of Christian culture qualifies as “the culture piling on.” Most people would sign up for that kind of “persecution” immediately.

  Tebow is standing up for Christ. This is maybe the trickiest argument to analyze because it implies assigning a level of risk to what Tebow is doing. Is it risky for Tebow to quote “Stand Up for Christ” in this context? Does it cost him anything, or is it just part of a brand that has worked for him? Hear this: I have absolutely no doubt that Tebow’s faith is sincere. I’m not questioning that at all. I love his abstinence and pro-life stances. I just think we should tread lightly on the martyrdom issue. Tebow isn’t the first Christian athlete; he’s just the first one who’s been this good and this consistently public about it.

  But if just one person accepts Jesus because of Tebow, isn’t it worth it? I get this one too, truly, but I believe that it’s the Holy Spirit who does the work of drawing us to Christ, which takes the pressure off Tebow in this area. The gospel involves a fundamental understanding that we have sick, sinful hearts in need of a Redeemer, and that Christ is that Redeemer—defeating sin and death on the cross. If God somehow uses Tebow to communicate that glorious grace, then there is cause for rejoicing over the one person. But I’m glad I’m not the one deciding how He is or isn’t using Tebow (see: sovereignty). I’m the one watching football and enjoying the show.

  Why don’t you stop being mean and let our boys have their heroes? This is one of the strongest arguments, I think, because it involves kids and their interaction with football, and the last thing I’d want to do is ruin that. I have no problem letting your boys (which I assume means Christian boys) have their heroes. My boys have heroes too . . . although I’m not mandating that Tebow be their hero just because he kneels in the end zone. Tebow would make a fine football hero for a kid, but so would Calvin Johnson or Patrick Willis or Aaron Rodgers. And if my kid ever makes a show of kneeling in the end zone after a touchdown in his pee-wee league I will go berserk, and not in a good way.

  But there were also a number of anti-Tebow comments as well: If Tebow is kneeling after touchdowns, and if he’s so thankful, why isn’t he kneeling after incompletions and interceptions? Good question. For that matter, why isn’t he kneeling after he hands off to Willis McGahee for a three-yard gain?

  Tebow should tone it down and just play football. This one speaks for itself and tends to resonate with those evangelicals who are more of the “it feels weird for humility to involve multiple documentaries and praying in front of stadiums” persuasion.

  In a way we all dream that nothing bad will ever happen in our own stories, which has been, in many ways, the Tebow story. But that’s not usually the case.
And because he was not immediately handed what he wanted, the Lin story has an added dimension. Lin was unwanted, in a basketball sense, out of high school, and unwanted again out of college. Most of us can relate to feeling unwanted, confused, and alone in our despair. Lin articulates this well.

  “There were nights last year that I was actually just reduced to tears,” Lin explains to ESPN interviewer Rachel Nichols. “I felt like I had the ability to do it. Even the beginning of this year getting waived twice . . . I didn’t know what was going to happen. Do I go to the D-League? Do I go to Europe?”

  She asks him about his breakout game versus the New Jersey Nets. It’s the game that put Lin on the map.

  4

  New York Knicks vs. New Jersey Nets

  February 4, 2012

  Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and HE will make straight your paths.

  —Proverbs 3:5–7 esv

  This verse appears on Lin’s pre-fame YouTube page, at the end of a video called “How to Get Into Harvard” that is winsome and likeable in its unfunniness. The fact that it got made at all speaks to the fact that Lin was once just a college kid with a YouTube account and a video camera, screwing around with his friends. This is my favorite thing about him and the thing I hope he doesn’t lose.

  What’s tricky about a verse like this is that we tend to think that if we “acknowledge” God, He will immediately start hooking us up with whatever it is that we want. This is a common, unintended fallacy in the Christian Athlete Narrative. Leaning on our own understanding, usually, is what gets us into a place like Harvard, and can contribute to our athletic success.