Jeremy Lin #17 of the New York Knicks shoots over Cole Aldrich #45 of the Oklahoma City Thunder on January 14, 2012 at the Chesapeake Energy Arena in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.
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The ascent of Lin reaches beyond ethnicity to religion. He is a devout Evangelical Christian, drawing inevitable comparisons to the NFL's Tim Tebow. While we haven't witnessed any prayerful "Linning" after a layup, Lin has considered the pastorate as a post-NBA calling. "There's a sense in New York that Jeremy is the savior of the Knicks," says Stephen Chen, a Lin mentor and a pastor of the Mountain View, Calif., church the Lin family attends. "He doesn't want people to think of him that way. He wants them to be able to know his Saviour, Jesus Christ."
His flock will keep growing as long as the Knicks keep winning. There's a plot twist, however. When New York's leading scorer, superstar Carmelo Anthony, returns to the lineup after a groin injury, fans wonder, can the pair coexist? "I can see why they are questioning it, because he's a playmaker as well and he has the ball in his hands a lot," says Lin. But the two say they relish the chance to play together, since Anthony is another passing option for Lin, and with Lin handling the ball and drawing attention, Anthony can find more open shots. "That's our Rudy, man," Anthony says of Lin, referring to the movie about a Notre Dame football player who inspires his teammates with his hard work and records a sack in his only game. "People love the underdog."
Lin's success has also unveiled Asian Americans--a heavily urbanized ethnic group--as passionate hoopheads. Every year players from cities across the U.S. gather for Chinese-American, Korean-American and pan-Asian-American national tournaments. Many Asian Americans enjoy playing together because they feel they have to prove that the city game is theirs too. "We have a chip on our shoulder," says David Liu. When guys like Liu walk into a gym, eyes often move right past them, and black and white players of similar height and build get picked before them. When other teams start trying fancy behind-the-back passes and going for every steal, Asian Americans can tell the competition isn't taking them seriously. "It's mentally draining," says Noh-Joon Choo, 31, who plays in Chicago. They hope Lin can correct such ethnic slights.
Many Asian-American players are children of immigrants who were not exposed to U.S. sports back home. They tell recurring tales of friends with true basketball talent who suddenly gave up the game. Their parents wanted no distractions from academics. The players are convinced we'll see more Jeremy Lins as more parents, inspired by his success, allow their kids to pursue sports.
But why hope that parents take that track? Hitting the books can set you up for life; the NBA is a long shot--for anyone. "There's nothing wrong with being engineers, doctors or lawyers," says Bernard Chang, a prominent Chinese-American comic-book artist in Los Angeles who played ball in college at the Pratt Institute. "I just think we should be represented in balance. Sports like basketball are a huge part of our culture. Success will help us stake our claim as Americans." Maybe the Linsanity has just begun.