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RETURN TO SANITY
LEE JENKINS
July 30, 2012
Just five months after Jeremy Lin became an overnight global icon in New York City, the Knicks decided not to keep him, clearing the way for him to go back to Houston—where things promise to be significantly more relaxed
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July 30, 2012

Return To Sanity

Just five months after Jeremy Lin became an overnight global icon in New York City, the Knicks decided not to keep him, clearing the way for him to go back to Houston—where things promise to be significantly more relaxed

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The first time Jeremy Lin hit the open market, he commanded $69. It was a chilly Thursday night in March 2010, and the student-run Harvard Cancer Society was conducting its annual date auction at Tommy Doyle's, a Sam Adams--soaked pub in Cambridge, Mass. The roughly 75 patrons eyed Lin's photograph, flashed on a projector screen alongside his answers to a series of soul-searching questions. (Q: What is the most romantic thing you have ever done? A: I paid for a girl's meal at Qdoba. We had a two-for-one coupon.) Despite his parsimony, Lin seemed like the favorite. "I definitely thought he would get the highest bid," recalls Emily Hughes, the former U.S. Olympic figure skater, then a Harvard junior. "He was doing well on the basketball team." But it was Hughes who paced the field with $202, while a female auctioneer felt compelled to spend $69 on Lin because no one else was bidding. She never bothered to go out on the date.

This month Lin returned to the open market, and on July 12 he was summoned to a suite at the Golden Nugget in Las Vegas. During a four-hour meeting with representatives of the Rockets, he signed an offer sheet for $25.1 million over three years. He used a Golden Nugget pen that was pocketed by Houston assistant G.M. Sam Hinkie. A week later, after the Knicks declined to match the offer, Lin flew to Houston and walked into the office of Rockets owner Leslie Alexander. Hinkie handed him the Golden Nugget pen and Lin signed the contract that, he hopes, will end a craze and gave birth to a career. "I can finally get back to hooping," he said.

From Harvard to Houston, everything has changed for Jeremy Lin, except that even now no one agrees on his value. In the six weeks of Linsanity—may the puns cease too—the Knicks saw him score 38 points to fell the Lakers, beat the buzzer against the Raptors and deliver 14 assists to topple the Mavericks. He helped settle a cable television dispute, boost Madison Square Garden stock by 32% and sell more jerseys in a two-month span than anybody else in the NBA. His name was slapped on everything from a flavor of barbecue chicken (Lin-Katsu, by a Hawaii-based restaurant chain) to a strain of marijuana (Lin Sanity OG, mentioned by rapper Rick Ross). One of his press conferences, at Manhattan's Chelsea Piers, overshadowed a fund-raiser thrown next door by First Lady Michelle Obama. Dr. Ruth wrote an article entitled What Jeremy Lin, Basketball Teach Us About Sex. A 27-year-old Harvard grad named Esther Yoona Cho conducted a survey of 220 Asian-Americans that found "increased hope and optimism" for the future. Nevertheless, scouts remained skeptical. One who admired Lin said that with work he could become the next Eric Maynor, a backup for Oklahoma City.

When the Rockets made their initial offer, for a guaranteed $19.5 million, Knicks coach Mike Woodson said the team would "absolutely" match it. But when Houston upped the ante, the NBA's most notorious spenders suddenly grew frugal. The Knicks, who have made many questionable decisions in search of positive p.r., now took the opposite approach. They replaced the most popular player in their recent history with 28-year-old Raymond Felton and with 39-year-old Jason Kidd, who is coming off the worst season of his career and was arrested July 15 for drunk driving. MSG stock dropped more than $100 million in five days. "I was a little confused," says Cho.

Fans understand that players leave their favorite teams for financial reasons, but not undrafted and twice-waived folk heroes who only emerged five months ago. Lin is a product and a casualty of New York City, where things happen in a blur, building up trailed closely by tearing down. "I still have to remind myself this is all actually happening," Lin said. When he arrived in Houston on July 18, he checked into the Four Seasons downtown, and two blocks away he spotted an Embassy Suites. It was an oddly reassuring sight, a connection to his former life. He was returning to sanity.

Lin showed up at the Embassy Suites last December, after the Warriors waived him and the Rockets picked up his nonguaranteed contract. He slept in one bed, his parents in the other. When the wireless signal faded, he wandered over to the Four Seasons. "I asked them if I could use the Internet," Lin says, "and they were kind enough to let me." One of six point guards in training camp, half of whom were under contract, Lin barely touched the ball in practice. "I'm sitting there, obviously upset, thinking, Why am I here?" he says. The Rockets wanted to keep him, but free-agent center Samuel Dalembert joined the team four days before the season. On Christmas Eve, general manager Daryl Morey called Lin from a Buffalo Wild Wings in Florida, taking a break from lunch with his family to make a final cut.

"I told him, 'Hey, terrible time, terrible timing,'" Morey says. "'I'm sorry, we liked you, and I think you'll do great.' A lot of times teams just want to be nice on the way out, but in this case it was true."

Morey could tell Lin was upset, but he did not realize the extent of the player's angst. "I was leaning toward not playing for the year," Lin says. "I was going to call it quits, go home and then figure out what's next for me." He spent a night venting to Cheng Ho, a former Harvard running back and one of his best friends. "He was hopeless," Ho says. "That was the alltime low by far. He talked about giving up basketball."

Morey, a purveyor of advanced statistics with an MBA from MIT, judges players on what they do rather than on how they look. Lin is just the kind of afterthought he was hired to find. So Morey watched "with a mixture of curiosity and regret" as Lin landed in New York and birthed a phenomenon. (Morey's initial reaction: "Damn it.") All 30 teams passed on Lin in some form, but the Rockets had him last, so they felt his absence most. On the night Lin lit up the Lakers, Rockets coach Kevin McHale hadn't been able to find the game on his hotel TV, so he took his assistants to a sports bar. They were rooting for Lin, but the better he played, the worse they looked. After Lin shot down the Raptors, Alexander called Morey, wondering how this rare gem slipped through their fingers.

The Rockets were under siege—and, in a different way, so was Lin. "I had a lot of weird things happen to me, a lot of creepy stuff," he says. "Some people are so aggressive: 'Give me this picture, give me this signature.' Sometimes they'll follow me back to my car, knock on my window and pull on my door. That really scares me. I have no idea what they're going to do. They're banging on the car. I was just like, Oh, my gosh, what is going on? I kind of freaked out."

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