That summer, it was not just Lin Qi's moves that truly changed the Celtics' fate.
There was someone else...
David Stern.
In the 1994 NBA Finals, the Rockets and Knicks went the full seven games, with defensive intensity pushed to the limit, yet the games were dull and ugly in the extreme.
Both teams repeatedly failed to score 80 points in a full game, and the Finals' television ratings plummeted.
Sitting in the league office, Stern looked at those glaring numbers and made a decision that shocked the entire league.
He would personally deal a blow to the "iron-blooded meat grinder" style exemplified by the Knicks and Heat, and bring fans back to their televisions.
And so, in the summer of 1994, three new rules that could only be called radical were announced.
First, shorten the three-point line.
The irregular three-point line, originally 7.24 meters at the top of the arc and 6.70 meters in the corners, was uniformly shortened to an arc a constant 6.71 meters from the basket. Overnight, the three-pointer went from a high-risk long-range shot to a "long midrange jumper."
Second, the league cracked down on hand-checking.
The new rule strictly prohibited defenders from using their hands or forearms to touch the ball handler from the backcourt to the frontcourt three-point line. But this applied only outside the arc. Once the ball handler advanced into the midrange or the paint, defenders were still allowed to use their forearms for physical contact and to impede progress.
The level of contact permitted in the paint had not changed. What changed was the difficulty of perimeter shooting.
Many players skilled at midrange and long-range shooting broke out that year precisely because of this new rule.
Third, flagrant fouls were upgraded.
Any excessive non-basketball play against an airborne player would automatically be upgraded to a flagrant two, bringing immediate ejection and a suspension. Those murderous defensive plays in the paint that involved "dragging someone out of the air" were expressly banned.
After the announcement, the league's traditional powerhouses accustomed to physical battles reacted strongly. The defensive philosophies Pat Riley and others had painstakingly built over many years took a direct hit at the rules level.
Lin Qi, however, made a copy of the rule-change notice and hung it neatly on his office wall.
The head scout was baffled. "Lin, why are you hanging that up?"
Lin Qi looked at the provisions on the wall without saying a word. He had no way to explain that the shooters, speedy point guards, and finesse players who avoided contact he had stockpiled all summer-Dana Barros, Wesley Person, Sam Cassell, and Eric Perry-had never been cheap pickups bought blindly.
What he was betting on was the dividend of a new era brought about by changing rules.
Early November, Boston Garden, the new season opener.
With the new arena still under construction, the Celtics remained in the history-laden old Garden that season. It was an aging arena on the verge of being left behind by the times, with a floor that creaked underfoot, dim lighting, narrow passageways, and air steeped in decades of sweat. But to the people of Boston, this was where Russell and Larry Bird had raised championship trophies. The championship banners hanging high overhead placed enormous pressure on every player who put on a Boston Celtics jersey.
This newly assembled Celtics team was no exception.
And the team stepping into the visitors' locker room that night happened to be this arena's most familiar archrival-the New York Knicks under Pat Riley.
This iron-blooded Eastern Conference force, which had reached the NBA Finals just six months earlier, boasted a formidable roster: Patrick Ewing anchored the paint, Charles Oakley and Anthony Mason handled the physical battles inside, and John Starks led the perimeter. This was the benchmark for traditional, physical 1990s basketball, but tonight, it ran headfirst into a new era of rules aimed squarely at it.
Before the game, outside experts' predictions were unanimous. As they saw it, Lin Qi's patchwork young roster would be utterly crushed by the Knicks' interior. They were still using the old era's standards to judge this new team.
Yet once the game began, the first surprise for everyone was in the stands. All twenty thousand seats were filled. In a top-level suite, owner Paul Gaston held a glass of champagne as he chatted and laughed with sponsors. On opening night, the outlook for the second condition in Lin Qi's wager agreement-arena attendance-looked fairly promising.
After tipoff, the Knicks quickly established an advantage inside. Riley's tactics were clear: Ewing repeatedly isolated against Dino Radja in the low post, and Radja's lighter, European-style frame seemed somewhat unable to cope with Ewing's bulk. By the end of the first quarter, the Knicks had successfully dragged the game into their preferred rhythm: low scoring and frequent physical contact.
Lin Qi sat courtside, his expression still calm. He knew perfectly well that this lineup would inevitably lose ground inside against an elite center like Ewing, but he had never intended to match raw strength with the Knicks in the paint.
The real turning point soon emerged in the second quarter, as the power of the new rules began to show.
On defense, John Starks instinctively reached out beyond the three-point line to hold off Sam Cassell, and the referee immediately blew the whistle for a defensive foul. He pressed close again and was called again.
Without hands interfering outside the three-point line, Sam Cassell found it extremely easy to accelerate. He dribbled across half court, used his body's width to establish position against his defender in the midrange, and backed his way inward with his trademark back-to-the-basket dribble before hitting consecutive pull-up jumpers. Starks' defensive movements were completely constrained by the stringent new rules, which were enforced relatively strictly at first. Any habitual use of his hands on the perimeter would send his opponent to the free-throw line, directly blunting this defensive stalwart's perimeter aggression.
Meanwhile, Eddie Jones began putting his wingspan to work on defense. Using his 2.13-meter reach to cut off passing lanes beyond the three-point line, he made three consecutive steals and converted every one into a fast break.
At halftime, despite their clear advantage inside, the Knicks led by only four points.
Pat Riley stood on the sideline, his expression somewhat dark. His team held the advantage in bulk inside, yet could never pull away. He gradually realized that he was facing not only the Celtics, but also the new era David Stern had defined through the new rules.
In the third quarter, head coach Chris Ford adjusted his rotation. Robert Parish and Dino Radja were taken out together, and Ford deployed the lightweight small lineup he and Lin Qi had repeatedly worked through during training camp.
Sam Cassell, Eddie Jones, Wesley Person, Bo Outlaw, P.J. Brown.
Not a single traditional center remained on the floor. The 2.11-meter P.J. Brown, who had a midrange shot, was moved to the five to space the floor, while the 2.03-meter Outlaw used his mobility to provide help defense inside.
Over the next twelve minutes, the old Garden witnessed a fluid offensive rhythm it had not seen in a long time.
That three-point line, shortened by nearly half a meter, became the Celtics' deadliest weapon. Wesley Person and Dana Barros, who later came off the bench, repeatedly found shooting opportunities on the perimeter. For these two elite shooters, the new 6.71-meter three-point distance was almost equivalent to the long twos they knew so well.
For a time, the Knicks' defensive system lost its focus in matching up. They were used to collapsing into the paint for physical battles, but the Celtics spread their entire lineup out on the perimeter and resolutely refused to go into the low post. If the Knicks' defense came out, Sam Cassell and Eddie Jones exploited the new rules to accelerate unimpeded, drive through the defense, and kick the ball out. If the defense pulled back, the perimeter shooters simply rose and fired.
Charles Oakley tried to use his strength to attack the paint, but Bo Outlaw twice rotated quickly from the weak side and forcefully blocked the ball in midair. On both defensive plays, Outlaw strictly controlled the downward movement of his arms, defending cleanly and decisively without giving the referees an opportunity to call a flagrant two.
The crowd was completely fired up.
Riley called two timeouts in succession from the sideline, yet still could not contain the Boston Celtics' overall pace. His basketball philosophy faced an unprecedented challenge that night: a team that abandoned low-post wrestling and relied entirely on speed and space, paired with a set of new rules tailored specifically for it.
With a 16-4 run, the Celtics successfully took the lead.
But the Knicks were, after all, one of the league's top iron-blooded teams. Riley's squad would never concede defeat so easily.