OK, OK, So Jeremy Lin of the New York Knicks Is on Fire

The Knicks phenom is even making a believer of Buzz Bissinger. But come on, what’s he really accomplished?

Kathy Kmonicek / AP Photo

So fine, Linmania has only gotten bigger since I wrote about him five days ago, although if I hear one more word with “Lin” in front of it I am going to get seriously linebriated to the point of lincapacitation. (Couldn’t resist. Sue me.)

So fine, coverage of him balloons bigger than Keith Olbermann’s ego (actually whatever happened to Keith Olbermann?) as newspaper after newspaper and television station after television station and website after website and radio talk show after radio talk show gropes to say something about him, no matter how superfluous just as long as they say something about him.

So fine, he has sustained his level of play much better than I thought he would and has truly achieved a miracle to energize the most sourpuss franchise in the history of sports, the New York Knicks, where players not only come to quit on their careers but pout about it, even though the teams he has played suck worse defensively than Dartmouth.

So fine, the Knicks have won seven straight since he began to play, even though the teams he has played, with the exception of the Los Angeles Lakers—and they were slogging through the end of a road trip—suck worse offensively than Brown and suck in general with an aggregate record of 79 wins and 128 losses and only one has a winning record.

So fine, he scored more points in his first four games as a starter in the National Basketball Association than any player in 35 years, even though it is also true he is the only Asian-American of Taiwanese descent who grew up in Palo Alto who went to Harvard who got cut twice who almost got cut by the Knicks because they are the stupidest franchise in sports in addition to being the most sourpuss, to ever score any points in the NBA.

So fine, he has played enough games to show that he is truly gifted and has sixth-sense court vision, even though he doesn’t handle a water bottle particularly well during timeouts and has a haircut that is a wussy mix between a close-crop and what appears to be a right-dominated mohawk (he doesn’t go well to his left).

So fine, he has forced what the columnist hates most, to eat s--t—in this unheard-of instance moi—since I kind of dismissed him a little bit as a flash in the pan, even though I am right that he would not be as popular if he were black and if you don’t believe me, listen to what the Philadelphia 76ers’ Andre Igoudala and Lou Williams had to say in a story Wednesday on

So fine, only a sad and pathetic curmudgeon such as myself, whose only friend is my dog (and that’s iffy), would find fault in the ride of Jeremy Lin, instead of enjoying the pure adrenaline of it, even though there are plenty of things he has not done:

He has not solved world peace, much less the far more pressing problem of why every taxi in New York is now off-duty between the hours of 6 a.m. and midnight.

He has not prevented the insufferable Bill Maher from looking increasingly lizardlike by the minute, unless he is simply a heroin addict or trying to look like a supermodel.

He has not rid Manhattan’s major thoroughfares of potholes nor has he replaced the mini-mayor, with the voice like a whiny Vienna Choir boy with a cold, who never should have run for a third term.

He has not scored enough and pumped up his Knick teammates enough and made enough assists to send a message to Carmelo Anthony that he should stay injured for the rest of the season.

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He has not given advice to LeBron James on how to overcome the continuing adverse effects of The Decision in leaving the Cleveland Cavaliers for the Miami Heat, or if he has, has not done so in an effective manner.

He is not the projected winner of the Republican primary in Michigan, which given the competition, should be effortless even as a write-in who isn’t running.




He has not solved Michael Vick’s dog-killing problem that continues to make him the most hated athlete in America, although he could by opening a Vietnamese-style restaurant with him and carefully planning the menu together.

He is not scheduled to appear at halftime of next year’s Super Bowl, thereby eradicating the perhaps irreparable damage done by Madonna at the last one when she tripped and almost broke her hip because of her refusal to use her motorized wheelchair, as should be the case with anyone over the age of 90.

He still cannot, even if he was making $8 million a year instead of $800,000, afford a New York apartment bigger than one bedroom with no closets or standing shower.

He has not, unlike fellow Boston University alum Mark Zuckerberg (anybody pointing out in the comment section that they actually went to Harvard should seek immediate psychiatric help), had a film made about him in which he drives the lane to win the NBA championship by slicing between two twin defenders who later claim to have invented basketball and sue for copyright infringement.

He has not achieved lintercourse (sorry, habit-forming) between Matthew and Mary on Downton Abbey because we are almost two years in now and it’s getting really slow except for Maggie Smith chewing up the English countryside.

He has not explained Clint Eastwood’s use of makeup in J. Edgar that made everyone over the age of 4 look like wax figures from Madame Tusssauds.

He has not stopped Alyssa Milano from having the most insipidly nice tweets on Twitter in which every day is beautiful and worth living and all that other meddlesome garbage.

He has not won the Tour de France seven times without drinking blood.

He has not hit 73 home runs in a season without permanent portals in his buttocks for steroids.

He has not taught Bill Belichick there are other ways to laugh besides thinking you have burst your appendices.

I was right to begin with.

Jeremy Lin hasn’t done anything.