NBA: Journey To Become Unplayable.

In the opening minutes of the third quarter against the Bucks, disaster struck.

Gallinari, who had been lively and aggressive all night, went up hard for an offensive rebound. In the scramble, Bucks rookie Larry Sanders swung his arm to clear space. It wasn't a malicious move—more instinct than intent—but his elbow caught Gallo flush in the ribs.

The Italian forward crumpled to the floor, clutching his side.

For a player nicknamed the Second Battalion Commander, this was supposed to be the kind of night where he showed New York just how important he could be. Instead, his season took another sharp turn. The scans would later confirm it—fractured rib cartilage.

On the bench, his teammates tried to lighten the mood in only the way the Knicks locker room could.

"Man, that rookie's tougher than he looks," one of them joked. "How's a skinny kid like Sanders breaking Danilo's ribs?!"

Another chimed in, laughing, "Forget basketball, Sanders must've been studying kung fu on the side. That's not an elbow—that's ancient internal energy!"

And then came the cruelest quip: "Bad news, Gallo. With those ribs, the New York nightclubs might have to shut down early."

Gallinari groaned, partly in pain and partly in disbelief. These are my teammates? He thought. I'm out here wheezing, and they're cracking jokes?

Yet, against his own better judgment, he couldn't stop laughing. Even doubled over, even with his side on fire, the banter made the pain somehow easier to take. That was the Knicks—they teased, they mocked, but beneath it all, they cared.

The Knicks ground out the win over Milwaukee, their 18th straight, tying the franchise's longest winning streak. But the victory came with a cloud.

"I think the real story here isn't the streak," Barkley said on the post-game show, leaning back in his chair. "It's whether Gallinari can bounce back from this. Broken ribs are no joke."

Kenny Smith nodded. "Exactly. And with Lin Yi being the lone engine of this team, you worry. He plays so fearlessly, so physically, that every drive looks like it could end badly. That's the danger of being a single-core team. One injury, and the whole picture changes."

It wasn't just TV analysts worrying. Inside the Knicks camp, the medical staff had already begun murmuring. Lin Yi's body had been pushed to extremes all season, triggering his recovery and healing threshold over twenty times. Big men of his size weren't built to carry that much weight, leap that often, and absorb that much contact.

Cousins had even been warned by the Warriors' doctors after trying to mimic Lin's style—too risky, too punishing.

Lin Yi, meanwhile, mulled it over himself with a half-smile. If I keep playing like this, will I end up rewriting the attendance record just by staying upright? Maybe that'll be my strangest legacy.

The next day, the team doctor confirmed the inevitable: incomplete rib fracture, at least a month out.

"In truth, he could be back in two weeks if he heals well," the doctor said, "but four weeks is safer. Maybe even longer. We're looking at the bigger picture here."

The Knicks' medical team had grown cautious. They didn't want to gamble on miracle recoveries like the Suns, nor did they want to gain the reputation of being careless like Portland's much-maligned staff. With the Finals in sight, they weren't taking chances.

The only player they wished they could run a biopsy on was Lin Yi himself. His style of play, his endurance—it all looked unnatural. Durable stars like LeBron were rare enough. Lin Yi's combination of durability and workload was something else entirely.

To minimize risk, they suggested D'Antoni trim his minutes further. The coach just shook his head.

"He's already clocking out by the third quarter most nights," D'Antoni said. "What do you want me to do—bench him after halftime? He's playing at an MVP level, and I'm not the same guy I was back in Phoenix, riding the starters into the ground. We're managing him just fine."

As the Knicks pushed on, Gallinari's absence shifted the balance but didn't derail the train. The roster was deep. Green wanted more minutes. Wilson Chandler raised his hand for small forward duty. Even Battier reminded everyone he was still around.

Gallinari, meanwhile, vowed not to waste his time sulking. He'd return stronger, or at the very least quick, before Whiteside stole all his minutes. The young center even rubbed it in during a hospital visit.

"Danilo," he said, "I'm staying in the rotation while you're out. If you don't work hard, you'll be stuck guarding the water cooler when you come back."

Gallo could only sigh.

…

By February 25th, the Knicks marched into Cleveland, where Cavaliers fans—still aching from LeBron's departure—cheered New York as if they were the home side. The Knicks responded with a ruthless display of depth and teamwork, claiming their 19th consecutive win.

Two nights later in Indiana, they toppled the Pacers. That made it 20 in a row.

Only three other teams in history had ever done it: the 1971 Lakers with their legendary 33-game streak, the 1971 Bucks, and the 2008 Rockets. And two of those three had gone on to win the championship.

Knicks fans began to whisper the unthinkable: 72–10, maybe even better.

Lin Yi brushed it aside publicly, but deep down, he knew. The way this team was rolling, the way the Garden buzzed every night—history wasn't just a dream anymore. It was standing right in front of them.

And their next test would prove whether they were truly ready.

...

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