Racial Linsanity

It's a good story in the same way the Yankees losing is a good story. It's a good story for the same reason that the Mavs winning the title last year was a good story. Of all the professional sports, the NBA can feel the most scripted, the most predetermined. And in a league where players are anointed as the next big thing as teens and preteens, no one saw this coming: that an undrafted second year player from Harvard would suddenly burst on the scene and almost single-handedly resurrect a multi-million dollar franchise.

So it's a cinderella story, make no mistake, and that means that what we love about college basketball--that any hardworking, no name team might have their "shining moment" (wow basketball fans love cliches)--has made it's way to the next level.

I personally haven't evaluated Jeremy Lin's game. In fact, I've only seen a handful of highlights, including a game-winning three pointer against the Raptors. Of course, no one needs me to evaluate his game. But this is another truth about the NBA and it's style of play: not only are players to "produce" within the individualistic, one-on-one set ups that the rules have been built to foster, these players are to do it in a way that makes a highlight reel, in a way that can be described as a "style."

The greatest "stylist," in this sense, was Michael Jordan, or that's the cliche that people believe. Arguably, Bird and Magic were as good if not better stylists; and I've no doubt people like Pistol Pete Maravich and Oscar Robertson were probably better stylists still though they come before my time. People think Michael Jordan was a stylist when he was just physically dominant, arguably the perfect basketball body--for a certain type of basketball. Jordan was that combination of size, strength, quickness, and athleticism that came together to make a special player, no doubt. Sure, Jordan added to this package by honing a jump shot that was often above average; Jordan played defense in a league where you don't have to; Jordan knew when to dish to his white jumpshooters camping at the three-point line. In short, Jordan did the right things to make himself a legend, he worked at it.

But what I want to argue is that the physically dominant player has had a monopoly on the NBA for far too long. The type we've been looking for, the Jordan type, is only one style of play, one style of player. Now, it was interesting for a while because we kept wondering "who the next Jordan" would be: Vince Carter? Nope. Kobe? Kind of but we can't love Kobe because of his high pedigree. Lebron? An improbably athlete come out of the ugliness of Cleveland and then disses that city and can't win anyway.

So it's no wonder that people aren't sure what to make of Jeremy Lin. Even though he must be a one-on-one player, he's not that kind of one-on-one player. He's not transcendent that way.

And he's Asian.

Saturday Night Live did one of the funniest race-line crossing skits of all time last night, exploring the stereotypes that exist in the NBA--and in America--regarding white, black and Asian (http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/linsanity-postgame-cold-open/1386272/). Four sportscasters, two white and two black, were evaluating Jeremy Lin's game. While three of the announcers could throw around all the Asian stereotypes they wanted, when the one white guy tried to join the fray with black stereotypes, he got shouted down and then fired.

Unfortunately, most people, I think--most white people anyway--will read this skit as the double-standard that blacks are allowed, which is precisely missing the point. No, most often white people can't "join the fray" with black stereotypes because they most often don't get the historical and structural part they have played and continue to play in what often remains a divided America when it comes to white and black. Of course, as is shown in the skit, this so-called "race card" can be played as a card to justify bad behavior on the part of individual blacks.

But the point of the skit is how, while we're aware of and sensitive to black stereotypes, we're not aware of our stereotypes of Asians. Thus, the skit goes so far as to dub over an interview of Jeremy Lin (yes, he speaks English; he was born and raised here) with an English translation that includes references to kung fu moves.

No doubt people are buzzing about the skit this morning. However, this is nothing new. Frank Chin, editor of an Asian-American Literature anthology called The Big Aiiieeeee!!!!! has written about how mangled our sense of Asian-Americans is--filled with ideas of bizarre cultures based in superstition, harsh discipline and collective goals that are thought of us un-American, but also individual stereotypes of the Asian skillset that sets Asian-Americans apart as truly other: exotic and quirky but ultimately somewhat weak and easily marginalizable.

And so, predictably, people won't know what to make of the skit. But Jeremy Lin is still the best story in the NBA--perhaps in sports--this year because he breaks so many of our preconceived notions. He's the hope for pickup players everywhere, breaking the stronghold of the pre-ordained players with only one type of skillset. But he's also a wrench in the works of the conversations on race in America, bringing to light another group that has been here since the beginning--Asian-Americans--but who still often get written out of the American story because we've dubbed them "other."