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ENG 600 Final Paper

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Jeremy Lin: Commodity and Stereotype in American Popular Culture

The idea of something new or “novel” is at once intriguing and anxiety provoking. In our

daily lives we tend to lean toward what is familiar or comfortable, and the emergence of the

unfamiliar can be unsettling. So how do NBA fans react when an Asian American rises to

stardom in a league where African American and white athletes constitute 95 percent of the

racial demographic? The answer proves just as ambiguous. On one hand, the “Linsanity” phase

showed America’s willingness to embrace Jeremy Lin. Every basketball fan wanted to buy

tickets or tune in to Madison Square Garden (MSG) Network to catch a glimpse of him. A single

player had not received so much hype since LeBron James in his rookie season in 2003. These

are the aspects of Linsanity that everyone loved, but something more problematic in American

culture had been working beneath the surface. Asian stereotypes were emerging faster than Lin’s

rise to prominence across social media platforms and popular news outlets. While the Asian and

Asian American communities had reason to celebrate Lin’s success, racist puns and pictures of

Lin emerging from fortune cookies were swirling around in popular culture. Analysts who

should know better were using derogatory terms to describe Lin without batting an eye. America

was not ready — much like Lin’s defenders — for his emergence, which explains the diverging

reactions to his success. This is what makes Lin’s situation so fascinating, and why it deserves a

closer look.

To aid my analysis of Lin, I will be focusing on two works of postcolonial theory:

Edward Said’s Orientalism and Homi K. Bhabha’s “The Other Question.” Many have voiced

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their opinion on stereotypes surrounding Lin, but little attention has been given to the

stereotype’s larger function in American culture. Postcolonial theory provides essential

background on Western society’s beliefs and assumptions in the attempt to understand the Orient

or “other.” Said’s book, Orientalism, includes a passage on the “median category,” which can be

linked to traditional Asian and Asian American stereotypes, and help explain how America

initially perceived Lin as a member of the Knicks. Secondly, Bhabha’s “The Other Question:

Stereotype, discrimination and the discourse of colonialism,” comments on recognition of

difference between the Westerner and the Orient, mirroring American popular culture and

Jeremy Lin — the “other.” In other words, these two excerpts emphasize the Western

construction of the Orient’s identity through the lens of colonial discourse. These theories will

work in conjunction with my analysis of recent articles, commentary and biographical sources on

Lin, highlighting Asian and Asian American stereotypes. In this paper, I will be asking: Through

what means has the NBA and American popular culture stereotyped Lin and subsequently turned

him into a commodity?” With the support of postcolonial theory, I discuss Lin as a commodity

and argue that the Linsanity phase brought unconscious and occasionally conscious Asian and

Asian American stereotypes onto a national stage, exposing a narrow viewpoint in much of

American society of the “other” or in this case, the “novel” athlete.

Before discussing Asian stereotypes, it is important to note common stereotypes already

in place in the NBA. Over the years, the average NBA fan has likely heard adjectives such as

“intelligent,” “scrappy” or “high-motor” to describe a white player. If this white player happens

to be fast, they have “deceptive” speed. Since less than one-fifth of NBA players are white, their

skill-level is rarely mentioned first. Surely, white players must have earned their way into the

NBA through sheer intelligence and understanding of the game, right? Posed as a question, we

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see the ridiculous nature of this stereotype. African American players, on the other hand, hover

around 80 percent of the NBA race demographic each year. They are typically described as

“athletic” or “naturally gifted.” Turn to ESPN or another sports media outlet and these

stereotypes are confirmed each day. Language like this has become inevitable, an unconscious

use of stereotyping ingrained in the minds of many Americans.

A clear example of this is found in Barnabas Piper’s Nov. 2013 article, “Talent, race, and

ugly stereotypes in the NBA.” Piper presents a relevant and fair viewpoint on the danger of NBA

stereotypes. He focuses on NBA.com surveys, which have each general manager vote on the

“most versatile player,” “best shooter,” and so forth. What strikes Piper is the award for “The

Player Who Makes the Most of Limited Natural Ability” (Piper par. 1). The 2012-2013 winner

was Kevin Love, an All-Star power forward. It is no coincidence that five of the last six winners

had been white — like Love — or Latino. Piper states, “This all seems innocent, even humorous.

But it is indicative of some insidious thinking” (par. 2). Quoting ESPN HoopSpeak’s Ethan

Sherwood Strauss, Piper proceeds, ‘“Hey white player, your talent is actually wisdom. Hey black

player, your wisdom is actually talent”’ (par. 2). Piper acknowledges that these stereotypes do

not exist in some deliberate campaign against certain athletes. “Insidious” or “accidental” may be

a better way to describe them, which is ultimately “devaluing to the players” (par. 3). This is

certainly true, but what if Piper brought Asian American players into this article? The language

may become even more insensitive to actual talent. “Intelligent” and “hard working” would

likely be the first adjectives listed, as they are most often used to describe Lin today. Jeremy is a

very educated person and a first-in-gym-last-out guy, but these “positive” stereotypes also

undermine his skill as a basketball player. If Lin had 10 assists in two consecutive games, his

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“high basketball IQ” would likely take credit over his outstanding court vision. Unfortunately,

these stereotypes tend to go unnoticed because of their positive connotation.

The way these stereotypes sound on the surface, however, differ from their actual

function. Asian, Latino and white players may never receive credit for their natural abilities, and

African Americans for their intelligence until this is noticed and acted upon. Piper echoes similar

sentiment, stating, “It’s (stereotyping’s) wrong, and now that we see it we have the responsibility

to change our way of thinking” (par. 4). The fact that these positive stereotypes have become

“unconscious,” a part of our natural NBA player vocabulary, makes this task difficult. It will be a

great challenge to eliminate stereotypes that come along with a player’s ethnicity. If successful,

however, the “median category” — which will be introduced shortly — can be avoided.

Edward Said’s Orientalism emphasizes the narrow Western beliefs of the “Orient” or

“other.” He offers three definitions of Orientalism in his work, two of which are important to

understand in relation to Lin. Said states, “Orientalism is a style of thought based upon an

ontological and epistemological distinction made between ‘the Orient’ and (most of the time)

‘the Occident’ (Said 2). This forms a basis for our view of the Orient’s “people, customs, ‘mind,’

destiny and so on” (3). The differences between Eastern and Western cultures are made clear.

Said’s second definition is just as relevant:

Taking the late eighteenth century as a very roughly defined starting point Orientalism

can be discussed and analyzed as the corporate institution for dealing with the Orient —

dealing with it by making statements about it, authorizing views of it, describing it, by

teaching it, settling it: in short, Orientalism as a Western style for dominating,

restructuring, and having authority over the Orient. (3)

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These “statements” and “views” can be translated as stereotypes. The Orient or “other” is

someone who the Westerner can only pass judgment on without fully understanding. Thus, the

Westerner must rely on assumptions or stereotypes to locate the Orient’s place in society. This

attempt to define the Orient in our own terms is especially problematic, as it narrows our

viewpoint of the other from the onset. Said acknowledges this issue, stating, “Orientalism is —

and does not simply represent — a considerable dimension of modern political-intellectual

culture, and as such has less to do with the Orient than it does with ‘our world” (12). Therefore,

the concept of the Orient is based less in fact than assumption. If we take Jeremy Lin and his

Taiwanese/Chinese heritage, many Americans attempted to understand him in a similar way.

Lin’s mother and father were both born in Taiwan, but his mother’s family grew up in Jiaxing —

a city in China’s Zhejiang province (Dalrymple 8-9). Born in Ranchos Palos Verdes, California,

Lin identifies as Taiwanese-American. Much of America overlooked these facts, however,

immediately constructing Lin’s identity through the most familiar means possible: likening him

to former Chinese-born star Yao Ming. The comparison came on the simple basis of being Asian

without any recognition of national distinctions between the two athletes. To fully understand the

reasoning behind this comparison, we turn to Edward Said’s “median category.”

The Lin and Ming comparison draws perfect parallels to Said’s introduction of this

category. Said writes:

Something patently foreign and distant (the Orient) acquires, for one reason or another, a

status more rather than less familiar. One tends to stop judging things either as

completely novel or as completely well known; a new median category emerges, a

category that allows one to see new things, things seen for the first time, as versions of a

previously known thing. (58)

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Obviously, Lin and Ming were compared on the basis of their Asian descent. America had never

seen an Asian American player of Taiwanese and Chinese descent, so comparing Lin to Ming

was perhaps an “unconscious” inclination. I heard fellow college students call him “the next Yao

Ming” more than a few times during his flurry with the Knicks. The “previously known thing,”

however, was far from similar to Lin. Ming stands 7 feet 6 inches tall, weighing roughly 310

pounds. Lin, on the other hand, is 6’3” and 200 pounds. The sheer physical difference is enough

to make this comparison preposterous outside of racial guidelines. Ming played center, Lin point

guard — positions that function oppositely. Ming also was born in China and played five seasons

with the Shanghai Sharks until the Houston Rockets drafted him in 2002. Meanwhile, Lin was

born in Torrance, California and grew up in Palo Alto, California. As we see, there are stark

differences in ethnicity as well. Such ethnic misconceptions were exposed in comment threads

on sports blogs during Lin’s emergence, as people referred to Lin as “Chinese,” blurring the lines

between distinct Asian nationalities. Most of these comments were not intended to be harmful,

but unconsciously enacted Said’s median category: the idea that those of Asian descent do not

need to have distinct identities, and can therefore be lumped into one group.

Said’s further explanation can explain the implications of this grouping for Jeremy Lin.

He proceeds, “The Orient at large, therefore, vacillates between the West’s contempt for what is

familiar and its shivers of delight in—or fear of —novelty” (59). As an example of this

vacillation, Said uses the emergence of Islam in the face of Christianity. Islam was originally

judged in the West as a “fraudulent form of Christianity.” Through this judgment, Said

concludes, Islam is “handled”: its novelty and its suggestiveness are brought under control…”

(59). This is a more deliberate attempt to deal with the unfamiliar, a more extreme form of what

happened to Lin. Yet in the Lin story, both “shivers of delight” and “fear” were at play. The

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delight — especially among New York Knicks fans — will be explained in the coming passage.

Fear, on the other hand, may have influenced Lin’s place in the median category and deserves

immediate attention.

Was it possible that some viewed Jeremy’s sudden success as a threat to the NBA’s racial

norm? Comments made by fellow athletes and commentators can guide us toward an answer. In

his biographical work, Linsanity, Timothy Dalrymple cites some of these bigoted statements.

Before the fourth game of Lin’s impressive streak (vs. the Lakers), TNT analyst Shaquille

O’Neal said, “The Mike D’Antoni system is made for guys that can’t really jump and can’t really

shoot” (Dalrymple 71). He went on to call Lin a “very intelligent guy,” who “looks like a

talented player.” Shaq raised eyebrows with his outlandish comments as a player, but this was an

inexcusable statement. “Can’t really shoot?” Lin had shot 59 percent from the field in his

previous three games, carving up defenses like Christmas ham. “Can’t really jump?” Jeremy

threw down a thunderous dunk against the Washington Wizards just two nights prior. O’Neal

was not willing to open his mind and believe what was happening. In fact, he did not even

attempt to. Instead, Shaq tossed out blatant stereotypes on national television as a way of saying

“this is not supposed to happen in the NBA.” Fear and anxiety must have blocked his sensory

perception — the sight of Lin weaving through defenses, the sound of a swish, the pervading

feeling of Lin’s energy. O’Neal applied traditional Asian stereotypes — or “versions of a

previously known thing” to Jeremy Lin — something “seen for the first time” in the NBA. As a

result, Lin could neither be “completely novel” or “completely well known.” Traditional

stereotypes and Lin’s current novelty were blended together, exemplifying the Orient within

Said’s median category.

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More examples come from the New York Knicks’ broadcasting team of Mike Breen and

Walt Frazier on MSG Network. In one of Dalrymple’s blogs titled, “Jeremy Lin and the Soft

Bigotry of Low Expectations,” he includes a video of Lin’s first breakout game against the New

Jersey Nets. Early in the game, play-by-play commentator Mike Breen reacted to Lin guarding a

Deron Williams jump shot. Breen announced, “Jeremy Lin doesn’t stand a chance.” This

statement should come as no shock. Williams, the Nets’ point guard, was a perennial All-Star

and represented Team USA in the 2008 Olympic Games. Lin had never started a game in his

NBA career. However, it was Breen’s later comment that revealed an underlying fear. Breen

announced, “Knick teammates can’t stop smiling and laughing… Not in a disrespectful way”

(13:13 MSG Network). This came late in the game once Lin had been scoring in bunches. “Not

in a disrespectful way” exposes that the Knicks’ laughter could have been perceived as

discourteous. While there were “shivers of delight” in the arena during Lin’s outburst, Breen’s

comments also revealed a sense of fear — not of Lin, but of his teammates acting in a derogatory

manner. Why else would he need to justify the Knicks’ outward happiness? Perhaps Lin’s

teammates believed his performance was a fluke, and therefore amusing. A previous bench

warmer suddenly taking over a game must have seemed unfathomable. Regardless, Breen

showed conscious awareness of Lin’s ethnic difference, and his statement exposes the difficulty

many Americans had placing this unprecedented feat from an Asian American into words.

New York Knicks fans, however, were extremely vocal in their support of Lin. Denis

Hamill’s Feb. 2012 article, “New Yorkers of all stripes feel Linsanity,” offers an excellent look

into the fans’ thoughts and feelings. Hamill interviews people about Lin inside Wan Wan

Grocery in Bayside. The co-owner of the store commented, “All everybody — Asian, white,

black, Spanish — talks about is Jeremy Lin. Everybody reads the Daily News backwards this

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week” (Hamill par. 7). In Flushing Queens, a 40 year-old Taiwanese builder stated, “On the

Knicks, Lin’s a point guard, making plays happen. In the community, I can’t tell you how much

Lin will inspire the young guys I coach. Me, I’m going back to the Garden to see Lin again on

Wednesday” (par. 12). Finally, another fan in Brooklyn said, “Feeling young again, getting back

at all of those kids in grade school that made fun of me. Right now, it is a great time to be a

Chinese American in the streets of Brooklyn. Thanks, Jeremy!” (par.13). It is easy to see exactly

how empowering Lin was to the Asian and Asian American communities. Michael Luo of the

New York Times chimed in as well. “I can’t wait to walk around NYC as an Asian American

tomorrow,” said Luo after Lin’s 38-point performance against the Lakers (Dalrymple 95). Lin,

who shattered the “unathletic” and “not physically gifted” Asian stereotypes, invigorated people

— specifically the Asian community. He represented “something new” within the median

category, but the Asian and Asian American community embraced this. In Orientalist terms, their

“shivers of delight” pervaded both America and Taiwan. There was great reason to celebrate.

On the other hand, several writers’ comments proved that fear — or pure ignorance —

still existed. Apart from the saga that was “Chink in the Armor,” other phrases stick with Lin’s

name today. One is cited in Jay Caspian Kang’s Grantland article, “Jeremy Lin, Again: The

meaning of Linsanity 2.0.” Kang cites SportsCenter anchor, Jorge Andres, saying Lin was

“cooking with some hot peanut oil” in a Knicks highlight segment (Kang par. 13). A year after

the ESPN article titled, “Chink in the Armor,” Andres brought more shame to the ESPN network

with his statements. His apology could only go so far after his colleague’s previous faux pas. But

Andres’ statement does not compare to what sportswriter Jason Whitlock tweeted after the

Knicks-Lakers game. “Some lucky lady in NYC is gonna feel a couple inches of pain tonight,”

wrote Whitlock (Dalrymple 96). Dalrymple offered an honest reaction to this shocking

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statement. “To some it felt as though Whitlock, an African American, had not enjoyed watching

an Asian American outperforming African Americans on the court and had, therefore, sought to

knock the Asian American down a peg with a sophomoric “but mine is bigger”” (Dalrymple 96).

So, the blatant ignorance in media and popular culture continued. With every successful game,

another bigoted remark surfaced from a sportswriter. Lin was working to carve out an identity in

the NBA, but someone was always there to knock him down a peg. The frustration mounted in

the Asian and Asian American community at a time when there only should have been reason to

celebrate. As mentioned earlier, undeniable pride pervaded these communities while Lin showed

that Asian American athletic potential extends to any sport. It was the way many Americans

reacted to this unfamiliar situation, however, that posed a major issue. Our society was supposed

to have made great strides in racial assimilation, but comments from Whitlock and others

contradicted this notion. Similar to Shaq, Whitlock’s tweet reinforced an old stereotype in the

attempt to explain “something new.” Whitlock reacted to Lin’s novelty by perpetuating

“previously known” Asian stereotypes, exposing much of American society’s narrow view of

Lin. This interplay within the median category matches the issue of the colonizer in reaction to

the colonized “other,” and can be examined further through another postcolonial theorist, Homi

K. Bhabha.

In his work, “The Other Question: Stereotype, discrimination and the discourse of

colonialism,” Bhabha moves into the rights of the colonized other. He states, “What is denied the

colonial subject, both as colonizer and colonized, is that form of negation which gives access to

the recognition of difference” (Bhabha 75). In the colonial context, the colonizer’s actions are

made in relation to the colonized. As a result, even the colonizer has difficulty forging their

identity without depending on the colonized. By the same token, the colonized are never given a

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chance to be seen beyond their subservient role, and all colonized are viewed as the exact same.

Bhabha moves on to quote Franz Fanon in Black Skin, White Masks. He says, “Wherever he

goes, the Negro remains a Negro” — his race becomes the ineradicable of negative difference in

colonial discourses” (75). This is the belief that the subject “is their race” and little else. In the

NBA, Carmelo Anthony is African American wherever he goes and Kevin Love is white

wherever he goes. These do not need further explanation, as they represent the league’s norm.

Jeremy Lin is Asian American — a novel NBA athlete — wherever he goes, and his race leads

to a storm in media and popular culture. This signifies a larger cultural problem extending

beyond the NBA. Many American fans struggled to see Lin apart from his race, as he

represented the entire Asian American community every time he stepped on the court. While this

should have been a point of pride for Lin, it was overshadowed by attempts to understand Lin

through race alone. As we have seen, what many Americans thought they knew about Asian and

Asian Americans often turned out to be stereotypical and insensitive. There was little

“recognition of difference” between Lin and these traditional Asian stereotypes. Lin should have

been a symbol of what the future holds, but was instead linked to undesirable aspects of the past.

Gish Jen thwarts this narrow Western viewpoint in her article, “Asian Men Can Jump,” assuring

that Asian culture is more complex than many Americans assume.

Jen advances the argument that Asians can follow unconventional paths at their own

discretion, contributing to the progressive view currently held in Taiwanese culture.

Additionally, Jen compares her traditional Chinese roots to that of the Lin family. She writes,

“The Lins, on the other hand, came from Taiwan, where “Chinese-ness” now includes many

Western notions, especially among the educated” (Jen par. 7). This is why Lin’s father, Gie-

Ming, encouraged Jeremy to play basketball. Gie-Ming Lin would not let traditional Eastern

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ways of thought prevent Jeremy and his brother from playing a game they loved. Jen proceeds,

“In Taiwan, for example, there is an alternative track for college applications. Students can apply

via the standard track, emphasizing grades and scores, but they can also apply via a track

emphasizing their special gifts or contributions” (par. 7). This may be a surprise to the Western

audience, who would likely expect Taiwanese culture to stress the former. Jen also posits that

Jeremy is proof of Asian culture’s complexity, and Asians will continue to “enrich America” as a

result. She concludes, “Are these not good things for America to see — things from which we

can all learn? Just at a time when China seems to spell threat, we have the Lins to remind us that

China spells gifts, too” (par. 9). This aspect of Chinese-ness that Taiwan adopted is central to

Jen’s argument. It signifies a complex culture of which Lin is a prime embodiment — a place

where “something new” is embraced. But what does this complexity and these “gifts” mean for

an American society that often casts a blind eye to them? In Lin’s case, his gifts may merely be

used for profit.

Since his humble beginning with the Golden State Warriors, Lin has been utilized as a

marketing tool because of his appeal among Asians in the U.S. and abroad. Lin also is a

marketing tool for Americans not of Asian descent, who are interested in him as a novelty. His

appeal is as widespread as some of the league’s stars, and NBA teams caught on to this quickly.

In the Linsanity documentary, Lin mentions hearing speculation that he was added to Golden

State in 2010 to “sell jerseys” and “increase revenue” (Kim). This may have substance, as the

Bay Area’s large Asian American population would be certain to follow him. Evan Leong’s fair

and objective documentary — narrated by Daniel Dae Kim — speculates whether the move had

anything to do with Lin’s talent level or his fit with the Golden State roster. While there is no

immediate proof of this, Lin’s own thoughts are enough to raise eyebrows. Lin was also the

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hometown player, residing in Palo Alto for much of his life. There were too many cards on the

table to suggest the Warriors were completely interested in Lin as a basketball player. Increasing

revenue through jersey and ticket sales is the name of the game for NBA organizations in today’s

era, and the Warriors appeared to follow suit by signing Lin. Therefore, Lin was viewed as a

commodity before even putting on an NBA jersey. Of course, this is the case of many rookies, as

they are expected to generate excitement before playing one NBA game. The organizational

level is where the Lin situation differs. The Warriors and 29 other NBA teams passed on Lin in

the 2010 draft, not believing he could be a key cog in their franchise. Once the opportunity arose

to add him post-draft, however, the Warriors seemed to take advantage of his appeal. This all

indicates that it may have been more important to sell Lin than actually buy into him as an NBA

player, a reality that would come to the forefront two years later during the Linsanity craze.

Jeremy Lin generated more Twitter traffic from Feb. 6 to 14, 2012 than Barack Obama

— after recently entering his second term in office. He boosted MSG Network ratings by 87

percent in the span of a few short weeks, and Lin’s rookie card sold for $21,000 on eBay after

his seven-game streak of brilliance. Not to mention, Lin made the cover of Sports Illustrated in

back-to-back weeks. This combination is unfathomable for a player out of Harvard University,

an undrafted free agent who few had faith in just weeks prior. A sudden explosion like this just

decades earlier would have set America into frenzy. In the age of social media, however, the

hype was taken to the next level and beyond. Everyone heard and had their opinions of Lin, as if

he was a long-established movie star.

Charles P. Pierce’s article, “Leave Jeremy Lin Alone” is an appropriate source to sort this

mess out. Pierce sympathizes with Lin, proving he is not another writer with an unfounded

opinion. He writes, “After all, so far, since Lin’s improbable rise to fame and glory with the New

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York Knicks, we have had so many misbegotten “takes” on the poor guy that it’s a wonder he

can get out of bed in the morning, much less play NBA basketball at the level he’s playing right

now” (Pierce par. 4). This desperately needed to be said. It reveals an awareness of a larger

cultural problem in what Pierce calls the “accelerated age” (par. 5). People are so quick to give

their “original” opinion, instead of stopping to think how this may affect Lin. What we are left

with is a hodge-podge of “takes” that amount to very little. Pierce provides a much-needed

passage on this impact:

Now, anything great that happens suddenly becomes so freighted with instant

significance that the essential parts of it that are not crushed entirely are simply buried. In

the case of Jeremy Lin, it took almost no time at all for the phenomenon to become

commodified. He’s already become a self-contained universe of images, most of which

he did not seek, and none of which are under his control (par. 5).

The essential parts — Lin resurrecting the Knicks team and fan base — were masked. The Lin

phenomenon became too huge. This passage underscores my idea that much of American culture

commodified Lin through ill-fated attempts to understand him. One way in which many

Americans did this was through Twitter. Whitlock-like tweets made Linsanity more about us

than the star on the court. People used Lin to advance their social media agendas, as if he could

be utilized and discarded when needed. Even Ben & Jerry’s used Lin as a marketing tool in their

“Taste The Lin-Sanity” frozen yogurt, which generated more outrage than they anticipated. Lin

had no control over this whirlwind of ignorance. All Lin could do was play basketball while the

majority of America shaped him to their desire. Near the end of his article, Pierce writes, “He’s

an excuse for racist performance art, and he’s the occasion for yet another tiresome debate over

“political correctness” (par. 9). Once again, Lin is both an “excuse” and an “occasion,” anything

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but a basketball player. Similar to the colonial subject, Lin found his distinct attributes buried

beneath statements and opinions of others. Even when he did gain attention for his play alone,

the reasons behind the attention were unclear.

A clear example is Sports Illustrated’s decision to feature Lin on their cover in back-to-

back weeks. Lin first appeared in the Feb. 20, 2012 issue, pictured splitting all five Laker

defenders on his way to the hoop. The Feb. 27 issue shows Lin pumping his fist with the

headline, “Jeremy’s World.” Lin was the first New York Knick player to ever pull off this back-

to-back feat (Fisher par. 1). Sports Illustrated received a lot of grief from analysts and fans for

their choice. Sure, Lin was lighting the sports world on fire, but other athletes deserved

representation as well. Evgeni Malkin of the NHL’s Pittsburgh Penguins had 10 points from Feb.

4 to Feb. 15, the time frame of Lin’s streak. Henrik Lundqvist, goalie for the New York Rangers,

also impressed during this period. These are just two examples from a whole slew of athletes

who deserved recognition in their own right. Back-to-back covers are not extremely rare, but

Sports Illustrated may have capitalized on an opportunity to target the Asian American

population in Lin’s case. After Yao Ming’s career ended during the 2010-2011 season, the Asian

community was not sure when they would see another NBA star of their own. Once Linsanity

took hold, many Asian American fans would be quick to purchase a copy with Lin on the cover

— an inspirational figure for all Asians, especially children with athletic aspirations. Sports

Illustrated rooted for Lin and acknowledged his unprecedented achievements, but their motives

seemed more complex than this. Lin could be used to boost subscriptions across the nation —

specifically within the Asian American population — helping increase Sports Illustrated’

revenue. It is wrong to chastise Sports Illustrated for their support of Lin, but their motivations

should be questioned. The cover appearance seemed positive on the surface, much like the

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common stereotypes used to describe Lin as a player. What works underneath, however, is often

ignored.

During the 2011 offseason, the Houston Rockets claimed Lin off waivers, another move

with questionable intentions. In the Linsanity documentary, Rockets’ General Manager, Daryl

Morey, explained that Lin had intrigued the Rockets for quite some time (Kim). Morey came

across as genuine in the interview, but Lin’s addition did not make sense on paper. At the time,

the Rockets had three point guards on their roster with guaranteed contracts. They also touted

three guaranteed shooting guard contracts, if Lin were to play his second position. Regardless of

his play in practice, it would be almost impossible for Lin to make the team. Not surprisingly, the

Rockets cut him just before the 2011-2012 season to clear room for center, Samuel Dalembert.

This is hard to excuse as anything more than a PR move to gain more fans before the season

opened. Even Lin felt defeated during practice knowing his time with the Rockets would quickly

come to an end. This represented a trough in Lin’s career, less than two months before he would

explode onto the national scene.

Flash forward to 2014 and the Houston Rockets would use Lin in the most demeaning

way imaginable. This past summer, the Rockets were doing all in their power to attract big-name

free agents. After a disappointing first round loss to the Portland Trial Blazers, the Rockets

needed one more piece to solve their puzzle. Carmelo Anthony — Lin’s former teammate with

the Knicks — was by far the most attractive player left on the market and the Rockets were

going to court him like a prom date. On the morning of July 2, 2014, however, the Rockets

displayed Carmelo Anthony on a billboard in front of their arena, wearing Lin’s No. 7 jersey. Lin

was still on the Rockets at the time, a low blow to a player who helped the Rockets reach the

playoffs just months prior. According to a tweet from Yahoo! sportswriter, Adrian Wojnarowski,

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the Houston Rockets did not inform Lin’s agents of this billboard decision. Although Jeremy’s

tenure with the Rockets was all but over, the sight stung. In an interview with Mike Bresnahan of

the Los Angeles Times, Lin responded, “I just felt like maybe they could have kept it internal.

But it wasn’t a big thing to me” (Bresnahan par. 18). Lin downplayed the situation as much as he

downplayed his success with the Knicks in 2012, so it is crucial to look beyond his comments. In

a sense, the Rockets ripped Lin’s jersey off of his shoulders and handed it to Carmelo Anthony,

as a way of saying “goodbye Jeremy,” “hello Melo.” It is the proper culmination of what has

circulated through the media since 2012 — a sign dangling over downtown Houston for

thousands to see on their car ride to work, and thousands more on the Internet and television

within hours. It parallels Bhabha’s emphasis on bringing the colonized “other” closer to the

Western colonizer. Lin’s No. 7 jersey was a symbol used to attract a dominant athlete, but

through this there was little “recognition of difference” between each player. By summer’s end,

the Rockets did not get their wish. Anthony re-signed with the Knicks for five years/$124.06

million. Meanwhile, Lin would sign with the Los Angeles Lakers for three years/$25.12 million.

As the Rockets and Lin go their separate ways, Lin’s commodification is unlikely to lose steam

— especially in a market the size of Los Angeles.

Marcus Thompson II writes on the future of Lin’s commodification in his article,

“Jeremy Lin finds himself on big stage after humble beginning.” He says, “He’s (Lin’s) judged

under the context of international reach and endorsement clout. This is likely Lin’s reality for the

rest of his playing career. Having to live up to hype. Having to exist perennially in the spotlight”

(Thompson par. 12). This along with the hype created by Linsanity has set the bar high for Lin.

No one expects him to duplicate the success of his first weeks in the league, but along with this

lower “ceiling” comes a higher floor. Lin will be expected to bring consistent point guard play to

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a struggling franchise. He will need to make all those around him better — yes, even Kobe

Bryant. Los Angeles will put him on a short leash, but Lin is more motivated than ever. “I’m not

trying to be a player from the past. I’m trying to make history again,” comments Lin (par. 18).

America was not ready for Jeremy Lin. The Linsanity phase proved that much of

America has not come so far in understanding the “other.” A variety of stereotypes came to the

forefront, preventing Lin from being first and foremost viewed as a basketball player. As Charles

Pierce emphasized, he became a conglomeration of much of America’s thoughts, opinions and

statements. With these problems exposed, it is time to make sure this whirlwind does not happen

again. Asian American players in high schools across the country are working for their chance to

emerge like Lin. As more Asian American basketball players are breaking stereotypes and

defying convention, we could see an explosion in those who make it onto the big stage. In the

context of the median category, “versions of a previously known thing” could one day be the

norm. We must acknowledge that these “versions,” by definition, already show “recognition of

difference.” Therefore, future Asian American players in the NBA should not be compared to

what came before them, but recognized for their individual attributes and skill sets. Charles

Pierce understands this, along with Barnabas Piper and Evan Leong. They have taken the time to

see the big picture, to inform themselves of the inevitable pitfalls that come with stereotyping

and cultural assumptions. It will be crucial for much of America to come to a similar

understanding and learn the lesson that came from the Lin situation. If successful, the Asian

American will be recognized as an elite athlete — the kind of athlete Jeremy Lin is today.

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Works Cited

Bhabha, Homi. "The Other Question: Stereotype, discrimination and the discourse of

colonialism." The Politics of Theory (1982): 66-84. Print.

Bresnahan, Mike. "New Lakers point guard Jeremy Lin knows, thanks to Kobe Bryant, that there

is a lot of work to be done in L.A. And no, it won't be a repeat of his days in New York."

Los Angeles Times 25 July 2014. Web. 8 Nov. 2014.

Dalrymple, Timothy. Jeremy Lin: The Reason for the Linsanity. New York: Center Street, 2012.

Print.

Fisher, Janon. Daily News. New York Daily News, 21 Feb. 2012. Web. 8 Nov. 2014.

Hamill, Denis. "New Yorkers of all stripes feel Linsanity." Daily News 14 Feb. 2012 [New

York]. Web. 10 Oct. 2014.

Jen, Gish. "Asian Men Can Jump." The New York Times 17 Feb. 2012. Web. 10 Oct. 2014.

"Jeremy Lin NYK v NJN (Feb 4, 2012) 25pts." MSG Network. MSG, 5 Feb. 2012. Web. 8 Nov.

2014.

Kang, Jay C. "Jeremy Lin, Again: The meaning of Linsanity 2.0." Grantland. ESPN, 21 Nov.

2013. Web. 10 Oct. 2014.

Kim, Daniel, narr. Linsanity. Dir. Evan Leong. 2013. Web. 16 Oct. 2014.

Pierce, Charles P. "Leave Jeremy Lin Alone." Grantland. ESPN, 20 Mar. 2012. Web. 10 Oct.

2014.

Piper, Barnabas. "Talent, race and ugly stereotypes in the NBA." World. World News Group, 1

Nov. 2013. Web. 10 Oct. 2014.

Said, Edward W. Orientalism. New York: Vintage/Random House, 1979. Print.

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Thompson, Marcus. "Jeremy Lin finds himself on big stage after humble beginning." San Jose

Mercury News 21 Aug. 2014 [California]. Web. 10 Oct. 2014.

Works Consulted

Dalrymple, Timothy. "Jeremy Lin and the Soft Bigotry of Low Expectations." Philosophical

Fragments (2012): 12 pars. Web. 8 Nov. 2014.

DeJohn, Irving, and Corky Siemaszko. "Lin now facing SI jinx." Daily News 14 Feb. 2012 [New

York]. Web. 10 Oct. 2014.

Ford, Rebecca. "Jeremy Lin Generates More Twitter Traffic Than Any NBA Player and

Obama." The Hollywood Reporter (2012). Print.

O' Connell, Michael. "Jeremy Lin Drives Knicks Ratings, Outdraws as 'Linsanity' Takes New

York." The Hollywood Reporter (2012). Print.

The Sports Exchange. "Jeremy Lin rookie card sells on eBay for more than $21,000." San Jose

Mercury News 24 Feb. 2012. Web. 8 Nov. 2014.

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Background: Jeremy Lin

Everything changed on Feb. 4, 2012. Jeremy Lin, a point guard who had spent the first

year and a half of his NBA career in relative obscurity, came off the bench to play for a hapless

New York Knicks franchise. The team had been in a recent rut and encountered a slew of

injuries, which opened the door for what would become “Linsanity.” Lin did not have an average

game on that evening in Madison Square Garden — home of the New York Knicks. Lin dazzled

with 25 points, seven assists and five rebounds. This is where “Linsanity” began. Before his

arrival, Knicks fans watched in dismay from their Cheeto dust infested couches, as their team of

highly paid stars (i.e. Carmelo Anthony and Amar’e Stoudamire) faltered. But suddenly hope

came from an unsuspected source. Lin went on to dominate his next six games with similar stat

lines, eventually catapulting the Knicks into the playoffs.

Lin and his family know a thing or two about perseverance. His mother and father moved

to America from Taiwan to seek better education opportunities. Lin’s parents met at Old

Dominion University, and married shortly after in 1979. His father, Gie-Ming, earned a degree in

computer science from Purdue University, while his mother, Shirley, held a degree in computer

engineering. They eventually found a home in Rancho Palos Verdes, California where Jeremy

and his older brother Josh were born. A highly educated couple of Christian faith, the Lin’s

instilled morals and motivation in their children. By the time Jeremy reached middle school,

however, his basketball ability could not be denied. This is where Lin’s parents differed. Gie-

Ming recognized Jeremy’s talent at a young age, working with Jeremy at the YMCA to craft his

skills. Shirley, on the other hand, initially viewed basketball as a distraction. Understandably,

education is the primary emphasis for families of Taiwanese background. Becoming an engineer

or a doctor is a common goal. Although Jeremy had always wanted to become a doctor, his

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basketball skill was something even his mother could not ignore by the time Jeremy entered high

school. He never looked back from there. Jeremy encountered many doubters, racism and life

lessons on his journey, but channeled them as motivation. He went on to star at Palo Alto High

and Harvard University, before signing with the Golden State Warriors as an undrafted rookie on

July 21, 2010. His unwavering perseverance and dedication modeled that of his parents. The

difference is that Lin followed an unconventional path for an Asian American — the path to the

NBA.

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