I love Jeremy Lin.

I love his game, I love his humility, I love the fact that he’s a local kid, I love his willingness to pass, I love his fearlessness, I love that my cousin played with him back in the day. I love that the first thing he says to every question relates back to the team. I love that during halftime of tonight’s game, he said he needed to do a better job of finding Tyson Chandler. I love how excited his teammates get with every jumper and twisting, weaving, impossible drive into the paint. I love that during a pickup game today, I and another half-Asian law student spent a good 5 minutes marveling over his game, its simplicity and efficacy and and fundamental nature. I love that he loves his family, that a week ago he was sleeping on his older brother’s couch in New York.

I love that as bad as the Lakers looked out there (I’m looking specifically at you, Pau and Bynum), I’m still amped over Jeremy Lin’s 38 points and 7 assists. I love that he’s doing this without freakish athleticism, with a body that isn’t too far off from my own (give an inch and 25 pounds). I love that the world loves him. I love that he can take what was a very bad day, a day during which my sadly typical predilection for assuming the worst and feeling alone, unwanted, and unloved dominated my thoughts, and force me onto my feet cheering in the middle of my room. I love that tomorrow he goes up against Ricky Rubio and the Minnesota Timberwolves in a point guard battle that might just make my head explode. I love Jeremy Lin.

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