Look out, folks. We're approaching Tim Tebow territory.
Save the fact that my editors will also likely place a permanent ban on Linsanity, to be shelved alongside columns about Tebowmania and clichédledes featuring the weather, few other similarities exist between the Asian-American phenomenon and the Christian quarterback who enveloped a nation's attention in consecutive months.
I refer to Jeremy Lin, the Knicks' upstart guard, he of the 26.8 points per game over the past five games, as an Asian-American because that's how he will forever be slotted in the rarely diverse NBA. Of course, if any underdog point guard got cut by two teams and then led a downtrodden franchise to five straight wins, all while outdueling some of the game's top players, the nation would assuredly take notice. But all of Lin's success, the 38 points on Friday against the Lakers, the nicknames, the signs, those have been magnified 10-fold by the race factor.
It's a tricky subject, especially in sports. Are we attracted to certain players because of their race, because they buck basketball's normative status as an African-American-dominated sport? Does Lin's position factor in as much as his race does, especially because most Asian imports have existed in the low post? And, perhaps most importantly, if Lin's success fades — which it likely will, given the current rate at which he's obliterating opponents with pinpoint pick-and-rolls — then will the fandom subside as well?
Take a look at the signs littering the stands wherever Lin plays these days. "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Point Guard." "The Yellow Mamba." "Me Love You Lin Time." All racially charged, all operating off the same basic principle: Jeremy Lin is the quintessential underdog, and that underdog status derives from equal parts overcoming adversity and his race.
And as Lin crosses into a full-blown national sensation, occupying SportsCenter time the way his media darling predecessor in the Mile High City once did, we must become increasingly cautious about crossing the line.
FoxSports columnist Jason Whitlock recently figured this out the hard way. In the wake of Lin's performance against Los Angeles, Whitlock, never the one to shy away from his opinions or off-the-cuff remarks, tweeted, "Some lucky lady in NYC is gonna feel a couple inches of pain tonight." Classless? Indeed. The Asian American Journalists Association demanded an apology from Whitlock, and he thankfully obliged. But Whitlock's case is nonetheless indicative of what can happen when we derail our own racially charged fandom.
Growing up as an Asian-American athlete, you become accustomed to being labeled according to one specific talented Asian at a given time. Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee were popular years ago. Ichiro and Yao Ming took over in the early 21st century. Now, at least for a fleeting moment, it seems Jeremy Lin is the new pinnacle, the Harvard-educated Christian who at once fulfills positive stereotypes and breaks others down.
Grantland's Jay Caspian Kang pointed out the rare pride minorities often feel when watching one of their own achieve fame in a "forbidden field." For Asians, this field is the NBA, and the pride is increasingly swelling, proportional to the "Linsanity" references and accompanying puns.
Right now, the world has nothing negative to say about Jeremy Lin. He's smart, he's talented and he's brought a misshapen franchise back to relevancy. The problem, if we indeed intend to look for one, lies in the future. If Lin's production tapers, interest could wane and he could be known as a cautionary tale, as young, media-loved superstars are wont to become.
The situation is paradoxical in some ways. Lin undoubtedly embraces his heritage but would rather be seen as a colorless basketball superstar.
Of course, would he have exploded into such national prominence were it not for his stance as the NBA's only Asian-American?
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Alex Prewitt is a senior majoring in English and religion. He can be reached on his blog at http://livefrommudville.blogspot.com or followed on Twitter at @Alex_Prewitt.
