In a way, Wednesday night marked the end of an era. About five minutes into the third quarter of New York's game against Sacramento, it became evident to everyone at Madison Square Garden that Jeremy Lin was not going to score 25 points or hit a game-winning buzzer-beater. After a quick, scintillating start, Lin settled into his role as a distributor. It's as though he's begun to set odd, nightly goals for himself — the 38 points against the Lakers, the 3-pointer against Toronto, and, in Wednesday night's 100-85 win over the Kings, 13 assists. When he hit a jumper to secure a double-double, the Garden erupted. The game was laughably out of reach by then, but nobody felt like leaving.

We sat next to a father from the Bronx who had lost his mind to Linsanity. “DON'T MESS UP HIS ASSISTS,” he shouted early on, each time a fellow Knick failed to capitalize on one of Lin's passes. “FIVE REBOUNDS. TRIPLE-DOUBLE. IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!” he begged, once Lin got his 10th point. His daughter carefully unrolled her “To Linfinity and Beyond!” sign, which charmed even the pun-weary (namely, me).

There is the victory you enjoy in private, at the end of a hard-fought day, with the family or close friends, feelings of ambient, total satisfaction in the chest and a cold beer in hand. And then there is the victory experienced in public: the gratuitous bat-flip and slow trot, the penalty for excessive celebration you’ll gladly take, kissing your badge to taunt the opposing fans. Generally, this second type of celebration is not permitted to NFL coaches; a fist-pump and a smile are about as swaggy as it gets. Which is why a good press conference can make for such great theater, the delicate and unlikely battlefield where these hypercompetitive leaders of hypercompetitive men might begin to work through some those accruing aggressions.