There is joy in New York City. The New York Knicks won an improbable championship in five games against the San Antonio Spurs, arguably a better team. I am thrilled. I have been a fan since I read The Open Man by Dave DeBusschere in 1970. I was ten years old, making me a fan for 56 years. After reading that book, I read everything I could get my hands on. As I have written about before, I became obsessed with DeBusschere and the Knicks.
I wrote up every game, cut the box score out of the newspaper, and kept a notebook for the ’72-73 and ’73-74 seasons. I look back on the care and attention I committed to the Knicks, and I have to shake my head in wonder and a little embarrassment.
I can’t say my obsession lasted over all these years – had it, I would have needed medication because I wouldn’t have achieved adulthood. It eased after DeBusschere’s retirement in 1974 and my realization that there were other things in the world to think about. But I did maintain a normal level of fandom, with some years of not paying attention while they were wandering in the desert of less-than-mediocrity.
The team reawakened my passion with Jalen Brunson’s arrival, especially this season. I found myself pacing the family room in tight games. I deeply appreciated it when they blew teams out in the earlier rounds of the playoffs. It spared me and my stomach agita. If only they could have done that against the Spurs.
Game four of the San Antonio series began as a low point. In the first five minutes, the refs called two fouls on Karl-Anthony Towns (KAT) that were not deserved. The Knicks were also playing sloppily, throwing the ball away and missing open shots. I was disgusted and discouraged. I couldn’t watch. I retreated to my kitchen and cleaned it. I am not someone who generally chooses to clean, but if I am aggravated enough, it is a good way to vent my frustration. Every so often, I checked the score on my phone. It only got worse. 29 points down! I thought if they got close, I would go back to watching. Instead, after finishing the kitchen, I watched an episode of the Netflix documentary about Rafael Nadal – which, by the way, I recommend. I checked the score, and they were down 15 with about 8 minutes to go. While they had cut the lead, it was still significant. I decided to go to bed.
I lay in bed, stewing over what I perceived as unfair refereeing and my burgeoning dislike of Victor Wembanyama, unable to sleep. Then my phone started blowing up. My kids, braver than I, continued watching the game. Well, Dan did. Leah did what I did, but she checked the score at 4 minutes to go, and they were close, so she started watching. The Bakst family gives her credit for the win. She started watching, and they came back. We were texting furiously. Gary, who had to get up early, was asleep (mostly), so I moved into another bedroom to keep texting and surfing the web to see what was happening. What a comeback! Epic, historic.
I remember another amazing comeback by the Knicks. It was November of 1972. The Knicks were playing the Milwaukee Bucks, who had Oscar Robertson and Kareem Abdul Jabbar on their team, two all-time NBA greats. The Knicks were down 18 points with 5:50 to go. I was sitting in my shoebox of a bedroom in Canarsie, only the light of the fishtank on, listening to Marv Albert call the game on the radio. Home games were almost never televised in those days. As the Knicks closed in, I refused to move from my spot on my bed lest they lose their momentum. Sports superstitions are absurd. But the Knicks held the Bucks scoreless for the remainder of the game and pulled out the win, so maybe there was something to my vigilance. When Lucius Allen, a 90% free throw shooter for the Bucks, missed two from the line, I thought it must be divine intervention. The Garden was rocking. You can watch the clip here: https://www.nba.com/watch/video/knicks-amazing-comeback-against-the-bucks-in-1972.
The beauty of sports! You gotta believe !– to borrow from another underdog team, though in 1972 the Knicks weren’t exactly an underdog. Here is a picture of my write-up of that game from my notebook from the ’72-’73 season. I was 13 years old and I thought I was going to be a sportswriter.
There is something special about a whole arena going crazy together, much less a whole city. Since Saturday night’s win, I have spent too many hours looking at clips of celebrations in NYC, watching interviews with the players, and reading commentary. One of the things I have enjoyed is finding that, though I have liked the players all along, the more I read, the more I like them. This is especially true of Jalen Brunson. Brunson seems to be an excellent role model. How he didn’t lose his composure at the abuse he received, especially from Wemby and the refs not calling the fouls, I don’t know. It was admirable. His whole demeanor was calm, cool, and collected – until the game ended and he hugged his dad. Then he fell apart. How could you not be moved?
I’ve appreciated the other Knicks as well. Their humility, their team chemistry, their focus, and their intensity. I learned about the difficult journey some of them have endured, KAT’s untimely loss of his mother, for example, and I sympathized and admired their grit.
So, the season has come to a close. I will look forward to attending my annual game with Daniel next year. In the meantime, I will allow myself this indulgence, reliving the plays, watching the celebrations, and soaking it in for a while longer. We have been living through difficult times. I’m sure I will come back down to earth soon, hopefully not too soon.
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