SULLIVAN: Watching the Knicks wrap-up their season at the Garden against their cross-river rivals, the New Jersey Nets, was like being at an Irish wake. It was fun and festive until you realize that there’s a dead body in front of you.
While sitting in the press box, I could see all that’s wrong with this team. Nate Robinson should have left town with the circus. The Mighty Mite is amusing in his antics—like Bello the clown—but he’s not an NBA-caliber player. Marbury thanking the fans before the game was just pathetic. You thank fans by playing hard and giving a good effort—not talking about what you are going to do.
That’s all the Knicks did all year. They talked. And talked some more about respect and team while showing none of it on the floor. I tried not to hate them, but 32 wins is just bad basketball. Basketball on the professional level is dead in New York City—the home of the damn game.
Larry Brown won 23 games last year and was ridden out of town with the Knicks yelling that he didn’t “respect” them. Isiah wins nine more and is given a contract extension. The problem there is that his players don’t “respect” him.
Here’s what needs to be done to this team: dump the dead wood. Fire the whole squad. Steve Francis needs a beating. Curry needs to lose weight. Marbury tried, but he’s too selfish to ever win. Keep Lee, Crawford, Blackman, Frye, Curry, Richardson and Jefferies and begin again. I can’t take another year of this.
HOLLANDER: Did you steal my gum? Seriously. While we were watching the game, I offered you a stick of Orbit. You said, “Just a second.” So I left the pack on the press desk in front of us. Minutes later, it was gone. That shit is messed up.
But few things are more messed up than the New York Knicks. The final home game was a strange affair. The press booth reflected the irrelevance. To the left of us, some reporter amused himself with YouTube. To the right of us, another reporter spent the entire first half downloading Depeche Mode songs. In front of us, a woman blatantly filmed the entire game on her video camera. Knicks security didn’t care. Who would pay for those images anyway?
Early in the second half we saw the only positive thing all night. The jumbo tron lit up with a message: “REBECCA HOFFMAN, WILL YOU MARRY ME? SEC. 423, BILL.” Right behind us, 10-year season ticket holder Bill Acheson—wearing an away Patrick Ewing “33” jersey—took a knee and proposed. Rebecca said yes. The crowd went wild. (Your chant of “DEE-FENSE” was so inappropriate.)
The marriage proposal made me pensive. I thought about the Warsaw Ghetto, Darfur and other stricken communities where weddings and births occurred during times of utter hopelessness. How many times Knicks fans must’ve asked themselves these past years, “Why have children at all?” Yet there was Bill and Rebecca, affirming their best intentions publicly as Knicks fans despite the obvious atmosphere of woe and degradation.
Sigh. I was raised on the fabled lore of Walt “Clyde” Frazier, Willis Reed and Red Holzman. On the Earl “The Pearl” and Dollar Bill. What will I tell my children, C.J.?
SULLIVAN: You tell your kids I did not steal your damn gum. As far as basketball goes, you are going to have to move to Phoenix or Dallas if you want to see any kind of team basketball played.
I watch the Knicks and groan, and then I watch the Suns and I’m jealous. Do those desert dwellers know how good they have it? The Suns may not be physical enough to win a title, but damn: they’re fun to watch. Nash slicing and dicing to Stoudemire and Marion: it doesn’t get better than that. The Suns have to be the fastest scoring team since the Showtime Lakers of the 1980s. The Suns put the “Show” in Showtime. They have fun running the court unlike our sullen hoopsters in New York. Dave, there’s no joy in New York—for the Mighty Isiah has struck out.
HOLLANDER: And now he should be booted out. Too late. James M. Dolan’s absurdly premature awarding Isiah a four-year contract extension guarantees that Madison Square Garden will remain a pro basketball wasteland for an entire generation. The only person happier than Isiah about Isiah staying in New York is Bruce Ratner. The Brooklyn Nets will soon be the only NBA team of consequence in our city. Too bad so many in Brooklyn don’t want them there. The whole thing makes me ill.
You want insult to injury? In exchange for Eddy Curry, Isiah gave the Bulls the Knicks 2007 first-round draft pick. The Kicks’ nosedive this season put the Bulls in the lottery. Also, by keeping Isiah in the dual role of GM and coach, Dolan lost out on the opportunity to hire available competent GMs like the immortal Jerry West, who is now without a job.
Promise me we won’t write about the Knicks for a while. And promise me you’ll give back my gum. At least share it with others.
