FROM THE STANDS: 53 Years Was Worth the Wait

“From the Stands” is a periodic SportsRantNY feature where our followers get to wax poetic about the teams, moments, and memories that shaped their lives as fans. These essays are written by real New Yorkers who live and die with the teams that represent our city and the greater metropolitan area.

Like many sports fans, my team allegiances began to take shape around the age of 10. Growing up in Schenectady, New York, meant there were no true local teams to call our own. 

The Yankees and football Giants received most of the coverage, but this was not exactly a golden age for either franchise. Those were my dad’s teams, but he let me pick my own. I copied Roy White’s batting stance and was fascinated by Giants safety Spider Lockhart, but a kid wants to root for a team that has a chance to win it all.

That’s why this 10-year-old chose the Minnesota Vikings, the Los Angeles Dodgers, and the New York Knicks.  Super Bowl team.  World Series contender. And NBA champion.

This was going to be fun!

Clyde’s Knicks
I had a vague recollection of the Knicks winning the title in 1970, but by 1973 I was fully locked in on Walt Frazier. I began wearing #10 on baseball and basketball teams. I read and re-read Clyde’s Rockin’ Steady, learning how to steal the ball from a dribbler by reaching up instead of down (very successful), how to catch a fly with my bare hand (less successful), and how to dress with style (much less successful).

Willis, Dollar Bill, Earl the Pearl, DeBusschere, Red, and my 2nd favorite Knick guard, Dean “The Dream” Meminger, were all important, but these were the Walt Frazier Knicks for me.

As Clyde aged, the Knicks added another favorite of mine, Bob McAdoo. There were no championships in sight, but “McAdoo for Two” was enough to convince me that we would be back on top in no time.

Then came the incredible Bernard King playoff run—an unstoppable force that ended far too soon.

The Hoya Destroya
My loyalty was put to the test in 1985. After spending four years loudly booing Patrick Ewing and Georgetown as a student at Syracuse University, Ewing became the Knicks’ No. 1 pick. I rationalized that I hated the Hoyas, not Patrick, and prepared myself for the certain championship that would surely follow.

It did not.

There were former Pitt Panther (ugh) Charles Smith’s missed layups, Ewing’s missed finger roll, John Starks going 2-for-18, and, of course, the missed three-pointer. The Riley Knicks were tough, physical, and successful, but somehow could never quite get over the hump. It was a style of play that wasn’t always easy to enjoy, but it did produce a lot of wins.

Meanwhile, 1973 was receding further and further into the nostalgia of childhood.

By 1999, crushing sports defeats had been permanently hardwired into my sports fandom. The Vikings’ 15-1 season came crashing down when Gary Anderson (Syracuse ’81) missed his only kick of the season, allowing the Falcons to tie the game and win the NFC championship in overtime. The Knicks’ surprising run from the No. 8 seed to the Finals was a memorable ride, but it never really felt as if they were going to beat Duncan and Robinson.

SU’s own Carmelo Anthony arrived with a lot of hope. Melo was brilliant. Melo was fun. Melo could score from anywhere. But thanks in part to an overanxious James Dolan, there was never quite enough talent around him to make New York a true championship threat.

Then Tom Thibodeau came, along with the Nova Knicks.

Even my deep Syracuse/Big East bias couldn’t hide a grudging admiration for what Rollie Massimino had accomplished in the 80’s, what Jay Wright had achieved more recently, and the way those Villanova teams played.

Something had changed.

The Nova Knicks
This was an overachieving team that played hard every night. Adding KAT was a big swing.  Now that Dolan was finally allowing actual basketball people (thank you, Leon Rose!) to run the operation—and with their bold decision to move on after deciding that Thibs had gotten everything he could from the group—everything finally came together under Mike Brown.

This was an impossible team to dislike (unless you simply hate New York teams).

They played beautiful, unselfish, passionate basketball. Basketball that Knicks fans could be proud of. Basketball that  echoed the Clyde and Willis teams of the early 1970s.

As they rolled through the Eastern Conference, I just hoped the ride would continue. If we could get the Spurs instead of OKC, maybe their inexperience—and the toll of playoff minutes on Wemby—would give us a chance.

Maybe. Just maybe.

Then we got Game 1.

And Game 2.

After the circus surrounding Game 3, the miracle comeback in Game 4 was either going to be the defining moment of a championship season—or a footnote to another opportunity slipping away.

I watched Jalen Brunson become Derek Jeter in a Knickerbocker jersey over the final minutes of Game 5. The confidence and composure of a champion who knew he was going to come through.  

On the couch, with my two-year-old Flat-Coated Retriever, Knickolas Frazier, at my feet, I leaned forward as OG Anunoby grabbed the final rebound.

I spent 53 years waiting for the next championship, and had finally seen the team win it the right way.

Not with a mercenary roster. Not with a lucky bounce. This team won with toughness, unselfishness, chemistry, and a genuine sense that everyone understood the assignment.

This team — winning this way — made the 53-year wait worth it. And congratulations New York City from your upstate neighbor.  Your joyous celebration was inspiring.

Knicks in 5!


ICYMI “From the Stands: The Knicks Won, and Grown Men Wept”