NEW YORK — On Monday night, the Knicks punched their ticket to the NBA Finals. Local fans of the Finals-bound team had gathered to watch the game together at Radio City Music Hall after the team decided to change the venue for the official watch party, because authorities thought things got too rowdy outside of Madison Square Garden in the aftermath of Game 3's blowout win in Cleveland. Regardless of where, though, New York was ready for the moment. And because the result of Game 4 was never in doubt from the second quarter on, Monday's watch party was mostly one long celebration.
The beauty of New York City is its melting pot, and the vibes at Radio City were a perfect example of it. Knicks fans of every race, gender, ethnicity, and religion got together to collectively lose their minds about their team's return to the Finals for the first time since 1999, looking for their first championship since 1973. There were old men accompanied by their adult children and young grandkids. Fans in hijabs. Fans in yarmulkes. Bros in OG Anunoby and Jalen Brunson jerseys looking like feral dogs ready to roam the streets. Brunson and Anunoby jerseys were the most popular, in fact. I saw one Josh Hart jersey, some Jeremy Lin jerseys, a Latrell Sprewell and a Patrick Ewing jersey that were both absolute grails. Also, a Jordan Clarkson jersey. A city of true diversity!
The array of jerseys spoke to the Knicks fans' long journey back to the top. The rough '80s that led to winning the Ewing lottery. The rough-and-tumble '90s, where the Knicks were good but never quite good enough. The miracle '99 run with Sprewell and Allan Houston. The Stephon Marbury Knicks, which probably made Larry Brown miss Allen Iverson. The Carmelo Knicks, which featured several players who possessed a bottomless bag but never managed to put a trophy in it. Linsanity, which burned impossibly bright for impossibly short. All the way to today, the best and most fun Knicks team in ages. In between those various eras was a lot of executive mismanagement, beefs, suffering, the worst contracts you’ve ever seen, an arena that has showcased the powers of the surveillance state, and an owner who takes joy in being awful, because no one likes his blues band or whatever.
All of which is to say: I know people find the Knicks annoying and New York City insufferable, but dammit, they deserve this moment.
As the final minute of Monday’s game counted down, the elation was palpable throughout Radio City. Brunson got one of the biggest ovations, as did, funny enough, Timothée Chalamet. Hugs and high-fives abounded. People danced to DJ Khaled and DMX. The event closed with “Empire State of Mind,” which not even a Knicks championship could get me to like. The celebration spilled outside afterward, with people dancing in the street, jumping on lamp posts, shouting "Knicks in four!" A lot of testosterone and a lot of overconfidence. The T-shirt man was selling Knicks Finals gear. Some guy showed up with a fresh plate of baklava to pass around. “Shook Ones” blasted out of a car trunk. Random people in the crowd began rolling up joints, because there’s something about large crowds that makes weed heads go, “This is a good place to smoke weed.” At one point, a bunch of literal children started a “Fuck Trae Young” chant. Unfortunately, it takes time to get all that loser energy out. And so many people were there to make content. Precious, precious content. The local ABC News team interviewed people in the crowd. At some point, a group within the scrum had the bright idea to try to lead the crowd on a 10-block pilgrimage to Madison Square Garden.
The thing is, I’ve never lived in a city during a moment like this. I’m from Tallahassee, but of the three national championships Florida State has won, two were when I was 4 and 10 years old, and the last one happened after I’d graduated and skipped town already. The Nationals didn’t win the World Series until after I left D.C. So this is the kind of moment I’ve been waiting to witness.
But another part of the beauty of New York City is that something like this Knicks run will always only be just another thing happening here. It is not some inescapable, defining moment the way it might be in a smaller town. On the walk toward MSG, while plenty of cars honked approvingly at the crowd of mostly too-turnt boys prowling the streets, just as many seemed mostly to be confused and annoyed by the added traffic. At one point, a couple of what seemed to be German club-going tourists asked what all the commotion was about, to which a young lady helpfully replied, “The Knicks are going to the Finals.” By the end of the trek to the Garden, most of the crowd had petered out and dispersed. Those who remained could look up and see a perfect angle of the Empire State Building, lit up in orange and blue. A perfect capper, honestly. On the ride home to Brooklyn, it seemed as if the whole sky smelled of victory cigars. Because sure, why not? The Knicks are going to the goddamn Finals.
