Welcome back, the Indiana Pacers. The Knicks are still the bleeding heart of culture.
Thoughts on cult heroes, the Knicks, the city, and culture, after a piercing Game 1 victory.
Kendrick Lamar is putting up a good fight, but the many customs of people, arts, and social institutions still begin and end in New York, and I’m definitely not talking about the Met Gala. Earlier in the postseason, I figured that the Knicks would have a tremendous advantage being at home — and even away — all postseason. It’s just facts: the fanbase had been starving for many years for a team that isn’t only good, but understands that the overall spirit of the Knick fan is an inherent sickness of optimism and undaunted honor. Josh Hart speaks like he has been playing here for a number of years, as if the swiss army knife game that he possesses was literally created by the same basketball God that raised Tom Thibodeau. When a person walks on seventh avenue right now, they see a Nike billboard of Jalen Brunson that says “Don’t sleep.” Illicit, but tasteful, shirts of Brunson are being selled on the corner of where Madison Square Garden calls itself home. The rich fanbase will travel to Philadelphia; the working class will put their rent in jeopardy to go to the home game. Sections have little importance in the playoffs; being in the building is crucial, just as long as your cheddar can travel on the subway to the game.