The Knicks had been doing something that had seemed and felt impossible for decades. They weren’t just playing well — as well, in fact, as they’ve played for any extended period since they were regular participants in May and June all across the ’90s.
And they weren’t just saving their very best for the very best: clocking the Nuggets and the Heat in back-to-back games, winning 12 out of 14 overall since New Year’s Day, including six in a row.
No. In truth, it was more than that.
Right up until around 5:30 or so Saturday afternoon, the Knicks had actually done something that has seemed inconceivable for them and their fans.
They’d coaxed those fans into trusting both their eyes and their hearts. They’d convinced them to sit back and enjoy the ride, join them on the daily grind, and not continually fret for the sky to start falling, for the other sneaker to drop, for whatever ghosts and goblins have haunted the Knicks to rise up and take it all away. Knicks fans are the truest of true believers by nature, and they’d chosen to believe. They’d started to trust their hearts on this one.
And then the sky really did fall.
The other sneaker really did land with a thud right in the middle of the Madison Square Garden floor, 4 minutes and 17 seconds left in a game in which the Knicks would thrash the Heat, 125-109. Julius Randle went up for a shot, got tangled up with Jaime Jaquez Jr., fell hard, and began wincing. He’d hurt his right shoulder. He was led off the court. X-rays revealed a dislocation.
And Knicks fans spent the rest of the day, and all day Sunday, relentlessly refreshing their social media accounts furiously looking for real-time results of the MRI exam that was taken Saturday night to reveal the extent of the damage. By Sunday’s end, no new news was forthcoming. Knicks fans would wait some more, and hope a whole lot for the best.
Such is the cost of belief.
Such is the price of shedding skepticism, embracing optimism. Knicks fans have long eased their pain by using the classic gallows take of tortured fans:
We can’t have nice things.
At last, the Knicks had nice things.
And Randle, long a lightning rod these last few years, was in the middle of all of it, playing the best and most consistent ball of his career, all but punching his ticket for another trip to the All-Star Game in a couple of weeks. As much as any Knick, it has been Randle whose game seemed to hit a different level once the team acquired OG Anunoby, once the team’s roles were redefined. He seemed laser focused on offense. He was engaged and he was happy and he seemed to be having a hell of a time every night. He’d even stopped griping so much at referees.
For some, Randle is an eternal source of angst. In a meta sense it is an unfair reality; as great as Jalen Brunson is, he is the Knicks’ most explosive offensive weapon, capable of a triple-double at any time, an inside-outside force that gave the Knicks their only legitimate interior and consistent offense. If he is not Nikola Jokic, or Joel Embiid, or Giannis Antetokounmpo, he’s the Knicks’ answer to those alpha dogs. Those are tough comps.
Randle can sprinkle spasms of frustrating play even on his best nights, times when he dominates the ball, times when he tries to do too much, and sometimes that’s caused the Garden to react adversely to him. He has been booed. He has heard uncomfortable groans. It doesn’t seem to bother him. He plays hard every game. And he plays hurt, rarely showing how much pain he’s in.
We all saw that Saturday afternoon. We saw the agony. And frankly, we saw the fear. Knicks fans get it. They were feeling the same thing. They’re still feeling it and will until they hear one way or another, whether they know for sure if the sky has really fallen or if it’s just in temporary disrepair. And the ones who have booed him have probably gone the old foxhole-vow route, promising higher powers that they’ll never boo him again in exchange for a clean MRI.
Two days ago, the way they were feeling, most Knicks fans would probably have expected the best, because that’s how things were tending. Maybe they still can. Maybe that new optimism will be rewarded. For the sake of this basketball season in New York City, let’s all hope so.