The Knicks were built to take multiple bites at this apple, to spend multiple springs trying to add a third banner to Madison Square Garden’s pinwheeled ceiling. They aren’t one-hit wonders, and shouldn’t be going forward, assuming they stay reasonably healthy. This is a core designed to maintain a distinct level of competence, and confidence. 

That’s the idea, anyway. 

The reality can sometimes be quite different, because you never really know in sports, not completely, not entirely. Stuff happens. Guys get hurt, guys get old. Coaches wear out their welcome, chemistry fades. You are never guaranteed a thing. It is always wise to go back to January 1999, in crumbling old Mile High Stadium in Denver, maybe 45 minutes after the Jets lost the AFC Championship game to Denver 23-10. 

“Nobody promises you anything,” Bill Parcells said, standing outside the visitor’s locker room, his face gaunt, his shoulders slumped; he looked to be about 113 years old. “Just thinking of all that has to happen just to get back to right here … it’s exhausting.”