The New York Knicks win the world—one summer later

"What is New York if not 99.6 percent of the world stacked against you? And who are New Yorkers if not people who hear those odds and smile? [...] It is in that 0.4 percent that we go to work."

— Mayor Zohran Kwame Mamdani

Well, it's been a whole summer since that faithful night in June when the Knicks fulfilled the dream generations of New Yorkers shared for 53 years. The city is still standing. The whole world thought New York City would explode, or implode, or something from the sheer chaos that would ensue, but we're still here.

Instead, the city exploded in love, one harmonious celebration echoing through every corner of the towns.

The night the world turned upside down

I watched the beginning of game 4 alone on the couch, in the dark. I just sat there, looking at the TV morosely. For the first time this whole postseason I thought, "It's happening again, the Knicks are about to shit the bed at the 11th hour, like always." We've been here so many times before. Things look great, and then the Knicks just implode. We were down 27 points by halftime break.

And then the 3rd quarter happened; the Knicks remembered how to play basketball. Not just basketball, the Knicks played that patented New York Bully Ball™; it was a beauty to watch.

And then, during the 4th quarter, the single greatest most miraculous thing to ever happen in basketball happened on my TV.

I saw it with mine own eyes.

Brunson did what he's always done: played some great hero ball. The undersized guard shoots his three over the giant-sized Wembanyama. He missed, and just as the ball bounced off the rim, OG Anunoby reached for the heavens and tipped it back in to give us the lead with 1.2 seconds left. And I lost my fucking mind. I started screaming like a banshee. By this point, 30 minutes of "Oh my God, oh my God!" had already woken up my girlfriend. So she was baffled when her grown-ass boyfriend started running around screaming like a lunatic.

It was euphoria. I watched a clip of it again this morning, in September, and my heartbeat still gets a little quicker as the ball completes its arc and OG tips it in.

We are the champions, my friends

I rallied the troops for game 5. The Knicks were going to finish the story and we had to see it through together. I watched game 5 with bated breath. Pacing back and forth my apartment and throwing out quick prayers. As the 4th quarter ends, Wembanyama bricks a 3. Hart grabs the board, the buzzer echoes throughout the city; the world turns upside down.

The dog has had its day. The losers have finally won.

My knees buckled and I had to take a knee. I couldn't even scream. A lifetime of thinking this would never happen had made this so surreal, I felt numb for a second. The first thing I did once I got my bearings straight was complete a superstition: I had bought some Knicks charms for my new NBA themed Crocs my girlfriend gifted me. The little bundle came with a little Larry O'Brien trophy charm that I set aside until the Knicks had won.

I placed it on my shoe and then we hit the streets.

Harlem was already outside! People everywhere were running around with libation in hand, screaming like lunatics. We were walking down Lenox, greeting and dapping up groups of people like we were all old friends. We were all one that night. We were New Yorkers bound together, for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, by euphoria, not tragedy.

Whereas 25 years ago, on that frightful morning in September, the city huddled together, seeking refuge from the enveloping clouds of debris—on that night in June, we huddled together under bright orange and blue lights, embracing each other out of love, not terror.

The following Thursday, half of the city reconvened at the Canyon of Heroes to welcome our conquering heroes home. The other half watched from the comfort of home. Mayor Mamdani gave an all-time speech filled with bars. And the New York Knicks got the keys to the city.

Back to back like the cover of Lethal Weapons

And now, here we are, the Eastern Parkway has been cleared and Labor Day is behind us. The New York Yankees are 2nd in the American League. Aaron Judge is back on the roster after spending the summer on the IL. The Giants look promising in a way we haven't seen since the Manning/Coughlin days.

Sometimes, I'll just randomly hit the Alonzo Mourning meme in disbelief, "The Knicks really won."

It's a little over a month until the NBA season starts again. The offseason has been one of the most chaotic in a long time. LeBron is back in the east, Giannis took his talents to South Beach, and the Celtics traded their best player away for basically nothing.

Pablo Torre has reminded us what the true meaning of journalism is by sticking it to a gazillionaire. He's doing that delicious delicious muckraking journalism. The type of journalism a naive idiot who's read too many Superman comics would go through a journalism minor for.

Philadelphia thinks King James will save them. They're mistaken, for we already have the true King in the North.

The circus starts anew next month; I have little doubt that the defending ringleader, King Brunson the Giantslayer, will be there to keep all the freaks (Greek or otherwise) in line.