Every MSG announcer is saying some variation on the same thing: “One of the worst nights at the Garden in years.” The Knicks, not surprisingly, lost again tonight to the Golden State Warriors. It was a dispiriting 26-point beatdown that had the fans chanting all throughout the fourth quarter, “Fire Isiah!” There was the requisite lack of effort, the usual lack of team play, the incredible display of low basketball IQ, and most importantly, the lack of leadership from either the team’s best player or its coach.
Here’s the best part: I watched about six minutes of this game, and I saw all I needed to see.
So another NBA season comes to an end in New York. There was really no reason for hope, but there seemed to be some after the win over the Denver Nuggets. Then their West Coast road trip happened, Stephon Marbury and his latest nonsense happened, the losses happened, and the all of a sudden, the Golden State Warriors are in their building lookling like the most fearsome defensive outfit since the 2004 Pistons.
The Warriors are coached by Don Nelson, people. Offensively, the man is an innovative genius, defensively, the man knows about as much as I do about Jane Austen novels. In other words, I probably should know about her books and Nelson should know more about defense, but we just don’t want to know.
Yet they were stripping Zach Randolph and Eddy Curry left and right. Baron Davis was swatting shots like Patrick Ewing in his prime. And the crowd, holding their overpriced tickets and hideously expensive beers, booed. Booed loudly. And probably briefly considered burning the place down.
So, now, all but the diehards will turn away, only briefly catching a glance at the Knicks in the midst of another loss somewhere in a loud bar, and they’ll remember when they used to give a damn. When this team was actually a bigger day-to-day story than the Yankees in New York. When the meaningless NBA regular season actually meant something to watch most nights. When the quest for a championship, while deep down you knew it was really futile, was still somewhat alive.
And then we’ll drink our beer or our coffee (ok, probably our vodka soda), and we will forget them. And an entire league with it.
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