There’s something about sports that nothing else can replicate.

Not politics. Not religion. Not the news cycle or whatever argument is dividing the country this week. Sports is the one space where people who agree on absolutely nothing sit down next to each other, wear the same colors, and cheer for the same thing. It cuts through every barrier we build in society. When your team wins, nobody cares who you voted for. Nobody cares what neighborhood you’re from or what you do for work or what you believe. For those few hours, you are one thing: a fan.

I was 16 years old when the New York Knicks lost the 1999 NBA Finals to the San Antonio Spurs. That one stayed with me. You don’t forget your team making the Finals (now for the second time in five years), only to lose in five games. You go to bed that night thinking this is just the beginning, and then spend the next 27 years waiting for the beginning to arrive.

Last night, the Knicks went back to San Antonio. Same city. Same opponent. And this time, they didn’t just win. They closed it out in their building. Final score, 94-90. Jalen Brunson with 45 points. First NBA championship since 1973.

Tears of joy running down my face.

Before We Celebrate, Let’s Acknowledge the Heartbreak

Knicks fans are built different. We’ve been tested in ways most fanbases never will be.

In 1994, Pat Riley took this city to Game 7 of the NBA Finals with Patrick Ewing, arguably the greatest Knick of all time, one win away from the only thing missing from his legacy. And then John Starks, our warrior, our gunner, went 2-for-18 from the field in Game 7. Houston won. Pat Riley, loyal to a fault, kept John in the game the whole way. You can’t blame him. But a championship slipped through our fingers that night and never came back.

Five years later, ’99. The Spurs. Five games. Gone.

Then came the years that broke you slowly. The Carmelo trade, where we gutted our entire future for one star who needed a team around him, right after we’d traded that team away. Phil Jackson arrived with $60 million in his pocket, leaving us more confused than when he showed up. Year after year of draft picks that didn’t go the right way.

For two decades, the Knicks became the punch line. The franchise of wait-til-next-year.

Next year just took a little longer than expected.

The Bet Nobody Made on Jalen Brunson

Here’s what you have to understand: nobody was supposed to bet on him.

He won two national championships at Villanova, then got taken in the second round of the NBA Draft. In a league where second-round picks are afterthoughts, he was an afterthought to the afterthoughts. He went to Dallas and developed in Luka Doncic’s shadow, until Luka went down with an injury in the 2022 playoffs against Utah. Brunson stepped up and put on back-to-back performances that made you stop cold, wait, who IS this guy? That composure. That look in his eye. That’s not a backup. That’s a leader waiting for a stage.

When he signed with the Knicks, the league doubted it. Too small. Can’t be the guy. A lot of people said it out loud.

He answered all of it last night in San Antonio, the same city, the same floor, where he won his second Villanova championship back in 2018. You cannot write a script like that. After the buzzer, he ran straight to his father. Rick Brunson, Jaylen’s dad, a Knicks assistant coach and a former NBA player, was standing on that sideline when his son delivered 45 points to end a 53-year drought. I don’t care how tough you are. That image is going to get you.

The jersey goes to the rafters. No debate.

A Team Built Around One Purpose

What makes this championship different is that it was never a one-man story.

Karl-Anthony Towns, the most talented player on this roster, a number one overall pick, came to New York to play his role and let someone else lead. That takes a rare kind of ego-free mentality. OG Anunoby arrived from Toronto after the Knicks sent RJ Barrett and Emmanuel Quickley to bring in one of the best two-way wings in basketball. Quiet. Efficient. No need for the spotlight. Mikal Bridges, a Villanova brother, came next at serious cost. Josh Hart gave everything he had every single night. Brunson, Bridges, and Hart became the first trio of teammates in history to win an NCAA championship and an NBA title together. That brotherhood is real.

And then there’s Jose Alvarado. Born in Brooklyn. Grew up in the Berry Street Houses in Williamsburg public housing. Played high school ball at Christ the King in Queens. Went undrafted, had to sign a two-way contract just to get his foot in the door with New Orleans, and was traded to New York in February. He wears number 5 for the five boroughs. The only native New Yorker on this roster. And this series gave him everything he’d been working toward his whole life.

When the Garden Shook

The series had an edge to it from the beginning. In Game 3, Wembanyama shoved Brunson to the floor by the back of his head. No foul called. The NBA later admitted the call was missed and then declined to do anything about it. Brunson was furious. The Garden was furious. And Alvarado was taking notes.

Game 4. Madison Square Garden. The Spurs came out on fire, building a lead so large that by halftime, the series felt like it was slipping away. Down 29, the Knicks could have folded. Any other team in that building probably does. Instead, Alvarado came out and tackled Wembanyama’s leg to the floor, both arms wrapped around him, pulled him down WWE-style. Reviewed. Called a common foul. And when he stood back up, he stepped right over Wemby, an echo of Allen Iverson’s iconic step-over from the 2001 Finals. A 6-foot undrafted guard from Brooklyn sending a message to the clear FACE of the League, and the most dominant player on the planet. This is our house.

The Knicks clawed back through the third quarter and caught fire in the fourth. Alvarado was everywhere, scoring, pushing, defending. The Garden was shaking. Nobody quit.

And then, with 1.2 seconds left, Brunson fired a shot over Wembanyama’s outstretched arm. It missed. The ball hung in the air.

And OG Anunoby came out of nowhere.

He crashed from the weak side and softly tipped it in! 107-106. Series 3-1. Madison Square Garden exploded. Coach Mike Brown called it the most iconic shot in the history of New York basketball. Karl-Anthony Towns, right there on the court when it happened, had three words for it: “Right hand of God.”

I’ve watched basketball my whole life. I’ve seen great moments and rewatched videos of historically great teams. But OG Anunoby’s putback is the single greatest moment in the history of Madison Square Garden. Above The Dunk. Above the seventies championship run. Above everything. OG is cemented in Knicks royalty forever.

This Is New York’s Team

Here’s something worth saying out loud, because people who aren’t from this city don’t always understand it.

In New York, baseball divides you. You’re a Yankees fan or a Mets fan, and those two sides don’t mix. Football does the same thing. Jets or Giants. You pick a side, and you hold it. But basketball? There’s only one team. The Knicks belong to every single New Yorker. There’s no other side to choose. And what we saw during this playoff run, the sold-out Garden, the streets flooding after every win, the watch parties in every borough, the fans traveling to every arena, was something we’ve never seen at this scale in this city before.

When the final buzzer sounded in San Antonio, fans flooded the streets across all five boroughs. Times Square became a sea of orange and blue.

Thursday’s ticker-tape parade down the Canyon of Heroes will be the first in Knicks franchise history, they never held one after the 1970 or 1973 titles. That means this generation gets something no generation of Knicks fans ever got. We get to see this team celebrated in the streets of the greatest city in the world. 

After going down 1-2 to Atlanta in the first round while everyone wrote them off, this team went 15-1 the rest of the way, their only loss the entire run being Game 3 of the Finals. Every time the story was supposed to end, it didn’t. That’s not luck. That’s character.

My 11 & 16-year-old self, quiet on the couch in 1994 & 1999, watching first the Houston Rockets, then the Spurs celebrate, couldn’t have imagined this day.

But we’re here.

Welcome home, Knicks. Every bit of this was earned.

Go New York. Go New York. Go!