by Alex Ullman
It’s hard to explain what I experienced a few months ago.
Growing up, basketball was the sport we watched in my house. March Madness dominated the early spring with the NBA taking over until my sister and I left for sleepaway camp. And like every good New Yorker in the 90s, we watched the Knicks. Patrick Ewing, John Starks, and Charles Oakley were the names on that team. It was a great squad that happened to exist at the same time as Michael Jordan’s Bulls and Reggie [Redcated] Miller. Their window closed. I left for college.
The years passed and I continued to casually pay attention to the team. It wasn’t that I disliked basketball but rather I had enough heartache in my life from being a diehard Mets fan. I rarely clicked over to the channel, never tuned into games while driving. But a few years ago, after my child was born, I started to pay attention again. The Knicks were doing well and an infusion of talent meant that they were making deep playoffs runs. I would call or text my sister to catch up about what the Knicks were doing. But like so many years in the 90s, they fell just short.
