SAN ANTONIO, TX. In what experts are calling either a collective psychotic break or the most significant cultural event since the invention of the pretzel, a contingent of New York Knicks fans erupted in the Alamo City tonight, reportedly achieving a state of nirvana rarely seen outside of a Tibetan monastery or a particularly potent strain of weed. The occasion?
A 117-109 victory over the San Antonio Spurs in a mid-season NBA game that, by all rational accounts, will be forgotten by Tuesday. But try telling that to the denizens of the Garden of Dreams who made the pilgrimage south, their faces painted in blue and orange, their voices hoarse from screaming obscenities at Victor Wembanyama, a man who is seven-foot-four and did not ask to be born a giant. “This is the greatest day of my life,” wept a man named Barry from Staten Island, clutching a churro like a holy relic.
“My wife left me, my dog died, but by God, Jalen Brunson went 11-for-19 and now everything is fine.” The scene was one of pure, unadulterated chaos, a maelstrom of misplaced priorities and joyous delusion. Grown men hugged strangers.
A woman attempted to high-five a Spurs mascot who was visibly traumatised. The Knicks, currently perched at fourth in the Eastern Conference, have a 63 per cent chance of making the playoffs according to some algorithm that takes into account vibes and the quality of the local pizza. In New York, the streets of Manhattan remained eerily quiet, as nobody actually lives there.
But in San Antonio, in the hallowed halls of the Frost Bank Center, a magical thing happened: a group of people declared a minor achievement the greatest moment of their lives, and for a brief, flickering moment, they were right. Because sometimes, when you’re a Knicks fan, you have to take your victories where you can get them. Even if they come in February, in Texas, against a team that’s tanking for a draft pick.
As the final buzzer sounded, Barry the churro man collapsed into the arms of a complete stranger. “We’re going all the way,” he sobbed. No one had the heart to tell him that ‘all the way’ probably means a second-round exit.
But hey, it’s the greatest day. Until tomorrow, at least.
