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If Kyrie Irving wants a chance at immortality, the Knicks are his only option.
When I saw New York listed alongside Miami, San Antonio, and Minnesota, as Kyrie Irving’s four preferred landing spots, I couldn’t help but remember that this is the same guy who said the Earth is flat. New York? As in, the Knicks? Is he aware that the franchise is owned by a trust-fund kid who is more passionate about making his rock-star dream a reality, than running the seventh most-valuable sports team in the world? Has he completely overlooked how badly the franchise botched Melo’s prime? Or worse, how they made a tragic figure out of Patrick Ewing, arguably the most hyped basketball player in league history?
After my initial cynicism wore off, I remembered that Kyrie, like myself, is 25 years-old. As a fellow member of the oft-titled Me-Me-Me Generation, Kyrie’s combination of false-hope and self-confidence, which I assume has led him to believe he can be the one to save the Knicks, is admirable. Kyrie is just embodying the labels that prior generations have attached to Millennials, i.e., cocky, entitled, narcisstic.
Most basketball fans have scoffed at the sheer sense of self-entitlement he’s displayed in saying that he is sick of playing in LeBron’s shadow. No one should be surprised. Kyrie spent the first 22 years of his life, before LeBron came back to Cleveland, as the guy on every organized basketball team he’s played for. So forgive him for feeling he’s deserving of the role of Batman. Two years ago, his legacy-making shot in Game 7 of the NBA Finals proved he was too good to be Robin. On paper, this is the exact makeup of the guy the Knicks have been in dire need of.

Despite having only lived in New York for the last 18 months, I consider myself fully integrated into the Knicks fanbase’ psyche. Knicks fans don’t adhere to logic and reason. Four decades of dysfunction and incompetence can’t override their passion for basketball which is engraved at birth. The city’s basketball obsession is predicated on its playground roots. It’s the reason New York is historically considered the Mecca of basketball. At its heart, the sport is a city game. And there’s no urban city in America with as rich a basketball tradition as New York City.
While the culture of New York basketball was bred on the city’s famous courts, their fanatical obsession was cemented inside Madison Square Garden. The Garden became known as “The Mecca” in the ’70s, while the Knicks, led by Willis Reed, Walt Frazier, and Dave Debusschere, won two championships in the first four years of the decade. In the ’80s, St. Johns owned the city and MSG, as Chris Mullin and Mark Jackson steered the school to two Big East Championships. By the ’90s, the Knicks were King once again. Despite never winning a championship, Pat Riley’s bully-ball tactics, embodied by Ewing, John Starks, Charles Oakley, and Anthony Mason, represents the final glory days for the franchise.
With four postseason trips to go along with one playoff series win in the last 15 years, an entire generation of Knicks fans have only experienced the dysfunction of the Isiah Thomas and Stephon Marbury era, as well as the most recent Phil Jackson regime. Even so, the fanbase’ youngest generation have memorized the timeless moments of the last golden era. Larry Johnson four-point play in the ’99 ECF. John Starks’s dunk over the Bulls in the ’93 ECF. Ewing in Game 7 of the ’94 ECF. And so, although the rest of the country believes that the allure of MSG, the Knicks, and playing in the most famous city in the world, is dead, New Yorkers continue to hold out hope.

A few months ago, I was talking with one of my co-workers (a born-and-raised New Yorker) about the state of the Knicks. With him being 38 years-old, I wanted to understand how much the team meant to the city during the ’90s, from the point of view of someone who lived it. At one point in our conversation, I asked him if the team has ever truly mattered since then. After thinking about it for a few seconds, his energy completely shifted and I could tell I had struck a chord.
Over the next five minutes, he passionately ranted about Linsanity. He talked about the four weeks in February 2012, when the overnight success of Jeremy Lin pushed the Knicks to a seven-game winning streak, culminating with the team winning 10 of the month’s final 13 games.
“As we continued to win and he kept having those sports movie moments, it just…he simply captivated the city. How it felt was inexplainable. I remember walking to work every day, you could feel the city vibrating. It was as if…you just wouldn’t understand.”
My colleague wasn’t trying to come off as condescending. He was right. I had experienced Lin’s ascendance through ESPN highlights and sports blogs, while living 700 miles away. I couldn’t understand. As we continued talking, we wound up looking back on the summer of 2010, when the Knicks were thought to be a front-runner in the LeBron sweepstakes. At the mention of LeBron, my colleague grew wistful; as he tried to imagine how much LeBron could’ve meant to New York City. He explained how there’s no sports equivalent to whoever ends up bringing Knicks fans their first title since 1973.
He looked at me, and without an ounce of hyperbole, said, “If and when it ever happens, that player will go down as the guy who saved professional basketball in New York. He would be everything to us.” Perhaps sensing my skepticism, he continued. “When the Knicks are good, there’s nothing like it.” Call me a romantic, but I believed him. In that moment, I felt that I finally understood New York’s relationship with the Knicks.
Three months later, the Knicks are closer than any of us would’ve thought to finding that guy. If Kyrie is intent on cementing a legacy in which his Game 7 vs. Golden State isn’t the first thing we mention, here’s his chance. If he wants a shot at immortality, New York is waiting.
