Heat 109, Knicks 99: Don’t wanna talk about it
The Knicks. The Heat. The refs. The rise. The fall. The shorthandedness. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
Don’t wanna talk about it. Don’t wanna write about it, vent about it, re-live it. Nope nope nope. Don’t wanna.
Don’t wanna analyze what’s just the third losing streak of 3+ games this season for the New York Knicks. The simplest explanation for what’s happening: a great team missing two of its three most irreplaceable players for two months is struggling against good-to-great teams that aren’t. Take Jalen Williams and Chet Holmgren off the Thunder, or Victor Wembanyama and Victor Wembanyama off the Spurs. It’s not rocket science. The Knicks have been shorthanded most of this season and are ending it playing mostly above-average teams. The numbers check out.
Don’t wanna analyze the possible playoff ramifications. The simplest explanation there is the Knicks have slipped from breathing down the Bucks’ necks for the second-seed down to fifth, two games ahead of the sixth-seeded Pacers, who – like the Magic – hold the tiebreaker over New York. Relatedly, with their win Miami remains tied with Indiana in the loss column; those two play Sunday in Indiana, which will determine which team gets the tiebreaker after splitting their first two meetings. The Knicks could climb to third and be “rewarded” with another Heat playoff series. What a Western conference fate that would be, where a successful regular season spares no team from a Group of Death feel. Dallas is on a torrid late-season run that could easily result in a first-round matchup with Denver or Oklahoma City. The Lakers are just 1.5 games behind than the Knicks, yet rather than fighting for homecourt they’re fighting to hold off the Warriors and not finish 10th.
Don’t wanna analyze the officiating. Yes, ever since Murphy vs. NCAA established legal sports betting, there’s more and more evidence of more and more corruption and chicanery; coaches, players and refs all have the choice to behave with the same solipsistic amorality as the institutions that rule the roost. And yes, the Knicks were up against an organization that prides itself on being compared to the mafia. And yes, any Knick fan who watched this one in fear of a Heat hurting Jalen Brunson went full fetal position after Bam Adebayo’s sliding leg resulted in Brunson tripping and falling down. Still, the Knicks were whistled for the same number of fouls as the home team and finished with the same number of free throw attempts. Nothing to complain about, right?
Don’t wanna write anymore about Julius Randle or OG Anunoby, so I’ll try to indirectly. I collect geologic stuff for fun – minerals, gemstones, fossils, you name it. Recently I’ve acquired some pieces I’ve dreamed of forever: a tanzanite, rock samples from Mars and the moon, a partial Tyrannosaurus Rex tooth, an intact megalodon tooth. A while ago I ordered one of my dream pieces: the biggest opal I ever seen. Due to banks, customs and delivery services, the opal keeps getting delayed. Most orders come in a week or so; the opal’s taken over a month. Nothing else I’ve ordered has ever gone through such a convoluted, endless cycle of frustration. “If” the opal ever arrives, it becomes the crowning piece of the whole collection. Without it, what’s left is still dope. But teeth and moon rock, for all that they do offer, don’t really shine.
The Knicks out there fighting, trying and losing are the same ones fighting and trying when they win. I wanna be very clear here: I don’t endorse any exclusive way of “being a fan.” Human variety is one of our only redeeming traits: if you think “All I ask is my team gives their all,” that’s no more or less respectable than “I watch to watch them win.” If you saw something meaningful in the positive play of Miles McBride and Bojan Bogdanović you wanna hold close to your heart, hold on tight, babe. If you flipped your ever-loving @#$% watching Josh Hart look allergic to floaters, pull-ups or any shot attempt inside of 10 feet, blow like a volcano, amor.
Me? I didn’t learn or take anything from this game. There are seven left. I have no clue where the Knicks will end up in the standings or who they’ll face. I have no clue at this point how to feel about bad calls – my brain understands them as inevitable, a given part of a greater system, only it also now has to process gambling and all that comes with it, including the knowledge that there are more people than ever incentivized to affect prop bet outcomes. Don’t let the NBA and its media mouthpieces turn Tim Donaghy and Jontay Porter into Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. The red scare today means billionaires and millionaires convinced they either have to dive head-first into sports gambling or be left in the red, a binary nobody asked them to confront.
I don’t really care who the Knicks face in the first round, either. I’d rather it not be Miami, because I hate the Heat, hate watching them, hate all the bullshit they wear as an aura. If you follow European soccer, you’re familiar with Atlético Madrid, a club no one would ever call the best but also one top clubs never want to play, especially in knockout competitions. Atlético are infamous for their embracing of the “dark arts,” all the dirty/unethical crap you’d deny your kid dessert for if you saw them play that way in a youth league. I think the Knicks can beat them, and if they get back either Rand – wait, I said I wouldn’t write about them anymore.
Don’t wanna think about who’s not here and what might’ve been if they were. Don’t wanna think about last night’s loss anymore, or any of the last three, really. All I want sometime this month is to go to my mailbox, open it and see that big chunk of opal is finally here.
