On the value of cheering for losing teams
The Knicks are good again. But being good comes with expectations, something the Knicks’ fanbase has been less than familiar with for the last decade.
The Knicks just finished their best season since 2013, and their future looks brighter than it’s looked since over a decade before that. Nonetheless, as this season has come to a close, I find myself reminiscing about what it was like to cheer for the Knicks when they were bad.
When the Knicks were bad, and we knew they were bad, and we knew the badness had no reasonable chance of ending soon, we had the freedom to watch them without expectations. Every night I’d tune in to watch the Knicks expecting them to get beat. When they then went on to lose, I was unphased. This is who the Knicks are, this is what it is to cheer for them. Another day.
When the Knicks were bad, the possibilities were open and endless. Like a young person choosing their college major, there were a million different ways the Knicks’ future could unfold. They could land the No. 1 pick – some bright-eyed future superstar. They could build from within, turning second round picks and undrafted free agents into a plucky team of upstarts. They could build a dynasty through free agency that would control the East for years to come. Noah Vonleh, Kadeem Allen, Frank Ntilikina — any of them COULD BE HIM. In many ways, dreaming of these future possibilities gave me hope in my real life. Sure, things were dark, but the possibilities for the future were endless. Someday, the sun will rise again.
When the Knicks were bad there was catharsis. I logged on nightly to The Strickland’s Discord channel, and together we laughed at our ineptitude, we anguished over February losses to the equally godforsaken Detroit Pistons, we cheered raucously for the Knicks to rally for a fake comeback. It all felt amazing.
When the Knicks were bad, I loved every player. I delighted in Kevin Séraphin hook shots. I jumped around my room when Frank Ntilikina pushed LeBron James, and then did it again when Mario Hezonja blocked him. I was wowed by Luke Kornet setting screens and swinging the ball. I loved FARTDOG (the Friendly Alliance of Really Terrible Defenders of Opposing Guards). Players underperforming or failing was okay – endearing, even – because that’s what the Knicks did. I couldn’t hold Ron Baker responsible for getting posterized by Anthony Davis, nor be mad at Lou Amundson for not becoming a superstar.
When the Knicks were bad, I took pride in rooting for them. I lost count of the number of times I told people “I grew up a Bills, Knicks, and Mets fan,” and relished when they would inevitably ask: “why not root for teams that actually have a chance to win?” It was a badge of pride to have stuck with my teams through the dark times. These are the teams I grew up with. These are teams I’ve watched lose for my entire life. These are the teams that – by losing – reflected the state of their cities. Buffalo was once a once booming industrial hub left behind by modernization. Losing is familiar there. NYC was shut down and ravaged by a pandemic and poor leadership. Despondency, at times, felt normal. The teams that reflected our cities and our lives gave us an outlet to unload our frustrations and failures. They gave us an opportunity to make light of our pain. They were predictable, and safe. And, most importantly, they gave us all something to hope for.
But now the Knicks are good and there are expectations. When they lose it hurts, because they’re supposed to be better. Now I stress about every game. There are stakes now, and games have meaning. The Knicks are supposed to win against many opponents. And with that comes the possibility of being let down. I no longer have the consistent joy I took from the Knicks. The consistent joy of something that was predictable and reliable. Sure, this year there is a lot of joy to take in the fact that they made it to the second round. But next year, the second round will be the expectation. If they don’t exceed that, I’ll be disappointed.
Now that the Knicks are good, possibilities for the future are closing. In many ways, the Knicks remain flexible, but it’s likely that pieces of the core that will be here long term are already in place. Jalen Brunson isn’t going anywhere. RJ Barrett and Mitchell Robinson are locked up long-term, and Immanuel Quickley will likely join that group soon. The dream of winning the first pick in the draft is no longer possible. Other team-building routes have also been closed. In many ways, this too reflects where I am in life. I’m finishing a degree I’ve spent nearly 10 years of my life pursuing. In many ways, I’ve locked in my career path. The open future I had before me 10 years ago is no longer. Eventually, as teams age – as we age – all future possibilities close. Have we chosen the right paths?
Now that the Knicks are good, I find it more difficult to love every player. When players mess up in big moments I’m disappointed. When players display bad tendencies, I’m irked. When players let me down, I am let down. I still find time to take delight, of course. When Immanuel Quickley led the team to triumph over the Celtics in sparkling fashion, I was on a multi-day high.
Funny enough, I think the joy I experienced from Quickley’s triumph was made sweeter by the fact that the Knicks had been bad for so long. When you grow up eating Top Ramen, that first taste of real ramen is eye-opening, world-changing. Water never tastes better than when you’ve gone without, when you weren’t sure if you’d ever get another sip again. Having spent hours cutting film of Frank Ntilikina makes watching Immanuel Quickley feel a lot like that. The Knicks being good again felt a lot like that… at first.
But now Quickley has struggled in the playoffs and the Knicks have been knocked out by the eighth-seed Miami Heat. Now after tasting ramen, I’m picky. Restaurants that would have at one point hit the spot now leave me feeling disappointed. Now I’m worried about choosing the right restaurant. I’m worried about sharing my recommendations with my friends. I’m worried.
Perhaps the lesson in this for me is to learn to appreciate the winning Knicks the way I appreciated the losing Knicks. To not watch them with expectations. To not care so deeply about victories, and instead enjoy the journey. To not care so deeply about players living up to my expectations, but to love them for their talents and for their quirks and for their glaring flaws. To not express my frustrations so frequently with my friends in the Discord or on Twitter, but to get back to chuckling at funny acronyms.
Perhaps that’s the life lesson, too. To not care so deeply about where I’m going, but to enjoy being here. To not worry about the ceaseless closing of possibilities, but to enjoy the reality I’ve made. To not live with high expectations. To love those around me regardless of flaws. To enjoy things the same when I win as when I fail. To enjoy things up until the final loss that awaits us all.
