WWWWWW

The NBA is a stick of butter and the New York Knicks are the hot knife cutting through it. Last night’s 109-94 win over the Boston Celtics was New York’s sixth straight win, fifth straight at home and second consecutive over the league leaders. Their last two wins have been wire-to-wire or very nearly so. During their six-game winning streak, the Knicks have won three of the four quarters every night. The first game of the run they gave up 120 and won. Last night they scored 109, below their season-average, and won by 15. Rye toast is flat. English muffins have nooks and crannies. The hot knife cares not. The hot knife exists only to spread flavor and joy.

The joy of last night’s win lay in part in its complementary notes. Mitchell Robinson was a true two-way seven-footer; after the game the humbled Robert Williams III must have gone to bed dreaming of growing another three inches. Immanuel Quickley (23 points) and Malcolm Brogdon (22), Sixth Man of the Year frontrunners, canceled each other out; the rest of the Knick bench outscored the Celtic reserves 21-7 while Obi Toppin continued his habit of making two or three baskets a night, all of which either start a big run or stop the opponent from one. Julius Randle, Jalen Brunson and RJ Barrett were like a swarm of bees buzzing and bugging the Boston defense; none of them hit a home run, but when your 3-4-5 hitters combine for seven hits and 8 RBI, no long balls need apply.

The league knows.

Same for the media.

Gandhi is often wrongly credited with saying, “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.” He may not come up with it, but he knew what he was talking about. The rise of bitter Boston blowhards looking for fights today on Twitter proves opposing fans are well-aware of the blue-and-orange tsunami. 

Some of you may not know what the world is like when the Knicks are good. Well let me tell you. Every road arena becomes a mini-MSG. Every one. Philadelphia, Los Angeles, Miami . . . even in Boston you’ll hear the roar: “Let’s go Knicks!” National media yahoos who’ve grown fat and happy lazily lolz-ing the Knicks for years start sitting up straight and having their uncredited interns deliver positive, relevant stats to keep up with New York’s rising tide. Madison Square Garden’s voice grows louder, lusty, feral. Food tastes better. The air seems fresher. You’ll have more energy and self-confidence than you ever dreamed of.

In these moments, there is a tendency to look forward, and up. To wonder how to re-calculate the team’s ceiling. To assume, capitalistically, that a graph that’s trending up can continue to do so indefinitely, because we’re good people who’ve suffered some hardship and the point of suffering is learning to rise above. It isn’t. Suffering makes no moral claims; it welcomes the just and the un-just with equally open arms. There’s no predicting suffering and no stopping it once it’s on its way. Bend the spoon? There is no spoon.

New York will likely lose in the first round if they face Boston, Milwaukee or Philadelphia; should they stay in the 4/5 bracket they’re currently subletting, they could easily lose to Cleveland. Who cares? Enjoy this miraculous microverse of a moment. The Knicks are good, the Knicks are rolling and there’s zero pressure or expectations as far as where their season “should” go. The point of butter is not to count calories; it’s to better live life. The hot knife can’t stop, won’t stop spreading joy. Neither can these Knicks.