Knickerbockers Down. Two to Go.

Sure, 53 years is a ridiculous amount of time to wait for a championship. That’s more than half the average life expectancy in the highest-life-expectancy country on Earth. Well done, Hong Kong — keep grinding.

What the Knickerbockers of New York did the other week was nothing short of incredible.

I’ve seen it being thrown around that they were a team of destiny, but I don’t subscribe to that at all. This Knicks team were fucking awesome top to bottom.

In a league where the usual suspects for the characteristics of team carrying superstars is set in stone, Jalen Brunson, and all of his 6 foot even in shoes glory, turned that whole thing on its head, kicked it in the arse, then finished with a lefty floater high off the backboard.

Watching Jalen Brunson makes me wish more than anything that the Sports Science segment was still around. I reckon they could have a Lord of the Rings trilogy edition length studying Jalen Brunson’s finishing, and it would still be a foreign language to me.

The fundamental skills he possesses through years of repetition are awe-inspiring. Every time he steps foot in the paint, he’s like a live operating surgeon. Every step, every hesi, every spin, every slight jerk has a purpose. There is no wasted movement. He got to the final level of shot making in this series, which is people being genuinely shocked he didn’t make it.

In the first two games of rough shooting, I remember saying “he’s missing a lot of shots he usually makes”. It’s a ridiculous sentiment, because that shot is an off-balance elbow turnaround over a defender 8 inches taller than him. He is a hoopers hooper, and I can’t think of anything more New York Knicks than someone like him bringing a chip back to the city.

The supporting cast wasn’t exactly anything to sniff at either.

OG went full Kawhi. Defence, never miss a 3, and being steely almost to a point of nonchalance in his game. That block (foul?) in to the tip in will be the clip that is replayed during the Finals for decades to come. Sure, a Dylan Harper box out might have snuffed it, but that’s not how this story went.

KAT was made in this series. I haven’t watched anyone play Wemby on both ends the way KAT did. He was attacking him and beating him off the dribble, bombing 3’s over him if he dropped into the paint, and was absolutely bullying smaller guards if Wemby had the nerve to switch off him.

His defence on Wemby is a chef’s kiss for mine. The one specific basketball nerd thing I noticed was this – I’m not sure if Wemby has a tell, or if he’s too slow getting into the action, but KAT was sniffing out his step back 3 every time, and what he did in those moments was realise, “hey, this Wemby guy is 12 foot 4, if he gets his arms up, I can’t stop that shot” So, every time Wemby was raising up for the shot, KAT was actively reaching into the cookie jar and stripping Wemby clean. It was so good to watch.

Josh Hart is Josh Hart. Even if they had lost, the city wasn’t turning on him because of that missed bunny. New York loves the Josh Hart players, and that man has been minted in the Big Apple almost since his arrival.

On the Spurs side. Well shit. It’s funny how things come full circle in life in such a short period of time. The big knock on them all season wasn’t the skill, it was the experience, or lack thereof. After they rolled through Portland and Minny, and came out of a war with OKC, everyone almost collectively gave up on that being the road block for them, and they actually went into the series favourites. Cue the second 180 after the first, and that youth and inexperience led to the Wemby pass into Castle’s back in Game 2, which snowballed into an avalanche of blown leads, missed free throws in crucial moments, turnovers in crucial moments, missed box outs in crucial moments…you know, a bunch of youth and inexperience shit.

What do they do now? Well, it’s funny how hope can appear in losses. Dylan Harper is the future. He’s one of those “when he’s on the court good things seem to happen” players, and was their most important player for long stretches. He was unafraid of the moment. His drives to the hoop were ferocious. Yes, he shot 28% from deep, but in the two biggest games (G4 & G5) he was 5 for 10 from deep. If he is keeping teams honest on close outs, his explosiveness will take care of the rest. I was audibly shocked when this 20 year old missed that layup at the end of Game 5. I don’t think he misses that again.

The hope for San Antonio is not hard to see. Wemby, Castle and Harper are going to be a proper pain in the arse for the league for many, many moons to come.

Watching the scenes live in the arena from players and supporters, then from the Knicks parade — the nuffies losing their minds, grown men in tears, the whole city vibrating — hit different…even though I’m somewhat accustomed to mayhem. I write all this as I currently have (inside the house and all) a 6-year-old booting a soccer ball around, a 2-year-old hooning around on a scooter, and a 1-year-old wanting to get involved with both of those activities.

Fairly fast and loose in this household, Mumsy would not approve.

But I digress. Taking in these scenes made me think about what a title actually means to a fanbase that’s been starved for decades.

There’s another competition going on at the moment that you may have heard of. The FIFA World Cup. 53 years for the Knicks faithful is a long time. You know what’s longer? Sixty. Fucking. Years.

That’s the hole my spiritual homeland of England are staring down every time the World Cup rolls around. And because it only comes once every four years, that pain gets stretched out even more. Imagine making a final, losing, and then having to wait another four years just to feel that hope again…all to get hurt. Again. Now do that 15 times over.

My old man has glasses thicker than double glazed windows and hearing aids strong enough to pick up air raid sirens. He was still going through puberty the last time England won the World Cup.

But if there’s one thing this Knicks title proves, it’s that hope isn’t stupid. Maybe, just maybe, England can break the hoodoo. Maybe this hot as balls, gun toting, deep fried loving America is exactly what England needs.

I highly doubt it, but fuck me can you imagine? The scenes in New York would be nothing compared to the anarchy that would be coming out of the United Kingdom. Not to sound too much like a Lord of the Rings nerd with my second reference, but fucking hell the beacons would be lit across the country like Gondor calling for aid.

And who knows, if the Knickerbockers of New York and England can almost simultaneously break a collective 113-year drought, does that give my Essendon Bombers a glimmer, a hope?

Nahhhhhhhhhh…nah we still fucking suck.