During the first half of my life, the Knicks were a perennial powerhouse. The way I saw it, their battles with the Bulls through the 1990’s were the real Finals. That was little-me’s big truth, my large adult mood. There were other contenders, obviously, but it was the Knicks who distilled hard work and passion into an intoxicating brand of hoops that I identified with.
This second half of my life, they have repeatedly kidnapped my childhood — my innocence — put it in neutral and rolled me, hogtied, off a cliff. I land halfway down on a ridge only to have my twisted remains wrenched off the ledge and dropped to a newer, lower adult self. The crest of the mountain is magnified every several years, but my prescription changes and whoosh my body sails down again. Another rocky ledge, another fresh bottom. Laying lifeless on a trap door.
Now I anticipate the sink. I don’t fear the pestilence or loathe the fertility of this promiscuous evil. For a long stretch of this plunge, I was able to go see what my friend Seth had to say at his Posting and Toasting dot com blog for the parity and therapy I needed.
Dreamed I rode the subway with Pablo Prigioni and some rowdy soccer fans accosted us and he faked a British accent to defuse the hostility.— Seth Rosenthal (@seth_rosenthal) December 21, 2012
Seth has long moved on, the Knicks kept it in park. Nevertheless, he still cares deeply and sees clearly. We worry about the Knicks from afar. I don’t worry about Seth — he has remained consistent and cogent, ever improving in his own way.
So I won’t force you, but please watch this video from his series on collapses, where he sheds some light on what I think may actually be painfully, finally, behind us.