Out of Time
Though they have a do-or-die scenario ahead of them needing to take two back-to-back games against the Pacers to pull off winning the Eastern Conference Finals and advancing to the Finals (a parallel to their loss in 6 games to the Pacers 25 years ago, the last time the Knicks made the Conference Finals), the Knicks won last night so today is indeed a Happy Friday.
I watched Game 4 and the Knicks’ embarrassing loss on Tuesday in the Lombardi Room at The Long Island Bar with an assorted crew crowded around the table. I was too nervous to eat but Chef Kevin kindly made me one of his delicious off-menu French omelettes filled with Boursin cheese served alongside some crispy L.I.B. fries. While it’s always fun to watch an important game with a crowd, my anxiety has found me mostly at home watching the playoff games by myself, with Enzo in his Knicks jersey or Knicks reversible home-away game neckerchief, texting throughout the game with the usual round-up of friends.
I watched so many now-historic Knicks games, both victories and heartbreaking losses, with my father and no matter how much time was left on the clock, when it was certain the Knicks were going to lose and there was no way they could pull off a win he would reach for the remote to turn off the TV or get up and tend to other matters. I always gave him the business for doing that. You have to stick by your team. But on Sunday’s Game 3, with the Knicks down more than 20 points in the third quarter, I turned off my TV and picked up my copy of the Keith McNally memoir on the table next to me, checking in on the score from time to time on my phone.
I turned the game back on for the fourth quarter, with the Knicks pulling off a miraculous 106-100 victory. I never gave up on them, but I needed a mental health break. I’ve been rocking my Knicks cap on game days and on one occasion when I was at Dante sitting at a sidewalk table by myself nursing a Garibaldi while waiting for a spot at the bar to open up, at least five different passersby flashed a smile, a thumbs-up, or a quick “Go Knicks!” without missing a beat. Later that night when I stopped by the original Emmett’s down the block to order a deep-dish pie to bring back home to Brooklyn, a passing cook gave me a fist-bump and a “we’re going to do this tonight, right?”
All this Knicks talk serves as a prologue to the fact that last Monday, May 19, marked 15 years living in NYC, specifically Brooklyn, for me. And just like that… (sorry!) 15 years in the rearview mirror has me contemplating the passing of time and life itself. I lived in Manhattan back in the day from 1992 through 1996 when I was getting my MFA at Columbia. Moving to New York is a miracle itself and while I was broke AF during those years and in over my head, when I moved away with my tail between my legs, I always suspected, or at least hoped, that I would one day return to NYC.