A few days ago, I was sitting, staring at my phone, fingers hovering above the Paypal icon. Should I? No. I shouldn’t, I decided. I swiped up on the screen, careful not to inadvertently submit anything resembling payment, and closed out the window. I don’t need a Knicks t-shirt, even if it’s vintage (love me some vintage tees). That’s absurd. I mean, it’s not, but it is in the sense that I’m not even remotely close enough to fandom to warrant that kind of investment.
I could create a narrative that I’ve been swept up in the special energy that’s manifested as of late, but I’m not totally sure that’s true. Not really. I think I’m just doing what lemmings do- I’m sitting in the crowd sweep of it all. The delicious and altogether nonsensical relief that comes just after a decision to conform, to be a part of the latest big thing that everyone else has committed to.
Basketball is great. I mean that. I’ve always watched it, and I’m a bigger fan when I can be a live spectator. However, like most sports, I don’t attach myself grandly enough to call myself a fan of a particular team. I’ve had my moments, for sure, but they haven’t been all that long lasting. If I’m entirely honest, those moments were mostly driven by life status, or more granularly, who I was dating at the time.
There were times when this fact pattern felt embarrassing- the rabid, albeit random fandom, or the lack thereof. And now, comfortably in my mid-40s, I don’t experience the same feelings, at all. I feel sated with the knowledge that I’m a fan only in the sense that I enjoy the sport (or sports) and appreciate the same elements that many do: the energy, the athleticism, the mysticism, the luck, and the talent. Right now, more than anything, I appreciate the joy the Knicks are bringing New Yorkers (here, those relocated elsewhere, and everyone else). I deeply value the notion that die-hard fans have stood by this team through far worse seasons and seeing them succeed feels akin to something nearly indescribable. A miracle. It’s miraculous.
I appreciate that these are the moments for the true fans, and I don’t feel the need to coopt anything for the sake of belonging. Of course, I’ve had to give myself pep talks when I contemplate the New York-ness of it all. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen anything that feels like solidarity, like unification. There is something alluring about jumping into that big ol’ pile of togetherness.
And then, I quickly find myself wondering if maybe we can do better. Is it possible that we can carry the same ‘love each other’ sentiment when an iconic New York team isn’t in the NBA Finals? I did a quick spin online and reaffirmed what I already know- that fandom prevails spectacularly in the face of loss. In fact, because most fans see themselves as a community member rather than an individual spectator, they often handle the emotion ramifications of loss better. Sure, there is loss, but when that loss is shared it somehow feels a lot better.
There are even bragging rights that come with those fans who have seen teams through multiple years of losses. A real fan will hang in there in spite of all evidence suggesting that things are never going to turn around. They will hope even in the face of clear evidence that to do so is futile, at best.
Yet, we’ve never been able to do this where anything else is concerned. Is that because, although important, the stakes are inherently lower?
I am not sure, but there’s something so tantalizing about the notion of this kind of group think. There is something undeniable about being a part of something bigger than yourself, especially right now, in this dumpster fire situation we have going on in this country.
And so, it seems as though every New Yorker has become a Knicks fan overnight in the last week or so. A card carrying, t-shirt buying, hat wearing, jingle chanting Knicks fan. And although there is something in me that feels pulled to join the proverbial group think and loveliness of it all, I just can’t. I mean, I can, but my participation is limited to a shared sense of joy and pride, and it stops there. I can’t commit to watch parties, I won’t pretend that I’m going to be tuned in to every aired game, and I have no intention in participating in any discussions that dissect the games, win or lose.
Does this mean I don’t watch? No. It doesn’t. But it does mean that I won’t commit to watching- that if there is something else that I’d rather be doing, like reading or sleeping, that will be happening in lieu of game watching.
I am as New York as New Yorkers can be. I love her nooks and crannies. I love her beauty, passion, stamina and togetherness in the face of something like a basketball championship. I mourn her brokenness, her occasional abandonment, her filth and her desperation. I love that the messaging that is ringing through loud and clear on her streets is that we shouldn’t give up, can’t give up, on the things that mean something to us. I love that with my whole heart.
Brilliantly, I don’t need to pretend to be the biggest, bestest fan out there in order to celebrate the resiliency of New York. I don’t need to morph myself into that person to impress colleagues or friends, or even the pretenders who are leaning in for these moments and are hoping like hell that their orange and blue disguises throw people off their mostly ambivalent scent. I also don’t need to hate on anyone who has decided to be a part of this thing that’s taken over. To the contrary, I celebrate them. I love that they are taking this moment and working to be a meaningful part of it. I don’t look down upon it or think it lame. I think it’s actually the best of us when we do this.
The best of New Yorkers, and honestly, the best of humanity.
So yeah, I didn’t buy the t-shirt, and I didn’t pretend to watch the record making comeback game. And still, I celebrate the win just the same. With joy, with hope that it continues, with love for the fans, and with the solid understanding that sometimes all you need to move through it all is a win.
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