Exercising the Demons

"The Comeback" takes its rightful place in Knicks lore.

Good morning.

Or perhaps good evening.

Because I must be dreaming.

Knicks 115, Cavs 104 (OT)

Maybe I’ve just watched one too many exorcism-based horror flicks, but when an unwanted demon decides to set up camp in your home, getting rid of it is usually no easy task.

In all of these movies, we come to learn that the traumatic event that put the demon in the house to begin with is so scarring that it becomes tied to the place forever. Letting go would be so much easier, but the demon’s pain is too powerful for that to be an option. It is stuck, whether it wants to be or not. And now, whether you like it or not, it is your problem to deal with.

The only way out of these situations is to put more effort into removing the demon than went into putting it there in the first place. This usually involves ancient texts and specially trained religious figures and all sorts of pomp and circumstance, but invariably, the new residents of the house must first go through a great deal of pain before an exorcism can even be attempted. In order to relieve an old demon of its trauma, new trauma must be inflicted. Those are the rules.

In other words, following Game 1 of the 2025 Eastern Conference Finals, Game 1 of the 2026 Eastern Conference Finals could only have gone down like this.

It was destined to go down like this.

Trauma begets trauma, pain begets pain. Nothing else would have done the trick.

By watching them go down 22 points with just under eight minutes to go in perhaps the most anticipated Knicks home game in more than three decades, each of us permitted a profound disappointment to enter our souls.

This was supposed to be their moment. They had home court. They had rest. They were the better team. They said all the right things about learning from the crushing defeat that took place a year ago, in this very building, in this very game. We opened our hearts to this team, finally, after everything they put us through, only for that generosity to be met with forearm shiver.

All of the beautiful basketball of the previous three weeks had disappeared, replaced by uncertainty, unintelligence, and a startling lack of poise. The Cavs had all the answers at both ends of the floor while the Knicks were trying to figure out what questions they should be asking¹. It was the ultimate shock to the system.

It was devastating. It was disheartening.

It was the perfect set up.

Tony Soprano once said that “remember when” is the lowest form of conversation.

Respectfully Tony, you weren’t a sports fan.

“Remember when” is the tie that binds us together, and not just in the positive sense either. “Remember Game 1” is something I thought I’d be saying to other Knicks fans for the rest of my life. Turns out, I was right. I just didn’t realize that one year later, it would take on an entirely different meaning.

Before last night, “remember Game 1” sat right alongside “remember eight points in 8.9 seconds,” “remember Charles Smith” and “remember 2-for-18” on the mantle of misery for every Knicks fan. It was confirmation that even after a franchise resurrection and return to prominence, our lot in life was still the same. We were not allowed to have nice things, and were instead reserved for the Job role in the biblical telling of NBA basketball history. We might have thought vindication for our faith was eventually in store for us as well. The first 40 minutes of last night said otherwise.

And then, like a light from the heavens, the Lord sent his only son to save us from eternal damnation.

Jalen Brunson wasn’t the only hero in this game. Landry Shamet and Mikal Bridges will get their flowers when I do Stars of the Game in tomorrow’s newsletter. They were as instrumental to this win as the Captain.

But just like all those crazy horror movies need a hero, the greatest comeback in Knicks history and one of the most improbable comebacks in NBA postseason history needed a driving force.

I wrote yesterday that the spotlight in this round shone brightest on Brunson. It was always going to be his series. We just didn’t realize that he would pen another chapter in his book of legends so soon, and so dramatically, right when all hope seemed lost.

From a shot-making perspective, he is peerless. From a leadership perspective, he is peerless. From a confidence perspective, he is peerless.

Simply put, few New York athletes have ever been on Jalen Brunson’s level. He not only knows what it takes to win here, but he appreciates the gravity of what winning here means.

Last night, during that fourth quarter and overtimes, every person in that arena had a front row seat to Michelangelo painting his Sistine Chapel. For a player who has been so good on the road in so many big playoff games, it was about damn time for him to do something like that in his own building.

He already was never going to have to pay for a drink in this town again. Now his grandkids can raise a glass gratis as well.

As the clock now nears 5am and I’m close to six hours removed from the final buzzer, I’ll admit that I still don’t believe it.

That that happened? In that way? Can’t be. Couldn’t be. Not for us. To us. But never for us.

And yet it did.

This is a feeling I don’t ever want to let go. Eventually, I will fall asleep - I think - and when my head hits that pillow, I won’t be thinking of Jalen or Mikal or Landry or Mike Brown or Josh Hart or James Harden or any of the other key figures from a night for the ages. Instead, I’ll be thinking of you. Of us. The fans. The people who made a pact to walk into that house and stay there knowing full well it was haunted.

Demonic possession and all, I wouldn’t trade this shared experience for anything.

We have waited for our moment. And now we have it.

“Remember the Game 1 Comeback?”

How could I ever forget it.

🏀

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

1. Thankfully, one of those questions was eventually “should we sit Josh Hart and play five out?” and the answer was a resounding “yes.”