When you spend too long in one place, it tends to get to you. Therefore, it makes sense to use Reading Week to escape a dreary Montreal February for warmer climes. Yes, your faithful writer sought to escape the aggression of constant snow and biting wind and went to the Big Apple. New York City. I had a warm spot on the floor of my artist friend’s Brooklyn loft and tickets for a Knicks game—quite the hipster hajj.
Carmelo Anthony felt trapped too; a pending escape (his free agency, my graduation) from our current homes mere months away. When all looked dead during earlier trade negotiations to facilitate Melo’s exit from Denver, doubtless he turned to the sky and open face of heaven—to breathe a prayer for Knicks GM Donnie Walsh to pull the trigger. “Trade for me,” he whispered. The Knicks would have to give up half their team, but his prayers were answered.
I had the dumb luck that my tickets fell on Carmelo Anthony’s debut night at the Garden. There’s nothing like an arena full of fans whose team has just landed a coup-de-grace, making a league shaking trade which improves their team dramatically in the long run and for a playoff push this year. The Garden that night was delirious, replete with chants for Melo that occurred, impressively, even outside the arena before the game.
Both wearing blue, in Melo’s case a bright new #7 jersey, mine a smudgy Knicks t-shirt that smelled funny and was purchased from a man on the street, we excitedly watched the arena fill. Madison Square Garden is physically different than most arenas, much wider and lower, so every fan feels closer to the court. With the court well lit and the seats dark, it’s more like a Broadway theatre than any other arena, fitting for New York. But the game, and all of the pomp surrounding it, felt kind of like a big-budget performance.
Early in the evening, the Knicks superstars seemed so excited to play together. A surreal pre-game press conference included a photo op with Melo, Amare Stoudemire, and Chauncey Billups all beaming. Speaking of Stoudemire, the Garden faithful have embraced him in a way rarely seen by most new acquisitions, though one would suspect that if Mohammar Quadaffi averaged 26 points per game, Knicks fans would love him too. That said, the mayhem at their game introductions showed that New York adores their hometown hero, Anthony, perhaps even more than they’ve already welcomed Stoudemire. The only cheer louder than the one for Anthony’s introduction was for his first quarter put-back dunk—some of his first points as a Knick. In the first quarter, when he got his first rest it must have dawned on Melo that he managed to control both the game and the entire league. We are in the era of the superstar, there is no doubt.
But what about the basketball? It might take them some time to learn to play together—the Heat have been dealing mightily with chemistry problems all season—but Billups and Stoudemire form an excellent pick and roll combo and Melo is terrific in isolation. When the team finds a way to reconcile the two, lesser opposing defences will cease to exist and the Knicks will get every open shot they need. With Milwaukee’s defence focused on Amare and Melo that night, Billups went off for 21 points, eight assists, and six rebounds, and the crowd chanted his name. Backup PG Toney Douglas scored 23. The Knicks finally have a glut of scoring options. As for Melo’s numbers? He put up 27 points and 10 boards and the Knicks won by six. Strangely, though, the stats seemed secondary to the spectacle. The grandeur was a perfect way to start Anthony’s Knicks career, to add a new chapter to his relationship with the league. For one night his story was a pleasant and gentle tale of love and languishment.
After the game I held an ear to SportsCentre and NBA.com. I wanted to reflect on the supposed history I witnessed that evening. Catching the notes on Melo, an eye to the game and an eye to the fans, I was filled with excitement about spending the next few seasons watching the sailing cloudlet’s bright career with the Knicks. For he who has attended supposed sports history, he mourns that day so soon has glided by: E’en like the passage of an angel’s tear, that falls through the clear ether silently.
