The Knicks of Theseus

Jerry Seinfeld (playing himself in the snippet of a standup routine that began the show in the early seasons of Seinfeld) poked fun at sports fans who remain loyal to their team, even as the players are traded or sign with other teams as free agents: you're basically rooting for their uniforms, or, as he put it, clothes. And yet, even Seinfeld himself doesn't think that or perhaps thinks or at least feels that, despite its irrationality, there is a reason to root for the clothes. There he was courtside and chatting excitedly with Larry David at the conclusion of the Knicks' astounding comeback in Game 4. Moreover, the 2026 Knicks are not just a bunch of guys wearing Knicks uniforms. They are, in a sense that is not always true of sports teams, a continuation of Knicks teams--great, terrible, near-great, mediocre, and good--of the last 56 years.

I was six years old in 1970 when Willis Reed hobbled onto the court, made two shots, and then ceded the day to Walt Clyde Frazier to win Game 7 and the Knicks' first championship with an astounding stat line of 36 points, 19 assists, 7 rebounds, 12-for-17 on field goals and 12-for-12 from the free throw line. I wish I could say I remember watching that game but it wasn't until three years later when I tuned in as a rabid nine-year-old fan that I saw the Knicks win a championship way past my bedtime. From childhood on, I was a Clyde fan. In my various recreational sports leagues, if I have a choice of a number, I take 10 for Clyde. (If 10 is unavailable, I take 22, for my second-favorite Knick of that era, Dave DeBuscherre, aka the throwback version of OG Anunoby.)

People whose job descriptions include writing about professional sports have noted how the Knicks' title run brought out and seemingly redeemed Knicks players and teams of the past--especially the 1990s Knicks of Patrick Ewing, Alan Houston, and John Starks. The victory Saturday night over another Texas team doesn't exactly erase Starks's 2-for-18 shooting night in Game 7 of the 1994 Finals, but, in the same way that the Red Sox winning the 2004 World Series surely eased Bill Buckner's pain, so, one hopes, the Knicks' 2026 triumph allows Knicks fans to fully embrace Starks for the energy, enthusiasm, and audacity he brought us in the 90s.

As should be obvious, I'm one of those fans. When I was a boy, my dad would take me to whatever home game fell closest to my birthday every year. In high school, my friends and I would regularly ride the LIRR the 42 minutes to Penn Station, arriving a couple of hours before game time. In my pre-vegan incarnation, we would head first to the all-you-can-eat-and-all-you-can-drink special at Beefsteak Charlies (where 16-year-olds with the most obviously fake IDs were served beer after beer), before using our student discounts for $6 seats in the "blues," the upper-most section of the Garden. Those early-80s Knicks were bad, but every now and then Bill Cartwright or Ray Williams or some other now-mostly-forgotten Knick would erupt. (Bernard King joined the team in the fall of 1982, by which time I was in college).

Those players are part of the family as well, as are the Knicks stars of the dismal post-Clyde era. Bob McAdoo was a star for the old Buffalo Braves but had some great years for the Knicks as a stretch-five before anyone had a word for that. Spencer Haywood also could have been a big-time scorer in today's NBA.

And then there are the teams of the post-Ewing pre-Brunson era. I was in the Garden the first night Jeremy Lin erupted and kicked off the glorious but short-lived Linsanity boomlet. I remember looking to my daughter sitting next to me in her too-large Amar'e Stoudemire jersey and both of us wondering "who is this guy?" I'll even give Carmelo Anthony grace. I lamented his ISO style when he was active but, in retrospect, I can't deny his talent or his effort.

This Knicks championship team was put together by letting go of some wonderful players I think should share in the glory: RJ Barrett and Immanuel Quickley had to go to Toronto for the Knicks to obtain the supremely versatile and indispensable Anunoby. Julius Randle and (most painfully for the 'Nova Knicks) Donte DiVincenzo had to go to Minnesota for the Knicks to obtain the equally indispensable Karl Anthony Towns. Even Isaiah Hartenstein is forgiven for abandoning the Knicks and taking the bigger payday (and a championship last year) with OKC. Indeed, we may even owe him a debt of gratitude. Each of the Knicks' victories in the Finals seemed to be fueled by Victor Wembanyana's fatigue down the stretch. Were it not for the Thunder taking the Spurs to 7 games in which Hartenstein was by far the toughest matchup for Wemby, maybe the giant Frenchman would have had the legs and stamina to make a few of those key end-of-game attempts that he clanged instead.

I've attended at least one Knicks home playoff game in each of the runs during the Brunson era. This year, it was game 1 against the Sixers, which began with some nervy energy in the Garden. Despite the Knicks having humiliated the Hawks in the closeout game of their first round series, there was a sense of anxiety in the building. Joel Embiid had just dominated the Celtics and posed matchup problems for the Knicks. Could KAT defend him without foul trouble? Could Mikal Bridges, Josh Hart, and Anunoby contain the irrepressible Tyrese Maxey, the rookie phenom V. J. Edgecombe, and the resurgent All Star Paul George? The game was close for about 16 minutes, and then it turned into a party.

I'm aware of the possibility that the continuity I'm seeing in the Knicks of the last 56 years is illusory--a product of the continuity of my fandom rather than a genuine through-line. But I think the phenomenon is real, something seen and felt by just about every Knicks fan I know or read about. Those early-70s Knicks are the glue.

Reed, DeBuscherre, and Dick Barnett are no longer with us, but Bill Bradley and Earl Monroe were in MSG in the Finals. Clyde was everywhere. Because of the network contracts for the playoffs, he was reduced to the status of outlandishly attired spectator for the postseason, but even now, at an incredibly youthful 81, he is the Knicks' regular season color commentator, with a vocabulary to match his wardrobe. Clyde, more than anyone else, connects the last five-and-a-half decades of Knicks and their fans.

So long as I continue to play any kind of team sports (and, despite what I wrote in 2014, I'm still risking injury on a regular basis), I'll continue to choose number 10 if it's available. But I'll hardly be disappointed if I end up with 11. It's one louder.

-- Michael C. Dorf