Seeing the New York Knicks become world champions for the first time since 1973 with my own eyes was easily the most chaotic 24 hours of my life — and perhaps the best.
The drama absolutely wasn’t limited to the San Antonio Spurs hardwood as New York’s orange and blue heroes pulled away in the dying seconds to win Game 5, 94-90 in an explosive 16-point comeback.
Diehards who made the last-minute trip to Texas endured travel nightmares — and a share of distasteful fans who didn’t quite extend southern hospitality after the loss.
Bad actors behaved in a deplorable manner, just as pseudo-Knicks fans did terrible things in NYC to Spurs faithful.
I saw a lunatic in a white pickup truck laugh and point a gun at two Knicks fans minding their own business waiting to cross a street — and other New Yorkers told me they got egged like Victor Wembanyama during the finals while in Manhattan, among more stupidity over a damn game.
What did the group do? They sprayed a bottle of champagne and smoked cigars on the San Antonio Riverwalk as if nothing had happened.
The duo briefly held at what the driver thought was a humorous little gunpoint incident shook it off right after too. Some true and good-hearted Spurs fans — like the vast majority Saturday were — even waited with them until their car arrived.
No New Yorker cared about the nonsense, which plenty back in the Big Apple were equally, if not more, guilty of that night.
The Knicks were finally kings of the NBA again.
That’s what I’ll remember about my impromptu and haphazardly planned trip, one that cost a pretty penny but was still a discount compared to a good seat at Madison Square Garden.
I don’t care about the 4 a.m. wakeup call and early bird flight to Dallas Saturday, where a good friend of mine drove us the next four hours down I-35 to the greatest live game either of us ever witnessed.
We stopped at a Buc-ees 146 miles north in Temple and saw several other Knicks fans en route to the Doobie Brothers’ beloved city as part of New York’s takeover.
After road tripping the four hours back to Dallas Sunday morning, it’s an afterthought that my 3:36 p.m. flight home landed almost exactly 12 hours later at around 3:36 a.m.
We had a series of nightmare delays, starting with air traffic control issues, then weather, and finally hearing our pilot “rejected” the plane we were supposed to take.
But hey, 12 hours is a lot quicker than 53 years.
More than thinking about the aimless time wasted and changing terminals at Dallas-Fort Worth, my mind goes to the tons of Knicks gear I saw throughout the airport of happy fans heading back home — eventually, that was.
Everyone you passed had a smile and offered a fist bump — high-spirited TSA officers in Dallas gave me a Knicks cheer and high five as well. Plus, I struck up fantastic conversation with fellow fans waiting for the same flight.
I must have heard “are you going to the parade?” at least a dozen times.
We were all overjoyed, chatting about coach Mike Brown’s fabulous core, including the legend himself, Jalen Brunson, who is expected to return next season when the banner goes up at MSG.
Nobody was thrilled about being stuck, but if you have to be in an airport for hours, doing it with a unanimously united bunch of New Yorkers is the way to go.
Knicks lovers overran the Alamo Saturday afternoon as you couldn’t turn a corner in San Antonio without seeing team gear at Riverwalk bars, restaurants, hotels, or, truthfully, anywhere.
It carried over at the Spurs’ home court inside the Frost Bank Center, where New Yorkers owned the noise factor and booed Wemby during warmups to an almost ground-shaking decibel level.
Just about my entire section in the rafters was filled with journeying Knicks fans, standing with palpable nervous energy almost the whole game, eager to witness long-awaited history.
I’ll never forget the pure elation on the away crowd’s faces when OG Anunoby hit the title-clinching free-throw with 7.7 seconds to go.
Seeing the Larry O’Brien trophy hoisted at mid-court was a family affair as owner James Dolan got a fever pitch of electric praise from the huge crowd that remained.
Strangers in the stands cried, hugged, shook hands and offered congratulations to one another as if it were a personal achievement like delivering a healthy baby or getting a major promotion at work.
If you yelled “Go New York Go New York Go!” on your way out of the arena, 50 voices would send it back.
It gave you chills — and a glow that will last much longer than memories of the grueling voyage there and back..
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