Why I’m Backing the Knicks

By Big Rhody 6/2/26

Sports fans know there are seasons, and then there are stories.

Some championships are won because a team is simply better than everyone else — more talent, better coaching, deeper roster. The numbers add up and eventually the trophy follows. But every once in a while, something else takes over. Something harder to explain. Momentum. Belief. Destiny. Whatever you want to call it, sports fans know the feeling when they see it.

      As the 2026 NBA Finals begin between the New York Knicks and the San Antonio Spurs, I can’t stop thinking about October of 2004.  I’m from Boston. I lived through the Red Sox breaking the curse, and if you were around New England during that run, you know exactly what I mean when I say the feeling changed. At first, people hoped. Then they believed. Then, after the comeback against the Yankees, it almost felt inevitable. Every bounce went Boston’s way. Every late inning felt survivable. Fenway became electric. The city felt alive twenty‑four hours a day. You could feel the energy in gas stations, bars, grocery stores — anywhere people gathered. Sports had completely taken over the city.

      That’s what this Knicks run feels like to me.  And trust me, I know how crazy that sounds coming from a Boston guy.  The Spurs are unbelievable. Victor Wembanyama already looks like something basketball has never seen before. Every game he does two or three things that make you pause the TV and just stare. He’s seven‑foot‑four, moves like a guard, blocks shots that shouldn’t be blockable, and somehow still feels like he’s only scratching the surface. San Antonio didn’t luck their way here either. They just went through the defending champion Thunder in a brutal seven‑game series most people assumed Oklahoma City would win regardless of who came out of the East.

And that’s part of why I love the Knicks’ chances even more.

For months, everyone repeated the same thing: the West is better. Whoever wins the West wins the title. Didn’t matter if it was the Knicks, Celtics, Cavs — the Western Conference champion would overpower them. Bigger. Faster. More complete. That was the narrative from day one.

Then New York just kept winning.

And winning.

And winning.

Now suddenly people are starting to realize this thing might actually be real.

That’s how “team of destiny” conversations begin.

This Knicks team has an identity people connect with. Tough. Physical. Gritty. No shortcuts. They don’t feel manufactured — they feel earned. In a weird way, they feel like New York itself. Loud. Relentless. Proud. A little rough around the edges but impossible to ignore.

And then there’s Jalen Brunson.

Wembanyama might already be treated like a global basketball god, but Brunson is becoming something equally powerful in New York. He’s become a folk hero — the type of athlete a city adopts as one of its own. Every huge shot feels bigger. Every fourth‑quarter bucket feels like part of a movie script. Madison Square Garden hasn’t just been loud during this playoff run — it’s been shaking. You can feel the pressure and emotion through the television.

Basketball means something different in New York.

That’s what people outside the city sometimes don’t fully understand.

The Yankees have won constantly. The Giants have had legendary moments. The Rangers have history. But basketball lives in New York at the street level. Courts are everywhere. The game is part of the culture of the city itself. If the Knicks win this championship, the celebration will be unlike almost anything we’ve seen in modern sports.

And somehow, despite being from Boston, I’m completely all in.

People laugh when they see me wearing my old Patrick Ewing jersey around here. But I’ve always had a serious jersey problem anyway. Last count, I’m up to 68 jerseys across all sports — and honestly, it’s probably more by now. Baseball, basketball, football, hockey, college throwbacks, obscure players, classics, random pickups I convinced myself I needed. It’s become less of a collection and more of a condition at this point.

But that Ewing jersey always feels different.

Maybe it’s because Ewing represented an era of basketball people still romanticize. Tough playoff games. Physical defense. Madison Square Garden at full volume. No load management. No shortcuts. Those Knicks teams never quite got over the hump, but they carried themselves with pride — and New York never stopped loving them for it.  This current team feels connected to that history.  That’s why this Finals feels bigger than basketball.

On one side, you have the Spurs trying to launch the NBA’s next dynasty behind a generational superstar. On the other, you have a city starving for its first championship since 1973, rallying around a team that suddenly feels impossible to kill.

     The atmosphere in both arenas is going to be insane. San Antonio knows it’s watching the beginning of something special with Wembanyama. New York feels like it’s trying to finish a story generations in the making. Every possession is going to feel massive. Every run will swing emotions across two cities completely obsessed with basketball.

Maybe the Spurs win. Maybe Wemby takes over the series and announces himself as the face of the league for the next fifteen years.

But when I watch these Knicks, I see something familiar.

I saw it in Boston in 2004.

That feeling where sports stop feeling random and start feeling scripted.

Knicks in six.

Knicks in seven.

Hell, maybe even something crazier.

Highly improbable? Sure.

But sports history has never cared much about probability.

 — 𝓑𝓲𝓰 𝓡𝓱𝓸𝓭𝔂 🎙️
Stay sharp. Make it bang. 💣