Larry Ryan in New York
SAY, kid – figure that’s the way I’ll talk when telling the grandchildren my American stories – did I eva tell you guys I saw Joe Frazier at the Garden?
Who knows if I’ll admit Smokin’ was pushing 67 and jostling for top billing with 30 Rock’s Judah Friedlander and Mad Men’s Michael Gladis – just another of the courtside celebs waving from the big screen watching the New York Knicks entertain the San Antonio Spurs on Tuesday night at the World’s Most Famous Arena. A Knicks ticket is gradually getting hot again.
For a fella who ruined his dancing shoes the only time he stepped in the paint, big game basketball can be an acquired taste. When you first settle down in the rafters of the grand old hall it’s all about the show.
The cheerleaders; the Knicks Acrobat Tumblers (One last payday for Robbie? Apparently he supported them as a boy); the inevitable quarter-time marriage proposal (Not on YouTube, she said ‘Yes’); the hotdog – quick tip; only ask a ‘gourmet sausage vendor’ for ‘a dog’ if you want to elicit a dismissal Seinfeld’s Soup Nazi would be proud of.
Then you start looking around and wondering how we could work some of this razzmatazz into our own games. The constantly advertised text poll for the All-Star game ought to be lifted and turned into a nice money spinner for Croke Park, while the half-time Hugo Boss Best Dressed Knick contest is the kind of thing that could galvinise anyone who otherwise finds the Munster championship a bit of a drag.
Disappointingly, the slick Knicks involved don’t have a quick David Gower at half time and tog back on again for this thread-to-thread. Instead there is footage we prepared earlier of three of them sauntering into the arena in their Sunday best before the crowd is asked to anoint a winner with the heartiness of their applause.
For the record, rookie Landry Fields won it in a canter in what looked, to the untrained eye, to be a pair of jeans and a shirt. There certainly wasn’t an inch of cleavage on show. Would the big fella even get out of Munster?
A Knicks crowd member is certainly nothing if not enfranchised because it’s soon time to vote again as three young warblers spit their lungs out in the Kidz Bop Talent Contest, but not before a local Daithi O Se warns that “Madison Square Garden never boos kids”. He’d clearly heard the first girl in sound check.
And then, just as all the messing begins to wear a little thin, you realise you’re utterly absorbed in a relentless contest of extraordinary athleticism and skill.
There are legends on view that will one day sit comfortably alongside Smokin’ Joe in any pantheon. They are all Spurs. Big Tim Duncan, 34 now, everything done, four NBA titles. Tony Parker, a lover and a fighter, has three. So does Argentine shooting guard Manu Ginobili.
Tonight the Spurs defend the best record in the NBA and Parker is mesmeric. From the off, they are defending a hula hoop as the Knicks chuck them in from all over town. With no rebounds for Duncan to snaffle, the Frenchman has to lead the resistance.
He is at once director and leading man, darting and spinning and tiptoeing through the giants like a six foot two midget in ballet slippers, sucking fouls and pausing only for the split second it takes him to discharge velvet jump shots.
He has 20 points by half-time but it’s not enough. Because tonight the Knicks are – in the phrase du jour around town – playing their way “back to relevance”. With nine new players on the roster, a team without a playoff appearance since 2004 are gradually earning respect, at home as much as anywhere.
Long before the end Amar'e Stoudemire, the marquee signing with the $100m dollar contract, has the aisles chanting ‘MVP’. He finishes with 28 points, just like the dynamo in the orange sneakers Raymond Felton. Wilson Chandler tops both of them with 31.
These boys could shell peas for Batchelors. They cannot miss. With every swish, the roars around the arena grow more guttural. Are the Knicks back? They are tonight.
Soon the Spurs have shipped more than 125 for the first time since Duncan rolled into town in 1997. As if personally affronted, the great man rouses himself for a couple of fourth quarter drives. But in an 82-game season, we didn’t show up on the right night for heroics.
Eleven down and sensing a lost cause, Spurs’ weathered old coach Gregg Popovich calls Parker, Duncan and the rest of his starters ashore with more than three minutes left on the clock. Ginobili doesn’t look keen to go but the Spurs are still 29-5 and these boys are due in Boston tomorrow night where there will be more dancing to be done, marriages to arrange and hotdogs to sell.
The show must go on.
Source: http://feeds.examiner.ie/~r/iesportsblog/~3/6eyULzH56dk/post.aspx
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