Chapter 463: Why New York Loves Basketball
On January 20th, Madison Square Garden was packed to the rafters, buzzing like a playoff night.
The New York Knicks were still buried at the bottom of the Eastern Conference, yet the crowd brought the same heat anyway. That was New York. They could be furious, they could be sarcastic, they could boo you into retirement, but they showed up.
It was also why Knicks owner James Dolan never seemed to panic about the roster. Win or lose, the building stayed full. The market stayed hot. Why stress when the money kept coming in?
The funniest part was the payroll.
The Knicks were terrible, but their salary sheet looked like a contender's. Their total payroll sat at $96.65 million, even though the league's salary cap was only $58 million. Their spending was higher than most championship level teams, and their record was nowhere near it. New Yorkers had a phrase for that kind of situation, stupid and rich.
They had more bad contracts than any team in the league.
Larry Hughes, Eddy Curry, Cuttino Mobley, Quentin Richardson, all hovering around eight figures, and none producing like it.
Hughes had played 25 games and averaged 11.2 points, 2.4 rebounds, and 2.5 assists while shooting 39% from the field. The availability was shaky. The efficiency was worse.
Richardson was at 10.7 points and 4.4 rebounds.
Eddy Curry had fallen off a cliff, making $10 million a year to contribute 1.7 points a night.
Mobley was the most outrageous of all, collecting checks while barely touching the floor. If tanking had an emperor, he wore orange and blue.
This roster was a paradise for players. Big salary, minimal responsibility. Fans joked the Knicks were a labor model, because usually you saw owners squeezing workers, but New York had somehow created a place where the workers were the ones squeezing the owner.
And the best player on the team was the one making almost nothing.
David Lee, at $1.79 million, was the lone clean stream running through a muddy season. He averaged a steady double double at 17 points and 11.9 assists, and shot 54.9% from the field.
…
New York Knicks starters: Chris Duhon, Wilson Chandler, Quentin Richardson, Al Harrington, David Lee
Phoenix Suns starters: Steve Nash, Chen Yan, Raja Bell, Amar'e Stoudemire, DeAndre Jordan
Tonight, DeAndre Jordan had been bumped into the starting lineup. Against a weak Knicks team, D'Antoni wanted him to get real minutes and real reps.
At the tip, Jordan won it clean, giving Phoenix the first possession.
Chen Yan rose immediately for a 3.
Clang.
The first one was short. His legs were not fully warm yet.
Jordan, though, was wide awake. He exploded off the floor and flicked the offensive rebound out with his fingertips. The ball kicked diagonally right back toward Chen Yan.
Chen Yan slid a step, gathered, and fired again.
Swish.
The net snapped.
3 to 0.
Chen Yan pointed straight at Jordan as he backpedaled. He had told the rookie more than once, if you want a role on a championship level team, you have to compete like your job depends on it. Clearly, Jordan had taken the message to heart.
It was not just advice. It was culture.
In Phoenix, starters and bench guys trained the same way. Practices had intensity. Games had accountability. New players absorbed it without realizing.
If Jordan had landed on a team like the Knicks instead, he might have been learning the wrong habits already.
…
New York came down.
Duhon crossed half court and swung it to Chandler.
Chandler caught, saw daylight, and drove hard. Chen Yan gave him a step, conserving energy. Chandler had the athleticism to punish that kind of cushion, so he turned it into a full speed launch.
Chen Yan got beat.
Jordan rotated to the rim.
Chandler planted and rose, confident he could finish through contact.
Jordan answered with a vertical leap that made Chandler question his life decisions. One huge hand met the ball and sent it away like it had offended him.
The Garden gasped.
David Lee cleaned up the loose ball near the free throw line. He did not rush it. He took a calm probing step, rose, and knocked down the mid range jumper.
Swish.
3 to 2.
The crowd cheered, loud and hopeful, the way New York always sounds in the first few minutes before reality catches up.
Phoenix responded right away.
Nash used Jordan's screen, dipped his shoulder, and changed direction with that low dribble that always made defenders feel late. He slipped by Harrington and laid it in.
5 to 2.
Harrington was the definition of a stats guy. Team record did not move him. His box score did.
He was also a businessman, and a real one, not a hobby guy with a clothing line. He had built a cannabis company inspired by his grandmother, Viola, and it would eventually become huge.
Chen Yan knew the company's future value could reach a billion dollars. If it were not cannabis, he might have wanted in.
…
Back to the game.
Duhon and David Lee ran a pick and roll. Duhon took 1 step, drew help, then fed Lee popping into space.
Lee hit another smooth mid range jumper.
5 to 4.
Lee had scored the Knicks' first 4 points, and he looked locked in.
On the other end, Nash drove and kicked. The ball found Chen Yan.
Chen Yan squared up, looked at the rim, and held it.
The defense lunged.
He swung it to Raja Bell for a clean look from 3.
Rim.
The rebound kicked into Duhon's hands.
New York pushed.
Chandler caught on the diagonal lane, sliced inside, and finished with a layup.
5 to 6.
The Garden roared again. Early possessions still felt like a game.
…
Phoenix went to the other weapon.
Stoudemire isolated on Lee.
Lee was a classic offense first big. Against most matchups, his scoring and touch mattered. Against Amar'e, none of that helped.
Stoudemire jabbed, took 1 dribble right, then powered into 2 long steps and finished at the rim.
Pure speed and explosion.
Lee shook his head. There was no scheme for that. Some guys were just built different.
…
Chandler came back hunting Chen Yan again. He had tasted success early, and he wanted more.
This time, Chen Yan decided he was done being treated like the easy target.
Chandler pushed left off a change of direction. Chen Yan slid with him and cut the lane.
Chandler tried to burst again.
Chen Yan tightened the pressure with his body, chest to shoulder, forcing Chandler to handle through contact.
Chandler got impatient.
On the second acceleration, his dribble popped loose.
Chen Yan reached, stripped it clean, and took off.
No one chased him.
Not even as a formality.
Near the rim, Chen Yan looked back, saw the red carpet, and put on a show, a hanging reverse layup, smooth and disrespectful.
The Garden erupted, but not with cheers.
Boos.
Not at Chen Yan.
At the Knicks.
New York fans did not mind losing as much as they hated quitting. You can be bad, but you cannot be lazy in front of them.
The Knicks players barely reacted. They heard boos every night. After a while, shame stops working.
Shameless people really are hard to beat.
…
Over the next few minutes, New York's shooting cooled off, and their transition defense got even lazier. Misses turned into Suns runouts, and the boos grew heavier.
Fans were not even asking if the Knicks could win.
They were asking if the Knicks were planning to play.
With 6:57 left in the 1st, Nash missed a pull up jumper. New York ran.
Harrington grabbed the rebound and outleted to newly subbed Nate Robinson.
Nate looked to hit Chandler on the wing.
Chen Yan read it early, jumped the lane, stole it, and drifted back beyond the arc.
Nate sprinted to save face, then launched himself to block the 3. He was short, around 170 cm in real height, but his vertical leap was ridiculous, and he loved chasing blocks on bigger players.
Chen Yan did not shoot.
He waited.
As Nate rose, Chen Yan leaned into the contact.
Foul.
He flipped the ball up from an awkward angle, pure improvisation.
Swish.
And suddenly, the Garden turned.
"MVP!"
"MVP!"
"MVP!"
Knicks fans had switched sides mid quarter.
Chen Yan stepped to the line smiling.
This was why he liked playing basketball in New York.
In Los Angeles, they opened with profanity and closed with profanity.
In New York, if you embarrassed their team hard enough, they would call you MVP.
.....
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