Article graphics by Omar Zahran (@omarzahran.bsky.social on Bluesky)
There are peaks and valleys to being a Knicks fan. This truth has never been clearer than recently following a loss to the Pistons on February 19th and win against the Rockets on February 21st. After being dismantled for the third time by Detroit this season, many of us thought that this season was a lost cause and that this experiment was a doomed failure. But a mere 48 hours later, the team completes its biggest comeback of the season against Houston and hope springs eternal.
Part of this dynamic is the rollercoaster of fandom—we ride the highs and the lows and lose our sanity while the games are being played. But this particular version of the Knicks, the one that claims to have championship aspirations, seems to toe the line of our expectations delivering joy and disappointment in whiplash-inducing succession. The team has reiterated throughout the season that they are focused on the title, but in the Social Internet Age, are we even capable of thinking that far ahead?
The Gift and the Curse of the Masses
We live in a day and age where the conversation about sports and our favorite teams has never been more robust. Wherever you are in the world, you can watch the Knicks. Then after the game, there are countless people posting about the games on social media and live podcasts breaking down what we just saw. For someone like me who would talk about the games the next day with friends on a bus ride to school, it's heavenly to be able to discuss the games with fellow fans.
At least, it is in theory. Often in reality, the emotion of fandom gets the best of many and arguments ensue. People have camps, or agendas, that they feel compelled to push at all times. We've all been there. There are certain players we will defend as long as they're Knicks (remember the Frank Hive?), and just as well, there are players we demand to be removed (typically reserved for mediocre role players like Elfrid Payton or Jericho Sims).
The flaw in this is that as fans, we're emotional after games. Either we are too elated from a win to the point of the irrational, or we are so down after a loss that we lose any semblance of hope. We don't allow ourselves a moment to take a beat and recalibrate our thoughts—mainly since rational thought is simply not as entertaining! Every win is proof of championship contention, while every loss is proof of needing to make a franchise-altering trade. The emotions don’t allow much room for nuance.
Where this collides with the current team is that, as a general rule, Knicks fans covet the same thing—effort and tenacity from our favorite basketball team. And in the internet age where everything tends to be analyzed and overanalyzed, a night where that standard isn't met meets a wave of vitriol from us. We desire intensity, but it seems this team simply doesn't want to give it to us consistently.
Expectations and Disconnects
The acquisition of Jose Alvarado at the trade deadline feels like, on some level, the Knicks front office trying to satisfy our need for an edge; a recognition that this fan base craves players who don't quit to the point that we are willing to sacrifice certain high-end skills if the player displays a satisfactory level of effort on a nightly basis. And in short spurts it has worked, as Alvarado has become an instant hero for fans at the Garden—a hometown kid relishing his opportunity on the big stage.
That forever unquenched desire is magnified by the countless accounts that show replays of missed assignments or poor closeouts on a loop on Twitter after a loss. A moment that we may quickly forget becomes embedded in our minds. If Mikal Bridges avoids contact on a drive, someone will make sure we remember it and associate him with being a soft player and a mistake of an acquisition. That's a level of chronically online scrutiny that past generations didn't have to deal with as much.
What this team has shown us over the last few years is that, more than anything, they realize this is a marathon and not a sprint. They have accepted that they care more about winning the 16 playoff games more than showing 100% toughness and intensity through the 82-game regular season.
In a sense, that mentality is why Mike Brown was brought in to replace Tom Thibodeau—because his more flexible lineup tinkering speaks to that philosophy. Whereas Thibodeau’s approach could be argued as playing into the “every night matters” ethos many fans desire, Brown’s willingness to shuffle lineups and give young players like Mohamed Diawara and Tyler Kolek occasional opportunities is indicative of a team playing the long game.
What results for us as fans is something of a disjointed experience. We get flashes with an elite OG Anunoby defensive performance or a Josh Hart triple double that is all grit. But at the same token, it also comes with games where Jalen Brunson shoots poorly and Karl-Anthony Towns is disconnected from the offense.
And quite frankly, it can be maddening. Because there are times when this team looks as unstoppable as promised: hitting corner threes in rapid succession and forcing turnovers on defense. But then there are other times when it looks like they hate playing with one another—when Towns plays a lackluster drop defense and the wings give up countless open corner threes. For a fan base so starved for championship success, that sort of peaks and valley approach is infuriating, because deep down we know what they are capable of.
This team, however, seems content to simply get to the postseason and activate another gear of intensity when they get there. Are the fears that they will stall out when it comes time legitimate? Absolutely. But they are a veteran team that feels like they can pace themselves on their way to the mountaintop.
We may never be truly satisfied with this version of the Knicks. That's a reality that we need to accept. Because they will never give us maximum intensity every night, which should drive us crazy. But if they are right, and do achieve their goal, none of us will even think about a bad string of losses in February. After all, the internet forgets so quickly, and we will as well.


