Off the Dribble: At the Garden, a Long-Awaited Father and Son Reunion
So I actually witnessed last Wednesday’s execrable effort v. the Canadians in person with my father in tow. It was a blight of a ballgame but reminded me oh-so-clearly how things have changed.
As you may know, the Knicks played atrociously. By the start of the third quarter, when the Knicks were clinging to a small lead, we both started to prepare ourselves for a loss. A dreary mid-season affairs such as this one, filled with missed opportunities that allow a lesser opponent to hang around, tend to end badly. Like a play we’ve seen countless times before, we were both pretty sure that Hamlet wasn’t getting out of this one alive.
Dad and I also couldn’t help but be struck by the bells and whistles: T-shirt cannons, prizes and blaring music that erupted during every stoppage of play. It’s a different era and a different time. Then again, even though the renovated Garden is much prettier than the one of my childhood, I actually miss the grim fluorescent lighting and the grimy walls. That Garden, tattered yet lovable, seemed like the proper setting for rogue-ish regulars and would-be outlaws like myself.
The full article can be found here, unless on Thursday you trotted down to your local Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind-type memory eraser shoppe and would just as well not recall the worst game of the season, thank you very much.
Hey, did you know that in addition to banging the keys here and occasionally for the NY Times, Robert is a playwright, an actor and a wand'ring mendicant/gadfly? He also once wrestled a bear...and lost.