The Denver Knicks

I know, I know . . . it's March Madness, and I should be totally focused on the way my UConn Huskies have unexpectedly crashed the Final Four. Not to mention how my blind faith in them (see "Head, or Heart?" -- previous post) has my bracket neatly positioned for a nice little payday.

But the grim reality of my other basketball team -- the New York Knicks -- keeps intruding. I am so bummed at the way they've spiraled down in recent weeks, and I find myself wishing from the bottom of my heart that I could wake up and The Trade would be magically un-done -- and Gallo, Felton, Chandler, and Timofey would be back in blue-and-orange.

Yeah, I'm aware that the Knicks won Monday night over playoff bound Orlando -- but that was just their 2nd win in their last 11 games. And as I watched their spirited defensive effort, I didn't find myself thinking, Hey, look at that energy! I found myself thinking, Why the ---- can't they do this all the time!? Did it really take D'Antoni's line-in-the-sand speech for the Knicks to finally realize there's a game at both ends of the floor? (And btw, what took D'Antoni so long to make that stand?) Are they such babies that they needed to be scolded before they'd actually D someone up? And Melo, with his brilliant 39-and-10 -- is he really such an idiot that he couldn't summon an all-out effort like that until the entire Knicks Nation started calling for his head???

Being old school, at first I didn't want The Trade to go down -- even though my three sons told me I was nuts. For my money, we were winning more than we were losing, playing exciting ball, building with our new "pieces." Amar'e was dominating; things were looking up.

Then, in late December, we went to a Knicks-Heat game in Miami. The Heat jumped out to a 34-18 first-quarter lead and won handily. LeBron and Bosh had typically solid games -- and D-Wade went off for 40. Midway through the fourth quarter, I leaned over to my three sons and admitted, "All right. We need Melo."

The Knicks finally pulled the trigger on the deal. At first, Melo was as advertised -- and more. Chauncey looked like he'd discovered the Fountain of Youth. We went to a Knicks-Utah game at the Garden in early March, and the Knicks won going away. Melo had 34. Stat had 31. I was so intoxicated by our play that my post that week was titled "Deliverance."

That was pretty much the last time the Knicks looked better than abysmal. They've been in a 3-9 tailspin since that game. Melo holds onto the ball for eons while the rest of the team waits for something interesting to happen. Stoudemire looks lost -- neglected and dejected, as Clyde might say. Billups pulled a Rip Van Winkle -- got injured, and came back as an old man. Landry Fields, an early-season revelation, has been lost in the translation. I've seen Chauncey look right through him on a number of occasions, waiting for Melo to get open. (Look at the stat sheet from Monday night: 26 shots for Melo; 10 for Stoudemire; 3 for Fields.)

Not long ago we were in L.A., and I had the chance to take in a Nuggets-Clippers game. There was Felton, dishing and swishing. There was Chandler, clearing the boards. There was Mozgov, being tall. (Gallo was on the bench nursing an injury, but he still looked cool and Euro.) The Nuggets have gone 12-4 since The Trade. And if things don't improve pretty soon at the Garden, I'll have to give some serious thought to rooting for the Denver Knicks.

Or whichever team Kemba goes to.

Hank

Head, or Heart?

I sit in awe as I watch Robby, cold and calculating, fill out his bracket. He's got Kentucky over West Virginia in the second round. Sure, he knows Calipari's a sleazeball -- and that West Virginia represents our conference. But he also knows Kentucky has Brandon Knight and Terrence Jones, and talent out the wazoo. He's going with the better team.

Remember Butler, everyone's favorite underdog from last year's tourney? Sorry, Cinderella -- my hard-hearted son has you going out in the first round to O.D.U.

And then there's UConn. Robby's been a UConn fan since he's three years old. But he's also watched them go a mediocre 9-9 in conference play, and despite their amazing run in the Big East tournament (and his ode to that run in his most recent post), he has them losing to Duke in the Elite Eight.

Robby takes his March Madness seriously. He has SportsCenter on 24/7 -- even while he's sleeping. He stays current with the ESPN blogs. He listens to podcasts on bracketology. But more than that, he watches games. Oh, so many games. And not just the headliners. He'll watch an early-January Ohio Valley Conference game between Morehead State and Tennessee Tech, and store what he sees in his mental hard drive -- just in case one of those teams surfaces in the Big Dance.

I, on the other hand? Sure, I do a little brushing up; Pete Thamel's tournament preview in The New York Times is my go-to source. And I'll sit in on portions of regular-season games with Robby from time to time. (No, not Morehead State v. Tennessee Tech.)

But when I fill out my bracket, all sorts of things intervene between me and objectivity. In deference to conference loyalty, I'm always going to give the benefit of the doubt to a Big East team. There's also Robby's college applications to think about. UNC is the only school so far that's had the nerve to shoot him down -- and they're paying the price: I had them exiting in the second round. The schools he's gotten into, and the ones he hasn't heard from yet? They're all down for deep runs.

And then, of course, there's my UConn Rule: If they're in, they win. That's it. No questions asked. No if's, and's, or but's.

So now, after the first mind-boggling weekend of the Big Dance, where have our respective styles landed us?

Well, my son, Mr. Cold Hard Facts, after reviewing his bracket, tells me you can stick a fork in him. I currently stand in 10th place among the 29 members in my pool. But in the all-important "Best Score" category, I'm #2, and that's because I have UConn winning the whole thing -- which more and more serious March Madness followers are starting to believe might happen.

So maybe there's a place for heart in bracketology after all.

Hank

Mission Accomplished

My older brother Matt: I'm not even sure it would be good for UConn to make a big run in the Big East Tournament.

Me: Are you kidding me? It's the Big East Tournament.

Matt: If they play three, four, five games back-to-back, they'll run out of gas for the real tournament. NO ONE REMEMBERS WHO WINS THE BIG EAST TOURNAMENT.

Try telling that to Kemba Walker. Kemba and friends looked like they cared just a little bit as they took the court at Madison Square Garden for the fifth straight day. They showed numerous signs of fatigue. Kemba spent half the game with his hands on his knees, tugging at his shorts, gasping for breath. Jim Calhoun dug deep down his bench to find guys in order to give the starters some rest. But none of that stopped the Huskies from accomplishing a feat that has never been accomplished before, and in my opinion, will never be accomplished again.

Uconn, which failed to earn a bye in the Big East, became the first team to ever win five straight games to grasp a conference tournament title. Walker logged 190 minutes, the most ever in a conference tournament. He netted 130 points, most ever in a conference tournament. He made huge plays against Georgetown. He drained the buzzer-beater to send Pittsburgh home, breaking Gary McGhee's ankles in the process (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zGSI0IgM0gM). And last night, in the championship game against Louisville, with his team down one and less than a minute remaining, he drove past two defenders and made an acrobatic, championship-clinching pass to freshman Jeremy Lamb. And he had that same, ear-to-ear smile on his face the whole time.

Kemba's a New York city kid, and it was pretty evident that he wanted to put on a show in his home town in what was likely the last time he'd play at MSG as a Husky. I admit that his legs probably don't have enough left in them to bring this team to a National Championship. Deep down, he would probably admit that too. But to be honest with you, I don't care the slightest bit. Any damage Uconn does in the Big Dance is gravy at this point. The show that Kemba put on this week was legendary. The highlights will be shown for years to come.

Maybe the Huskies won't win the NCAAs. Maybe they will. But either way, nobody will ever be able to take away the accomplishment of winning the nation's best conference, against all odds. And another thing: Everyone will remember it.

-Robby

Deliverance

I’ve been a New York Knicks fan for over 40 years. I doubt this is something that Robby can even begin to grasp. He’s only 17 years old, and he’s already on his third NBA team: First Orlando, then Houston, and now the Knicks. (He climbed on the bandwagon the moment we got Amar’e.) My oldest son Matt, however, isn’t counting on Robby sticking with the Knicks for better or for worse: He sees him jumping ship for Boston, the Lakers, the Heat, the Bulls, OKC — or even the Blake Show — at the first sign of rough seas.

Over the last 10 years, I’d get asked a lot how I could root for one of the ugliest, most mis-managed and misguided franchises in all of sports — a team with the least likeable cast of characters in the NBA, a revolving door of big-name but totally ineffective head coaches, a smiling-but-sleazy former Bad Boy for a G.M., and an owner whose picture is in the dictionary next to the word “buffoon.”

And I’ve never had a good answer. All I know is if a Knicks game is on, I’m watching. I like to think of it as loyalty, though addiction might be more accurate. And I’ve been so desperately addicted that every time my team slapped on a band-aid — Stephon Marbury or Stevie Francis or Jalen Rose or Zach Randolph or Tracy McGrady — I thought I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Then came the last two dismal years of shedding salary and being absolutely abysmal, in the name of clearing cap space in the pursuit of King James. I hadn’t been a big fan of this strategy, and when we failed to get LeBron, my thought was: Two years down the drain, for what? When we landed Stoudemire, I dismissed him in this blog as a glorfied D. Lee who could maybe jump a little higher and dunk a little harder.

Well, time to admit I was wrong. Signing Amar’e was the beginning of the turn-around. And now, with the addition of Melo and Chauncey, things are getting downright scintillatiing at the Garden. Sure, I initially bemoaned the loss of some of our young guns — particularly Gallo — but the deal is barely a week old and it’s already “Raymond-who?” for me.

On Sunday night, I watched the Knicks, led by three perennial NBA All-Stars (not a bunch of cast-offs named Eddie Lee Wilkins and Hawthorne Nathaniel Wingo), hold the vaunted Miami Thrice to 86 points in a resounding come-from-behind victory. I watched Melo dominate — slashing to the hole, following his misses, draining silky J’s. I watched Mr. Big Shot make the game’s biggest shot. I watched Amar’e swat away King James’ layup attempt that could have turned the game. I watched the Knicks go on a 16-0 rampage to finish the first half, and a 9-2 run to close out the game.

All this is not to say that when the Knicks play the Magic in a few minutes, they won’t stink up the joint. They’re still a work in progress.

But after all these years, I’ve had a glimpse of The Promised Land. And I really like what I see.

-Hank

One Ball? Booooring

Obviously, my dad doesn't like the NBA Slam Dunk Contest. He doesn't like people jumping over cars (Blake Griffin), or people dunking and grabbing teddy bears off of the rim with their teeth (Serge Ibaka). Basically, he doesn't like it because it's different from what it used to be.

I'm actually fairly anti-change myself, but the Dunk Contest is different. Anything without any props and with only one basketball has already been done. Who wants to see a repeat? I know I'd watch a new episode of a TV show over a rerun any day of the week. Saturday, Javale McGee of the Wizards set an NBA record of five basketballs dunked on his first two attempts! That's what I'm talking about.

Maybe the "best dunkers" are beginning to be overshadowed by the "most creative dunkers". But what's wrong with that? No NBA championships are being won or lost on All Star Saturday Night. Winning this contest isn't going to make or break these players' careers. The contest is there for entertainment, and entertain it did.

-Robby

The Real Reason We Ski

Robby, you’re totally right. No one likes to ski.

But . . . everyone loves apres-ski. Trouble is, you can’t get to the apres without the ski. It’s like in baseball: What team wouldn’t like to go directly to its closer? But you can’t do it. If your starter gives you six, and you’re bringing in your closer in the ninth, you need another pitcher to bridge that gap. Skiing is that bridge. It’s the only way to get to apres skiing.

Yeah, of course I’d love to stay in my cozy bed on a cold Vermont morning. Of course I’d celebrate if we got a call from Stratton Mountain saying, sorry, we’re closed for the day. I’d love to dive directly into my favorite ski-lodge lunch of chili-in-a-bread-bowl with a side of fries. I’d be only too happy to wrap myself in a plush white towel come late afternoon and jump in the sauna. I’d be thrilled to join the raucous crowd at the bar watching Jets v. Pats on the 746-inch flat-screen TV. I could really get into knocking back a bunch of Long Trails and bragging about those mogul runs I shredded. (I’m doing just that in the photo.)

But do you really think anyone’s gonna let me weasel in on these pleasures without making me ski first? That’s a negative, Ghost Rider.

Bottom line? Skiing isn’t always bathed in the sun-drenched glory you see in Warren Miller films — it’s true. But apres-skiing? Ah, now that’s something special. And until someone finds another way to get toapres, I’ll just have to keep on skiing.

-Hank

America's National Wasteoftime

Unfortunately, I pretty much share the same feelings as my dad on the topic of "Top 5 Players," so I'm not going to waste time arguing about it.

Also unfortunate is the fact that my Tuesday shoulder surgery is causing me to type this post with one hand. (Yeah, don't say I don't have heart.)

There is one issue that my dad and I have recently talked about that we disagree on. It doesn't pertain to a sport that we follow, although it is technically a sport: skiing.

I tend to think of myself as a realist, much more so than my dad at least. For instance, while it's easy to be excited about young Knicks such as Danilo Gallinari and Landry Fields, he thinks the Knicks will win the NBA Championship, whereas I understand that they'll be ousted in the first round by a true contender such as the Bulls or Heat.

Same goes for skiing. I've been saying for years what everyone in my family has been thinking: None of us actually likes skiing. It's a simple fact. Our family has been skiing for my whole life and way beyond that, so it has pretty much become an accepted winter tradition. But why?

I would honesty like to know if my dad has ever once woken up in his cozy bed in Vermont and thought to himself, "Man, I can't wait to go skiing today!"

I would love to see him try to act upset if he was awoken by a call from Stratton Mountain announcing they are closed for the day due to construction.

These scenarios couldn't possibly happen, because let's face it, no one likes to ski. It's cold, uncomfortable, and time-wasting. I mean, seriously, between driving to the mountain, putting on ski clothes and equipment, plus all the time spent on the chair lifts, we are actually skiing about 10% of the time. And that 10% isn't even fun. There's no competition, no winners, no losers, nothing to fight for.

My brothers finally admitted this year that I've been right all along. That they've never liked skiing, they've merely tried to convince themselves that they had liked it. Now I'm waiting for my dad to jump on board. There's plenty of room on the bandwagon.

-Robby

Is 'Melo a Top-Five Player?

With a mischievous grin and a taunting gleam in his eye, Robby asks me, "Do you think 'Melo is a top-seven NBA player?"

In that one short, quirky question (note that he said, top-seven, not top-five), I knew Robby was packing a lot of innuendo, along with some subtle jabs. On the literal level, by using "7" instead of "5," he was reflecting his own view that while Carmelo Anthony may not be up there in the stratospheric level, he's pretty damn close. He was also poking fun (for a change) at my early-season stance that the Knicks shouldn't part with Wilson Chandler, Danilo Gallinari, or Landry Fields -- or any combination of those three players -- in a package for Anthony, but rather should build on the core they already have in place. (After the Knicks were demolished by LeBron and Kobe in late December and early January, I changed my tune on that one.)

But Robby's main intention was to get a rise out of me because he loves to hear my reaction every time an ESPN insider or WFAN talk show host labels some player a top-five NBA point guard or a top-five NFL quarterback or a top-five MLB pitcher: I want to know the other four. I mean, seriously -- you listen to these guys and eventually they'll give you twenty top-five MLB pitchers!

You want to call someone an All-Star? Go ahead! This is a factual label. There are a finite number of NBA All-Stars. You may think KG is past his prime, but he was a 2010 All-Star. You may say Chris Kaman is always injured, but he was an All-Star, too. And you can hate Pao Gasol, but you can't say he's not an All-Star. For that matter, you can also call anyone you want a superstar. The label is way over-used, but it's a flexible, general term -- subject to interpretation -- and nobody's really going to call you on it.

But a top-five player? Sorry, but there can be only five of them. You're gonna have to give me some documentation. Okay, Kobe I'll accept without any backup. Same goes for LeBron. I'll probably take D-Wade on faith, too . . . and Kevin Durant. A lot of people like Superman, aka Dwight Howard, in that group. (His Stan Van Gundy impersonation alone should get him in.)

Wait a minute, though. That's already five. Robby keeps raving about Durant's running mate, Russell Westbrook -- who is amazing. He'd also tell me I was nuts if I didn't consider Derrick Rose and Blake Griffin. Chris Paul's got to be in the conversation, too. Knicks fans will insist on including Amar'e ("MVP! MVP! MVP!") And who doesn't love Rajon Rondo? But hey, now we've already got eleven top-five players -- and we're just getting warmed up. We haven't even included Carmelo Anthony!

Call me old school, but here's my deal: You can label anyone you want a top-five player. Just be sure you're ready to name the other four.

-Hank

Kemba

Do I even have to address the rec basketball post? My dad's right. He's not a high school senior. So let us have our fun, let us not play any defense, let us throw up our half courters, and let us block people's shots as hard as we can and then make fun of them for the rest of the year.

Unfortunately, my upcoming shoulder surgery means I only have two games left in my rec career, and that thought alone is keeping me awake at night.

Anyway, I want to talk about someone who's a lot better than me and my friends at basketball: Kemba Walker.

Wow.

UConn was down last year, failing to even make the NCAA tournament. Out go their two leading scorers, Jerome Dyson and Stanley Robinson, and in come a group of unheralded freshman recruits. The one constant? Kemba Walker.

Kemba averaged only 14.6 points per game last year, and although I had high hopes for him coming into the year, I certainly didn't think he alone would have UConn in the Top 25. In the preseason polls, UConn was picked to finish 10th in the Big East. Not the nation, the Big East!

Not so fast. That 14.6 is up to 25.5, good for second in the nation. The Huskies aren't 10th in the Big East, they're 8th in the land. And Kemba is clearly instilling confidence in his young teammates that'll help this team in the near and distant future.

If I was on his team, I'd feel pretty good about things. All everybody else really needs to do is keep the game close for about 39 minutes. Because we've seen that Kemba owns the 40th. Here we are, halfway through the season, just six games into Big East play, and Walker already has three game-winning shots in the final minute (all three coming against ranked opponents).

UConn, according to my estimations, did not play anywhere near its best game Monday against Villanova. They were stagnant on offense and shot only 35% from the field. But as I said in a text message to my brother's friend (who happened to go to Villanova): "We have Kemba, and you don't."

Similarly, Coach Calhoun said this after the game: "We were very fortunate to win that basketball game. But we have Kemba Walker to win the game for us. He made sure we won the game."

I tend to root for athletes who are clutch. The ones who play the best when the game's on the line. Not the ones who shy away from the ball with 10 seconds left, but those who demand it. And that's what Kemba is. He hates losing, and he does everything in his power to avoid it.

Chances are that next year I'll root for the basketball team of the college I attend. But this year, I'm definitely not complaining about being a Huskies fan. And if Kemba stays for his senior year, there might be a pretty big conflict of interest for me next year. Because this guy seems pretty hard to root against.

-Robby

Fundamental-Free Basketball

It's Thursday night, and Georgetown, my son's high school rec hoops team, is playing Miami. Though the line on this game -- if there was one -- would have had Georgetown as a 15-point favorite, we're actually being toasted by Miami, who's raining 3's from all over the gym.

I, as the Georgetown coach, call a timeout. (I use the word "coach" here very, very loosely. The Westport Basketball Association requires its high school teams to have parent/coaches primarily to keep the peace and make sure nobody is maimed. It's been years since any player has actually listened to me about anything having to do with basketball.) Calling a timeout is something that's generally frowned upon in this league, and my players are staring daggers at me, but I do it because I just can't watch anymore of what I've been seeing. "These guys are embarrassing you," I say, stating the obvious. "You're better than this." (The photo above is the championship T-shirt we won last year.)

"They're hitting everything they throw up," whines player #1. (Actually, this happens to be true.) "Did you see that piece of garbage that just went in for (name of Miami guard, who stinks, according to my guys)!?" echos player #2. The implication seems to be that it's not fair that these inferior players are hitting good shots.

"Yeah, okay," I grant, "but maybe they wouldn't be shooting lights out if you put a hand in their face." At the suggestion that they actually play . . . defense . . . my team looks at me as if I have three heads.

Okay, as I said in "Extreme Hoops: High School Edition," my Westport News column on this subject (http://www.westport-news.com/default/article/Home-Team-Extreme-Hoops-High-school-edition-901445.php), I get that this league is all about fun. I get that HS juniors and seniors have a ton of stress, and don't need more the one hour a week they play rec hoops. I get that this league is their chance to unwind.

But I also know these kids -- and I know they're capable of playing a hell of a lot better than this. It seems to be an unwritten rule, though (maybe it's even written somewhere, for all I know) that in this league that you never box out; that's old school. You just leap over your opponent. Also, you never take a simple open shot if one's given to you; instead, you drive wildly to the hoop where your attempt can be contested by five players. Similarly, you never move your feet to establish position on defense; you let your man blow by you and then attempt to swat his shot into the rafters. And you never, ever, ever play man-to-man defense. Instead, you play zone -- which really translates to not playing defense at all.

See, now I would think that playing hard, playing well, playing the way you know how, sticking to your man and shutting him down . . . I would think that would really be fun.

Then again, I'm not 18. And I'm not a high school senior.

-Hank

The End of an Era

Before you hurry to x-out of this window, read a few more sentences. Because this title has nothing to do with Brett Favre retiring. If anyone out there isn’t sick and tired of reading, hearing, and watching Favre coverage, then they haven’t been following sports for the past three years. After 17 retirements, 16 workouts at the local high school in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, and 24 concussions, that era is finally in the books. Actually, at this point, I can’t really say that with much confidence.

The era I’m talking about is more of a personal one. Today was the last time that my friends and I gathered in my playroom to watch NFL football. It all started eight years ago when my parents asked me what I wanted for my birthday, which happens to fall a few days before the opener of every NFL season. My brother Matt did everything in his power to make his little brother the biggest Dolphins fan possible, and it worked. I told my parents that I just wanted to be able to watch every Dolphins game that year. Since we live in Connecticut, the Dolphins were rarely on local television. My present? NFL Sunday Ticket on DIRECTV. Every game, every Sunday.

The rest is history. Aside from my family’s annual trip to Miami for a Dolphins game, nothing has stopped my friends from coming over every Sunday to eat wings and watch football. Sunday Ticket made us all much more diligent with our school work; if you had a lot of work, you woke up early and made sure it was done by 1:00. Nobody let anything get in the way of the one day a week where we could get away from everything and watch the greatest game in the world.

A lot has changed since that first season back in 2002. When it all started, four of us could fit on each couch. Eight years later, only two of us can. Back then, we had enough energy to play outside during halftime and between the first and second set of games. Eight years and one rigorous high school football career later, the outside portion of the routine has dwindled away. We used to root as hard as we could for our favorite teams. Eight years later, we root as hard we can for our favorite teams and our fantasy teams. Through all those changes, however, one thing has remained constant: We always looked forward to Sunday.

As we all move on to college next year, Saturdays will be enhanced, as we’ll all have a rooting interest in our college’s football team. But Sundays will never be the same. According to my calculations, today was the 128^th Sunday of this amazing tradition, and I’m going to miss each and every one of them.

-Robby