The Long Goodbye

At 10:58 pm on the evening of November 14th, 2007, I stopped being a Knick fan. At 10:58 pm on that evening, Stephon Marbury was called from the bench by his coach, Isaiah Thomas, and allowed to step foot on an NBA basketball court, wearing the uniform of the team I’ve supported my entire life. And seconds later, I turned off my television in disgust, silently bidding farewell to a team (and perhaps sport) which no longer deserves me.

Those of you who follow basketball, and those in particular who follow the Knicks, can understand what this means. During the 1969-1970 season, when the New York Knickerbockers captured their first NBA title, I was five years old, and I remember celebrating the playoffs with my father. Three years later, during the 1972-1973 season, I had graduated from being a little boy following in his father’s footsteps to an all-consumed eight-year-old Knick fan, watching every game I could, clipping and saving every boxscore, memorizing every stat of every player of that team. I ran around the neighborhood like Walt Frazier, spun around the house like Earl Monroe, walked into a room like Willis Read, stood tall and strong like Dave Debusschere, and (bowing to maternal pressure) studied like Bill Bradley. They were heroes, all of them, and they not only earned my passion and loyalty, but deserved it — day in and day out.

The subsequent years without a championship were a blur of ups and downs – the alley oops between guards Michael Ray Richardson and Ray Williams (with a confused Red Holzman looking on from the sidelines), the resting stops for Bob McAdoo and Spencer Haywood, the confusion of Lonnie Shelton and Sly Williams, the magic of Bernard King, the awkwardness of Marvin Webster (whom I believe we’re still paying), the promise of Patrick Ewing. Knick fans recall with goose bumps the image of Dave Debusschere, then President of the Knicks organization, winning the #1 pick of the 1985 draft and holding up a Knick uniform he brought to the occasion with Ewing’s name on it, both of them beaming with smiles a mile wide. We recall the years of hope when Pat Riley tried to return glory to the Garden. And we remain frozen in front of our TV sets still, years later, staring and cursing at Charles Smith’s missed layups against Chicago and John Starks’ missed everything against Houston.

But we were Knick fans, and that’s what being a Knick fan was all about. It didn’t matter that the City who should own the sport of basketball hadn’t won a championship in a quarter of a century. It didn’t matter that the organization’s payroll skyrocketed. It didn’t matter that the coach’s office has had a revolving door on it throughout the last decade. You’re born a Knick fan, you stay a Knick fan. Thick and thin.

But on November 13th, the day before I relinquished my aforementioned support, the Knicks were on a plane en route to Phoenix, Stephon Marbury was informed that he would not be starting later that evening because his Coach felt his defense had been lacking in the young season’s first five games. Marbury responded by doing something so reprehensible, so unforgiveable, so profound, that I’ve systematically parted ways with a team I have otherwise stood by for four decades. You see, what he did was this – he turned around, got on another plane, and flew home. He said “I’m the man. I’m more important than the team. My ego is more important than what you or anyone else thinks. It’s not about winning or losing. It’s about me. It’s about me, and it’s about me starting, and that’s what’s important. And if I can’t have it my way, I’m out.”

I never liked Stephon Marbury. He’s not a winner, and never has been. He rarely looks as though he’s enjoying the game. When a time out is called, he’s not running back to the bench to help inspire his teammates, or putting his arm around another player to guide him through a previous play, or chatting it up with his Coach or his Coach’s assistants to bring clarity to the action on the court. No, most of the time he’s walking up to a referee, complaining about a non-call that would have otherwise explained a recent failing on his part – a missed shot, a turnover, whatever – or he’s just scowling, shaking his head, lumbering back to the bench en route to just another meaningless $182,000 paycheck. More than anything, though, he consistently fails to do that which is most important for any successful point guard to do – make those around him better. And if you’re not a Knick fan, or don’t understand what that means, it’s easy – watch a typical Knick game with Stephon Marbury, and then watch a quarter of a Nets game with Jason Kidd, or a five minute run of a Suns game with Steven Nash, or any YouTube clip you can find of Magic Johnson. You’ll figure it out quickly enough.

I never liked Isaiah Thomas. He was part of a Detroit Piston team who played dirty. He didn’t shake hands with the Chicago Bulls after his Pistons were swept in four games during the 1991 playoffs. He made bad trades for the wrong players with bloated contracts as President of the New York Knicks, and as Coach he’s done nothing to turn the franchise around. And I never liked James Dolan, the team’s owner, because, well – he just has too much money, has no idea what it means to own a sports franchise, is seemingly incapable of serving an all-to-loyal fan base paying exorbitant prices for a poor quality product, allows the wrong people to make the wrong decisions, stands by them as a sign of weakness when he should be dismissing them as a sign of strength.

But it doesn’t matter who you like and who you don’t, because you’re a Knick fan, and you take the good with the bad. You forgive these mistakes, and hope it gets better. In 1994, against the Jordan-less Bulls, with 1.8 seconds left in a tied game, opposing coach Phil Jackson called time out to design a play for Toni Kukoc instead of Scottie Pippen. Insulted that the ball was not going his way, Pippen refused to reenter the game. “I’m the man,” he was saying. But he had played most of the night in a critical playoff game, he was carrying the burden and expectations of the championship Bulls following Sir Michael’s first retirement, it was the heat of battle, and he apologized for his actions quickly. Maybe if I were a Bulls fan, I would have walked away. Maybe not.

We shouldn’t be talking about bringing Marbury off the bench, nor should we be talking about how much to fine him. We should be talking about banning him from the league. We should be talking about setting an example for current and future basketball players. We should be talking about restoring dignity to professional team sports, and defining for our children what it means to participate in something so magical. But at 10:58, on the evening of November 14th, the Knicks chose their path, and I chose mine. And were my father still alive, I’m sure he would join me.

I wonder if this letter were to ever be published, what the byline would read. What description should be next to my name? I think maybe something simple – a geographical reference to the name of the state in which I’ve been born and raised – “… lives and works in New York.” Or maybe an innocuous reference to my profession immediately following my name – “…, computer programmer.” In the end, though, I’d probably just settle for something simple and to the point, something at once sad and truthful, and something which is now and forever irrefutable.

Steven Lieblich
Former Knick Fan

Imus In The Morning… Noon… And Night

Let me preface by saying that I am not a fan of Don Imus. There is nothing negative implied here — I simply don’t listen to talk radio beyond ESPN SPORTS, and never have. So I have no familiarity with Don Imus — his strengths, his weaknesses, his style, his politics, his humor. Let me also say at the outset that I don’t follow college women’s basketball. Again, nothing negative implied here — being a devoted Knicks fan my entire life sort of sucks the life out of me in terms of my capacity to follow other strains of basketball, male or female.

So it’s been a very interesting few days to see the amount of dialog and buzz surrounding this week’s dismissal of Don Imus by both MSNBC and, a day later, his primary employer, CBS, over his comments about the Rutgers Women’s Basketball team. And it’s been even more interesting to see how quickly people dive into the issue and the principals which hover beneath it. Racism, free speech, capitalism — this has all the makings of a full-scale culture war. In the last 24 hours, I’ve had numerous discussions with several people whose opinions I respect and in whose company I am comfortable, so I thought I’d give this blog thing a twirl and see how it flies. And if you’re unfamiliar with the format, it’s simple — read what I write, agree or disagree, and write back. You can easily post a comment below.

Intro / Headline / Conclusion — I’m perfectly fine with the dismissal of Don Imus.

Background / Details / Arguments — I believe in free speech, and the older I get, and the more interested I become in politics and history, the more and more I respect, admire, and thank our forefathers for making this a central tenant of this country. As such, I think Imus was absolutely and unconditionally allowed to say whatever he wanted. I may not agree with his sentiment (and I don’t), and I may not like his ability to influence others (which it does), but I acknowledge that this is the price we pay for the freedom of speech — sometimes you’re not going to like what you hear.

But let’s be clear about something — Don Imus wasn’t arrested for what he said. He faces no criminal charges. No physical harm will come to him. These might seem obvious facts, but I point them out to highlight the difference between our society and others, where one or more of these actions could easily occur. No, Don Imus wasn’t arrested or hurt, he was simply fired. And the dismissal of Don Imus was a business decision taken by executives of companies whose revenue streams and public relations drove them to this decision, executives in senior positions presumably because they are empowered and capable of assessing the flow of advertising dollars.

Let me repeat. I believe in free speech. But I also believe in free markets. Don Imus is free to say what he says, just as others are free to disagree with it, just as civil rights leaders are free to be outraged by the nature of the comments, just as advertisers are free to respond to what their own executives see and hear by pulling advertising, and just as as the network executives are free to respond to a threat to their business and dismiss Don Imus.

So what exactly is wrong with this picture? Some argue that the networks caved too early to pressure that would have soon faded. I don’t buy it. Business is business, and a dollar is a dollar. Faced with the growing competitive landscape of cable television, satellite radio, and the internet, I don’t believe for a nanosecond that CBS would fire Imus if it didn’t feel that significant revenue would be at risk. Indeed, I’d argue that CBS could have easily trumpted the freedom-of-speech argument and rationalized their way into supporting Imus following a superficial two-week suspension. The networks know more than we do. They speak to their advertisers, they study rating charts, and they have access to data we don’t. If they felt they could have weathered the storm, they would have.

Others argue that by firing Imus, the likes of Jessie Jackson and Al Sharpton win. Win what exactly? Look, the same freedom of speech that allowed Imus to make derogatory comments about the Rutgers women’s basketball team allowed Jackson to call New York City “Hymie-Town” and enabled Al Sharpton to rant and rave about Tawana Brawley (see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tawana_Brawley for a sad but interesting history lesson about events that occurred near my hometown), so it’s been a long time since I’ve taken much of anything these guys have said seriously.

So did they win? Does this action allow the Jacksons and Sharptons of the world to be heard next time they feel like reacting to events? Probably. Do they deserve a soapbox? I’d say no, but hey, that’s the price of freedom of speech. If I hear them on the radio or see them on television, I can do exactly what apparently many people decided to do after Imus made his comments — I can change the station.