For the Love of Basketball
Some stories don’t start with a lesson—they start with a scream. This one begins with the Knicks, a run-down sofa on West 146th Street, and a mother who couldn’t always say I love you out loud—but could absolutely lose her mind over a missed free throw.
When I walked toward the apartment building where we lived on West 146th Street between Amsterdam and Broadway, I could hear my mother screaming before I reached the stoop. If someone were standing there, they would often say, “Your mother must be watching the Knicks or the Giants.” My response would always be “Ah, yeah, I figured that out.” With an eye roll.
There she was sitting on the edge of a run-down sofa, cigarette burning in the ashtray, her hands on her knees, and staring at the television like it literally possessed her.
She would hear me come in, but wouldn’t turn to greet me. Just a wave of the hand as if to say don’t bother me, you know what’s going on.
Then, a few seconds later, she’d scream at a player about missing a shot or not being in the right place to catch a quarterback throw. She believed they could hear her.
If the team won, I knew I had a limited amount of time to ask for something. Money was always met with a “NO,” and I knew that, but if I wanted to attend a dance event or visit a friend, I would usually use these moments to make my move.
I usually got a yes, but when the day arrived, and she was back in her usual mood, the yes turned into a “You never asked me that; no, you can’t go.” Which would result in arguments and heartbreak.
One day, I sat down and watched a Knicks game with her. During the game, I would ask questions, and she would excitedly answer me while giving her own commentary.
She was talking to me about something, and it wasn’t a “no” or a dismissive reaction.
Years later, I learned from family members that my grandfather was not the warmest person to my mother; however, when he watched basketball and football, he displayed the same excitement. My mother watched with him to get a connection, attention, some version of love.
Children watch people. I know I did, and felt the absence of love, encouragement, and enthusiasm from my mother. The reasons are certainly irrelevant, but the void was there, growing ever larger.
I started not only watching the Knicks and the Giants with her, but also liking the teams and becoming a fan myself.
Entertainment and sports bring people together like nothing else. And if that’s the way people can connect, then it can be a starting point for creating a new relationship — and a new perspective when we examine ourselves.
When the Knicks won the 4th game of the finals this year, I was on the phone with her, screaming. I could see, smell, and taste the air of the apartment when I was younger, watching her sitting on the sofa in all her Knicks glory.
We were laughing, yelling, and fist-pumping, and it was all nostalgic music to my ears.
Then Saturday came, and they won the championship. Yes, we were on the phone again, going back and forth about how we couldn’t take it — our nerves were getting the best of us, and I felt like I was going to have a heart attack.
We laughed and screamed and clenched our teeth during the last few minutes.
Peyton, Nicky, and Chris laughed in the background at my mother’s responses while they, too, were glued to the television.
When the timer ran out, and everyone was certain they had won, we were all jumping, cheering, and hugging, with my mother on speakerphone.
Comments on social media ranged from elation to “Why can’t people come together and be happy like this all the time?”
Well, that can be a complicated answer or not. Relationships take consistent honesty, unconditional love, and trust. One needs to be this way with themselves first.
If things and people outside of me easily influence me, then I would do myself a massive disservice if I didn’t at least determine the difference between what’s serving my peace and what’s creating another problem.
I choose to look at what works, what connects my mother and me, and to appreciate what makes her jump with joy — and never take that away from her.
Selfishness is learned and practiced. So is the opposite.
I couldn’t be happier for the Knicks. They didn’t just win the championship after 53 years; they helped bring memories, healing, and forgiveness into the hearts of millions of people.
Choosing to keep it going is work, but worth it. The Knicks can certainly attest to that.
Doing what feels different isn’t always bad. Most of the time, it’s a win-win. Yes, pun intended.
People may have heard us screaming that night — maybe they were too — and no, there was no eye rolling: only high fives and high hopes.
I will be watching the parade on TV, hopefully chatting with my mother, imagining that we are standing on the parade route together, dancing to the music, and making new friends.
The longer story of my life is in my book, Running From Yesterday.
Thank you for always taking a few minutes to spend time with me. I notice, and it's a slam dunk!
Until next time, and hopefully not 53 years from now, Love, Trust, and Go Knicks pixie dust!
