For this lonely Knicks fan in Alabama, it was still so sweet.
Being a Knicks fan in Alabama is a solitary endeavor, but winning the first title in 53 years was still exhilarating. Even if I was the only one shouting.
Olivia Bennett 
This is an opinion column.
Suddenly, I was channeling my inner Jim Valvano. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated sports euphoria that had been building for 53 years.
I spent this past Saturday in Tulsa, tucked away in my brother’s living room. He and my sister-in-law are die-hard Oklahoma Thunder fans, and while they were gracious enough to watch the closing moments of Game 5 of the NBA Finals with me, their support was polite rather than passionate. As I paced back and forth, unable to tear my eyes away from the screen, they sat under a cozy blanket, offering only mild cheers.
The scene in front of us was historic: The New York Knicks, a gritty group of players built through strategic trades rather than massive free-agent spending, were finally champions again. It marked the franchise's first title since 1973 and only the third in their long history. Leading the charge was a 6-2 guard who defied every conventional expectation of a superstar.
Much like the late, great North Carolina State coach looking for someone to hug after the Wolfpack stunned Houston in 1983, I found myself desperate for a celebration partner. Living in Birmingham for the past 12 years, being a Knicks fan is a solitary journey. This is football country, and finding fellow NBA enthusiasts is a challenge—especially when the local pastor is a Lakers devotee.
The Knicks were the ultimate underdogs this season, with preseason oddsmakers giving them only a 9% to 10% chance of taking home the Larry O’Brien trophy. Yet, they defied the odds, winning 16 of their final 17 games and tying an NBA record with eight consecutive road victories. Even after a series of deficits, they kept climbing, eventually dismantling the talented San Antonio Spurs and their 7-foot-4 star, Victor Wembanyama.
A Legacy Forged in the Garden
My connection to the Knicks didn't start at birth; it began in the newsroom. As a young researcher and reporter at Sports Illustrated, I was tossed into the deep end when an editor asked if I knew pro basketball. I lied and said yes. That began my education, covering the team during the 1978-79 season. I learned the game under legends like Red Holzman and Willis Reed, gaining a basketball foundation that has served me for decades.
By the late 80s, I was a season-ticket holder. I split 41 home games with a few friends, watching the Patrick Ewing era unfold. Those seats were more than just a place to watch a game; they were where I developed my passion. I was there for the highs and the heartbreaking lows, from John Starks’ legendary dunk over Michael Jordan and Horace Grant in 1993 to the 1994 Finals, and the improbable four-point play by Larry Johnson in 1999. I even witnessed Avery Johnson hit the dagger that handed the Spurs the title that same year.
The Garden was a second home, where I raised my children. Now, seeing them grown and celebrating in Los Angeles and Las Vegas, it’s clear that this title means everything. When my daughter texted, “Woohoo, we’re champions!” and my son confirmed the long-awaited victory, I knew I wasn't alone in spirit. Though I was physically isolated in an Alabama living room, the feeling of finally reaching the mountain top was undeniably sweet.
