Days of humidity had finally broken with a thunderstorm the night before. Brazilians were all over midtown, getting ready for their World Cup game. Puerto Rican and Pride flags were everywhere. “Knicks in five” was no longer a shibboleth or even a prediction; it was now the city’s standard greeting. It was a glorious Saturday to be out in New York.
The watch parties had started organically. Someone projecting the game onto the side of a building, or a deli tuning its window LED screen to show ABC instead of pictures of sandwiches. Near me, on Smith Street, one man had started by putting a TV in the back of his parked car and setting up a few lawn chairs; by Game 5 it had become the neighborhood spot. Every bar in the city was full, it seemed. Every official watch party sold out within seconds. But if you wanted to watch the game with others, you didn’t need a plan. You just went outside. It was everywhere.
And when it was over and it was time to party, you were outside already. Here, some photos from the wire of Knicks fans reveling, and occasionally destroying. There were five assaults, according to the NYPD, and 63 arrests. That’s tragic and detestable and embarrassing. But mostly it was joyful out there. It’s often surprisingly easy, in a huge city, to feel alone. That wasn’t possible this month. NYC had a vibe I can only really compare to the 2020 election results coming in, and the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, and the 2003 blackout, and the days after 9/11. A sense that we were in this thing together. This was about the Knicks, but the lesson was that sharing it had been the entire point all along. All you had to do was go outside.
