…All there’s left to do is smile. And since smiling actually scientifically makes you feel better, watch this video, posted by the Knicks on IG. I couldn’t stop smiling watching it myself. 

Jalen Brunson just said Monica McNutt, get behind me. TLDR: Taylor Swift was courtside at Game 4 and McNutt, the Knicks’ radio analyst, called her a casual (paraphrasing), and it seems she’s been getting some hate from the Swifties. Brunson requested they lay off, please. 

New York Daily News writer Kristian Winfield is on a tear with his Knicks coverage. Here he described scenes from the locker room. Here he writes what this title means to the likes of Clyde Frazier, Willis Reed, Quincy Acy, Marcus Camby, Steve Novak. Almost as much as it means to the girl (gender neutral) reading this. :) 

I know we’re saying this every day now but Nike’s still just doing it! This ad, which Josh Safdie directed, didn’t need the bells and whistles of celebrity or status to perfectly depict how it feels to be a Knicks fan. 

Because we can’t get enough, these are the must reads. For the poets in the chat these fan’s notes by David Remnick in The New Yorker go hard. “At long last, the team that New York City cares about the most has loved it back,” Matt Fleggenheimer writes in this piece for the New York Times. And this Chris Mannix piece in SI is all about Jalen fulfilling his dreams. This one from Justin Tinsley in Andscape is about KAT’s grief and perseverance. Ok, enough reading, let’s scroll down and go to the video.

And for even more, you absolute sicko, head to Substack and check out our Daily Digest, where we’ve curated a full Knicks content takeover. 

Yesterday, I woke up in a city that never sleeps. A city so nice they named it twice, yes, but a city we might consider renaming to “New Brunson” after last night. After hours of jubilant property destruction, (i.e. burning down buses), commandeering buses, hanging from streetlights, making out on street signs, life in New York has settled a little, but the electricity she produced during the greatest NBA Finals Of All-Time lingers. We won’t be resistant to making plans lest we double book during a potential Game 6 or 7, but we will be beaming, opening doors for strangers, lending a helping hand to neighbors. Energy doesn’t go away after an explosion, it just transforms. 

I anticipated all of this, of course, but I had commitments on the West Coast for Games 3 and 4, and originally planned on coming back to the City on a red-eye Saturday night, praying we’d get a Game 6 (for which I was credentialed, sigh). The extra $200 to change my flight was worth it to experience this win for the city. 

We landed and immediately took a cab into Manhattan, suitcases in tow, and it felt like they’d put molly in the water supply.  

It was blocks and blocks of both friends and lovers holding hands in Brunson and Sprewell jerseys as they hurried to their watch parties. It was TVs in establishments that have no business having TVs. Projectors set up in vegan bakeries and dry cleaners and the churro restaurant that I’m sure is a money laundering front. It was a night where everything became romantic. Jaywalking through traffic felt like blocking on a film set. 

And after the clock hit midnight (zero), we all became kids again. Unsupervised ones at that. Crying, screaming, unsure of how to express the level of emotion we were feeling. 

WNBA great Tina Charles said it best. The city gets knocked down and gets back up every day and the Knicks mirrored that journey.  

Countless watch parties under the Manhattan Bridge, at Radio City, in Midtown, Harlem. Sesame Street characters got involved. Batman was there. The guy who balances stuff on his head while biking balanced a bike on his head (IYKYK) 

And then there were the players themselves. This very special team, whom I have waxed poetic about many times already. Its humble (and prolifically selfless) star, who is not too small, it turns out, and who held the hopes of eight million in the palm of his hands, cussed and cried. And finally talked his s***. Now can we get him on SVU? 

Its subdued Nigerian Brit Missourian proved himself clutch under the biggest lights, except when technology is involved. 

Its Hart, who is also its personality hire, defended the trade that brought his former teammate Mikal Bridges across the bridge to Manhattan.  

And the team’s big, who is never afraid to emote, thanked his fiancée for her lucky bag, and for being a steady presence in the loss and absence of his mom. 

Saturday night — June 13, 2026 — will go down as one of the best days in New York history. The day they did the impossible.  

Timothée Chalamet was in the locker room, but he wants to make it clear that although he’s not an athlete, he prefers this to an Oscar. Is that because he has never won an Oscar? Not hating, just saying…

Spike partnered with Jumpman for a very special video. 

Ziwe made sure to let him know he needs a new banner, by the way.

Joyce Carol Oats absolutely cooked Wemby (don’t shoot the messenger). 

Hanif Abdurraqib has some very poignant notes for Wemby.

For some reason I read this compliment by Bill Simmons as shade at first. Maybe because I still have Jalen’s chip on my shoulder. 

Breanna Stewart shouted out Jalen and the Knicks for the win. And speaking of the Liberty, despite being part of the Brooklyn Nets’ organization, they actually were instrumental in the Knicks win. 

Mayor Mamdani stayed up until 3:45 a.m. celebrating. He beat me by an hour, and I vow to do better next time. 

And the most important Jalen Brunson fan in the world, Mariska Hargitay, went on an absolute posting spree. I’m starting to think they might actually be in love. Sorry to Ali Brunson and Detective Stabler.