"Knicks in Five - A New York Night"

Hell's Kitchen Level 42, like every other bar in Manhattan the night the Knicks clinched it in five, was jam-packed, leaving barely any space to move around.

Fresh from the theatre, we stepped straight into the neon churn of Times Square — the crossroads of the world and, that night, the crossroads of every fan base on earth. Shoulder to shoulder, inching forward, politely at first, then with the grim determination of someone trying to board the last train home.
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Soccer fans were everywhere, still buzzing after Morocco tied Brazil — chanting, dancing, waving flags, turning whole corners into little street parades.

I knew the Knicks were in San Antonio for Game 5, but I didn’t expect a win. New York hope is a complicated thing. People crowded outside bars just to stare through windows at the screens. Inside, the places were packed so tight it felt like you needed Olympic qualifications just to get in.
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Then it happened — as if the sky cracked open and poured down buckets of joy.

Knicks 94, Spurs 90. Knicks in five.

Times Square erupted. Car horns blared. Women jumped up and down, hair flying. Young men screamed so loudly I briefly wondered if they were celebrating or being medically attended to.

It was madness — glorious, ridiculous madness. “Go Knicks!” “Knicks in five!” The chanting rolled through the streets like a revival meeting: part sports celebration, part holy visitation, part New York losing its collective mind in public, as New York was born to do.

And of course, every hand held a phone. People filmed the crowd, filmed themselves, filmed other people filming themselves. Joy had become social media content. Welcome to modern times.

It took nearly an hour to get from Times Square to Hell’s Kitchen — the streets had turned into a singing obstacle course. At Level 42 on 9th Avenue, I found the same bathroom line I’d survived earlier at the Winter Garden — mercifully shorter, but still a civic institution.

The bar was packed with every kind of New Yorker. A glamorous Tranny reveler danced with a Hindu man. Strangers became backup singers. And when Alicia Keys’s “Empire State of Mind” came on, the whole place rose up like it had been waiting for that exact cue. It was ridiculous. It was beautiful. It was super fun. A night to remember. I felt happy for New York, happy for Knicks fans, happy for anyone who thought they might never see a night like this again.

And still the night wasn’t finished with us.

It took hours to get back to Greenpoint. The subway platforms were so packed I nearly had a panic attack just looking at the sea of people. Then one line shut down — because of course it did — and we had to invent yet another route home.

Finally, when we did get on a train and everything seemed calm, a group boarded and broke into song. Soon the whole car was waving their hands, shouting: 

“New York! New York! Knicks!”

At five o’clock in the morning.
Five. In. The. Morning.

Times Square

​Hell's Kitchen