Filling Time: TwinLife Empty-Nesting

This isn’t this week’s post. I have that one drafted and waiting to be revised before my normal midweek posting time. But I needed to take a minute to share the happy energy that has been coursing through our house today. The Knicks won the NBA Championship for the first time in more than 50 years. For a long-suffering New York sports fan who has spent decades in a strange space between hopeful and heartbroken, it is like the perfect moment of sunshine and rainbows for my husband. For my son, it’s just awesome. For me, I relish in seeing them smile with pure joy.

Now for a confession: I wasn’t born a New York sports fan.

Growing up in central PA, sports fandom felt like a choice between Pittsburgh and Philly. My friends felt so strongly about one or the other that I decided to just do my own thing rather than choose sides. I jumped on entirely different bandwagons. I was a Bulls fan because they were fun to watch. A Cowboys fan because I liked their colors, and they were pretty fun to watch. An Orioles fan because my Nana was an Orioles fan (they were NOT fun to watch).

I really only got excited about the Bulls, and I enjoyed watching Scottie Pippen and Michael Jordan play defense – as well as offense. I would definitely characterize myself as a Bulls fan, but I wouldn’t say I was a diehard sports fan.

When I met my husband in college, I was introduced to a whole new world of fandom. He wasn’t a casual fan. He was a Mets, Knicks, and Rangers fan in the way only people in the NYC metro area can be. His teams weren’t choices. They were part of his identity.

One of our first “dates” was a Rangers game. Because of the strike, they were hanging the Stanley Cup banner later than usual, so the very first hockey game I ever attended included watching a championship banner rise to the rafters. I had no idea what the rules of the game were, but I understood that the ceremony beforehand was important to the fans.

My then-boyfriend patiently explained the rules to me as I watched the game, and because he was a fan, I watched some games in the early years of our relationship. But I never became a Rangers fan.
The Mets, however, were a different story. I learned to enjoy watching baseball, having been influenced by my Nana, who was a true fan, and watching the fun rivalry between my father-in-law (Yankee fan) and husband (Mets fan). I attended games with both of them independently and sometimes together before my kids entered the picture, and I always thought my Nana would be proud I had learned to like her sport. I know she would be glad I ended up on the Mets side of the house and not the Yankees!

The summer I was pregnant with my twins, I spent months on bed rest. It was hot. I was uncomfortable. The days were long. Every day I looked forward to two things: Mets baseball and Gilmore Girls. Sometime during that summer, the Mets stopped being my husband’s team and became my team too. I knew all the players. I had a favorite. I viscerally felt every win and loss. Unfortunately, at the end of the season, I learned what it meant to live in the space between hopeful and heartbroken.

After the Mets collapsed that year, I also learned the phrase, “Well, there’s always next year.” It was the start of my long-suffering status.

My son inherited his fandom from his dad, and so he was born into the downtrodden. Like any long-suffering New York sports fan, he has felt the ups and downs for nearly two decades. He loves the Mets, and he loves the Knicks. The orange and blue live strong in our home, as do the cycles of highs and lows that comes with championships being just out of reach.

I never followed the Knicks the way I followed the Mets, partly because I was still hanging on to my Bulls fandom when I first started dating my husband, and partly because professional basketball has changed since the 1990s when defense really mattered in the game. But my son and husband love the Knicks, and they have commiserated together over the years.

And then last night, the streak ended. After more then 50 years – longer than my husband has been alive – the Knicks brought home the trophy. My husband watched from home, emotions overwhelming him at the outcome. My son watched in a crowded restaurant in New York City. He felt the pulse of the city. He swarmed the streets with New Yorkers united. He said it will undoubtedly be one of the best moments in his life.

The New York sports market is BIG. It’s so big that there are two teams for nearly all the sports. Dividing lines between Mets and Yankees, Giants and Jets, Rangers and Islanders serve in some ways to divide the metro area. There may be some division between the Knicks and the Nets, but for some reason, it’s not that strong. And so for the past few weeks, everyone in NYC was pulling in the same direction. United, NYC wanted the win.

They got it, and so did my family. The Mets’ 1986 World Series championship happened when my husband was a kid. The Knicks had never won in his lifetime. For forty years, sports fandom for him has mostly meant hope, loyalty, disappointment, and trying again next season.

Last night wasn’t life-changing. But it was pretty special. So I wanted to write an extra post, an extra time-out in honor of NYC sports and the Knicks impossible win.

Go New York, Go New York, Go!