One Euphoric Night In The City Of OG Anunoby

The sounds coming out of me were causing the sleeping baby to stir, so I had to remove myself from the premises. But I had just seen the hand of god steal Game 4 in the greatest comeback in NBA Finals history, giving the New York Knicks a 3-1 series lead, and I was in a city full of fellow witnesses making similarly feral sounds. Earlier in the fourth quarter, while the San Antonio Spurs' lead over the Knicks hovered around 15, I laid catatonic on the sofa during a timeout; my wife was threatening to tell my friends that I had almost drifted asleep during my team's Finals run. At that juncture, I was mentally steeling myself for a tied series and trying to look at the bright spots in this loss: Jalen Brunson finally found some freedom, and the dual point guard lineups I'd clamored for allowed Jose Alvarado to shoulder some of the ball-handling. Soon enough I was on all fours, slapping the floor, laughing hysterically. There was movement on the baby monitor. Cans from the fridge, then off into the howling night. I have been watching every Finals game of this series in my own home, sober as OG Anunoby in a franchise-altering moment, too anxious to enter society. My broadcast stream Wednesday night had a tiny delay. Until I turned up the sound on my TV to mask it, the ambient roar of my city kept giving me a sneak preview of future elation—which is fun, like how people might read the Wikipedia entry for a horror movie they’re about to watch. Clawing out of a 29-point hole is basically a horror movie in reverse.