"0-0"

Thank You

I am not an emotional person, never have been. Growing up I was always conditioned to never swing too high, never sink too low. That philosophy carries both gifts and curses. I move on from mistakes quickly, and I don’t believe in setbacks. To me every goal is possible if you push towards it, despite potential road blocks. The other side of that coin, however, has proven more complicated to address: accomplishments without personal recognition. I don't celebrate much of anything. Over the past few years, I haven’t even been able to acknowledge my own birthday (I really should). There is always another mountain, and I already move toward it before the last one has been appreciated. That is my core thought process, and yes, it sounds insane.

For the longest time, sports were the sole exception to my detachment, but even then, I only ever felt the stings. Romanticizing moments has never come naturally to me. Yet, envisioning the final buzzer and hearing Mike Breen’s voice announce that the New York Knicks are NBA champions brought me right back to the few vivid feelings I've allowed myself to have. I remember coming home from school to find out Kristaps Porzingis had been traded (I was 14 years old so I hated it). I remember sitting through every game of the dismal 17-win season, joking with my brother that we were watching for the development of Kevin Knox and Frank Ntilikina. I remember watching from a hotel room in Florida as Carmelo Anthony’s Knicks fell to the Indiana Pacers in 2013, and standing on the verge of tears in my grandmother’s living room when Kevin Durant and Kyrie Irving chose the Brooklyn Nets. Those heartbreaks are etched into my memory; I know exactly where I was for each one. But for once, I felt emotional for a different reason. I watched, from my grandparents' house, as the Knicks captured their third franchise championship. My grandfather remembers watching Walt "Clyde" Frazier and Willis Reed win it all, twice. He was 23 years old the last time the Knicks were champions, practically the same age I am now. That thought scares me, but it also reminds me not to take a single moment of this joy for granted, and to share that with him 53 years later, was special.

From a work perspective, I have never poured this much of myself into a single project, and to be rewarded like this makes me feel extraordinarily lucky. I watched 204 games this season, logging all 3,710 opponent pick-and-rolls and 8,383 half-court possessions. As a researcher and chemist, my day job already takes a heavy toll, often keeping me in a lab for days at a time. Yet, I still carved out the hours to watch and log every single play before the next game arrived. Some nights were more difficult than others. Back in November, I had thoughts of stopping entirely. When you go to college, and your parents are shelling out money to give you an education, watching guys play basketball for hours on end breeds a heavy sense of guilt. You know the extra load it’s putting on your schedule. It is a massive time commitment. In the end, I had to remind myself why I do this: for the fans, and for myself. I love basketball, and I want to share it with the most passionate fanbase in sports. Even when it gets a bit crazy, I know that energy comes from a place of pure passion, a shared desire to see this team succeed. I know a season ending like this won’t always be the outcome. But man, was it worth it. This stands as one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done, and I will continue as long as I am able.

In a way, I see myself in the hurdles this team had to clear to reach this moment. In my own life, I have always started at “0-0.” There is never any rest, and there is a quiet sense of desperation I carry whether I acknowledge it or not. I know what it feels like to wrestle with imposter syndrome. There are times I genuinely don’t know if I am good enough, and on the rare days I feel like I am, I wonder if it will ever truly be enough. These are battles I face often. But coming out the other side of this season, I feel more accomplished than I have in a long time. The internal voices are still there. They tell me I can do this better, be better, push further. I try not to listen. I try to remind myself that I am my own harshest critic. I almost didn’t post any of this; it felt self-indulgent, even selfish, to make any part of this story about me. Then I think about the people rooting for me, not just in this project, but in everything, and I want to make them proud. More importantly, I want to make myself proud.

Life doesn’t hand out championships. It’s one long never ending marathon. But you need to stop and honor the moments that feel like one. This one certainly does.