Favorite Also-Rans: 1999-00 New York Knicks

This is the first of a series of columns about teams who always competed, but never quite had enough to win a title. Since apparently it’s Knicks week on Three-1, I’m starting with them.

To quote Dave Chappelle: Surprise, bitches! You didn’t think I liked a Knicks team, did you? And if I was going to write about one, you thought it’d be the Patrick Ewing-Charles Oakley-Anthony Mason-John Starks Knicks that gave Jordan so much trouble and got demolished by the Rockets in 1994. No. They played that awful Pat Riley defense where they took cheap shots while not scoring. It was as physical as football and low-scoring as baseball. And did I mention Pat Riley and John Starks? So with apologies to Charles Oakley and only Charles Oakley, no. I don’t feel sentimental about that team.

This team featured Patrick Ewing, Latrell Sprewell, Allan Houston, Larry Johnson, Kurt Thomas, and Marcus Camby, as well as Chris Dudley, a career 45% free throw shooter-turned-politician. Charlie Ward and Chris Childs ran the point competently. Both had relatively low assist totals, but it’s difficult to rack up assists on a team who relies on one-on-one players like Sprewell, Johnson, and Ewing.

This is was still Ewing’s team. He put up 17-10 at age 36 while Spree and Houston each averaged 16. There were questions as to how those two would fit together, but they had a great scorer-shooter dynamic. Houston shot 41% on threes and Spree was still quick enough to take anyone off the dribble. LJ, while not being nearly as explosive as he was earlier in his career, could still shoot well in the clutch and was fourth on the team in scoring.

It’s hard to say why I’m so sentimental about this team. My first introduction to Spree as a youngster was when he choked coach P.J. Carlesimo during a Golden State Warriors practice, leading to a calendar year suspension (later reduced to 68 games). You’re not supposed to like coach-chokers, and I didn’t like Spree. I didn’t like LJ, either—I was 12, and associated him with a loathsome generation of baggy-shorts wearing, crotch-grabbing, self-centered assholes who were sullying the game. Never mind the fact that I myself was wearing baggy shirts and pants over Air Jordans all the time—LJ wasn’t a “team guy” or a “winner.”

To be fair, LJ wasn’t necessarily a team guy, and he never won anything. The point here is that he and his swag-ladened game and swag-ladened UNLV teams set the stage for the Allen Iverson era, SLAM magazine (of which he was the first cover), the embrace of hip-hop culture, and eventually, the dress code. Not exactly bad things—I don’t care how problematic the dress code is, it’s led to Carmelo Anthony dressing like Scrooge McDuck. There are two arguments about LJ: the basketball one (career 16-7.5 while shooting 48-33-77 and never winning anything is pretty mediocre) and the racial one.

I’ve already said Larry was a big (6’6” and 250 pounds, like a bigger, more athletic, and less skilled Charles Barkley), he was scary, and he was black (still is). He was the Knicks’ biggest adversary in Eddie, but honestly, who gives a shit about Eddie? He was in Space Jam, which is way more important, and gestured towards a racial discussion (Bill Murray: Mike, do you think I have a shot in the NBA? Michael Jordan: No. Murray: Is it because I’m white? Jordan: No. Larry’s white. Murray: Larry’s not white. Larry’s clear). But LJ is most famous for his “Grandmama” series of ads, where he plays an Old Colored Lady type while reciting a version of “There Was An Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe” and dunking all over said shoe. It was super iconic and the nickname “Grandmama” (for my white readers, the emphasis goes on the second ‘ma’) stuck throughout his career. But putting powerful black men in a dress is a quick and easy way of making them less threatening. Don’t believe me? Here’s a quick story about Converse:

Their initial idea for a campaign was to have LJ on a gurney, all covered up. Then, they were going to have Magic Johnson and Larry Bird (already Converse wearers), were going to say, “We finally did it. We created the perfect basketball player. Now what should we call him?” Then Legend would say “Larry” and Magic would say “Johnson” and they would argue back and forth until Larry Johnson emerged from the table. Then, when Converse finally called, they said they were putting him in a wig and dress. According to LJ, he’d already taken money and bought his mother a house. Thus begat Grandmama.

Why go on this long tangent? Because LJ and Spree were awesome. Spree played with such immeasurable swagger and seemed to love the Madison Square Garden scene so much that it was impossible not to cheer for him. Allan Houston was so clutch, I don’t remember him not making every shot he needed to make. I remember loving Marcus Camby for his athletic shot blocking and Chris Dudley because he looked like some guy who only played because he was too tall to merely coach a YMCA rec league team.

This was a team that was a constant rival for my Bulls. They went 27-23 in a lockout-shortened, post-MJ tragedy of a season. They beat an Alonzo Mourning-Tim Hardaway-Jamal Mashburn-Dan Marjele Heat team in the first round, a Steve Smith-Mookie Blaylock-Dikembe Mutombo Hawks team in the second, and a Reggie Miller-Rik Smits-Jalen Rose-Chris Mullin-Mark Jackson-Davis Bros-Fred Hoiberg Pacers team in the conference finals. Without Patrick Ewing, they lost to the David Robinson-Tim Duncan Spurs in five games (the team I latched onto post-MJ). It was a hell of a run, nobody liked them, and nobody believed in them. They get swallowed up in legend talks: the Ewing-Starks-Oakley-Mason Knicks get all the 2k glory. I’ll never play with that team. But throw the Houston-Sprewell Knicks on a video game? They’ll supplant the (Spoiler for the next Also-Ran Column alert) Gary Payton-Shawn Kemp Sonics as my non-Bulls go-to.

1999 Knicks, you couldn’t raise a banner, but here’s a Three-1 gun salute.