It Me and My Large Adult Sons

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The Knicks are in turmoil. That’s an evergreen comment, yes. But it’s as true now as ever before.

We’re 24 hours from the trade deadline with multiple outcomes and zero direction. A Derrick Rose-for-Ricky Rubio trade is on the table, yet feels to good to be true. Kyle O’Quinn is reportedly being shopped for a first round pick, which is such a preposterous ask that I’m worried it actually means the Knicks are giving away their own first round pick in a Kyle O’Quinn trade. Our two best realistic trade assets — Justin Holiday on an expiring who would be a solid bench add for a lot of contenders and Courtney Lee on a nice contract who could help any of the top contenders as a veteran three-and-D wing, both of whom could net a decent draft pick in return — aren’t being shopped at all. And of course there’s Melo. Will he be traded? Would he drop his No-Trade Clause for that team? Does anyone even care anymore?

Add all that in with the ongoing Dolan-Oakley feud and Phil’s twitter theatrics and, well… folks… things aren’t great.

But there is hope. There is hope in the form of my two large adult sons. Our two large adult sons. Who are now two large adult licensed drivers in the state of New York.


The state of New York, where they will play their entire careers as brothers and best friends and the most dominant frontcourt duo this league has ever seen. Carmelo will eventually leave to play with his Banana Boat friends. Phil will eventually retire to live out his days on peyote in Montana. And James Dolan will eventually be (*redacted for legal reasons).

And what’s left will be my large adult children. The two pillars of the franchise. The new twin towers, if you will. Kristaps Dishing and Swishing from behind the arc. Willy Posting and Toasting on the lower block. Both our sons Bounding and Astounding on the glass and Slicing and Dicing to the hoop off the pass from point forward and defensive player of the year Josh Jackson. Swooping and Hooping their way to multiple titles.

And me, the proud father, beaming ear to ear from my courtside seats once occupied by that tyrannical dunce James Dolan, as we raise banners number 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7.

Yes, I can see it all now.

This has been another edition of Knicks Fan Fiction from Ham, Volume 3481. See you back here next week after the Rubio trade falls through and I start dreaming of frozen envelopes and watching hours of Markelle Fultz youtube highlights. Thanks for reading.

*Forced to sell the team. What did you think I meant? You guys are sick. 

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