This is like "Frank Sinatra Has A Cold", but for the Knicks, and from the New York Post. After 500 melodramatic words about Stoudemire's struggles this year, Mike Vaccaro goes even deeper.
This is killing Stoudemire, the one who said "yes" to the Knicks when so many others said "no," who wanted to be a Knick when it became cool to be a Knick again. You can tell so many of his teammates respect him, revere him, because they know how much all of this means to him, matters to him.
"Hey, BD," he yelled. "You got any lotion?"
"If I did, it’d be yours," Baron Davis said.
"Naw, kid," Landry Fields said. "Sorry."
Do they all share his darkness right now, his disappointment, his frustration? Most of them seem to ... there is no escaping who carries the hearts and minds in this room.
Don't you see?
His teammates want to help, but they can't.
There's so much MEANING in that dry skin, man.
The laughter had ceased, the idle chatter softened. There was a bus to catch, and a plane, another game ahead, another city, another chance for the Knicks to prove that New York wasn’t duped into handing its heart back to them a few weeks ago. A Knicks official finally found him some lotion in a hotel-sized vial.
"Let’s go," he said, and he was gone, out the door...
In the NBA, where some have been known to spend $1,800 on lotion, others will spend a lifetime chafing against fate. Or they'll have to settle for hotel brand moisturizer. Maybe that's worse.
This might be the greatest thing anyone's ever written about the Knicks.