P&T Top Ten: Number 2 - Patrick Ewing

venerableseed — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 12:26:57 -0000

Editor's Note: Here's venerableseed with our runner-up in the P&T Top Ten. Regarding seed's snazzy alignment of pictures, I'd like to quote Allen Iverson from the immortal film Like Mike: "How'd he do dat!?"

During the summer of 1994 Patrick Ewing and I worked in the same building. Most mornings we arrived at the same time. My route trudged up the steady incline of Prospect Street, through the large Georgetown University parking lot, into McDonough Gymnasium, past the imposing locked doors of the Hoyas' practice basketball court, past the 1984 NCAA Championship trophy and into the Sports Information Office.

My parking lot walk often crossed paths with a top-of-the-line black Mercedes S-Class vehicle. Its midnight black window tints promised anonymity but everyone knew the driver's identity: Patrick Ewing. I usually waved and smiled at my University's second most famous graduate. On some days I was sure that through the tints he was waving back.

It couldn't have been an easy summer for #33. His Knicks had just lost Game 7 in Houston. John Starks. 2-18. 0-11. So close. As he saw me wave maybe he wondered, "Could that have been my only chance for a NBA title? What had just happened?" Maybe he was thinking about Hakeem Olajuwon, the man he had defeated to win that trophy encased in the the building he was about to enter. Maybe he was thinking about being up 3-2, about the missed free throws, the missed jumpers. Maybe he thought, "Why didn't I take over Game 7? Was it my fault? Why wasn't our 110% good enough? Could I have worked harder?"

When he got out of his car his day's work would begin again. He had been here every summer since graduation to train and work on his game. It was his home. Alonzo, Dikembe, Othella, Big John. They would be arriving at the gym today as well. It was time to get to work. This was where his legend began and where it was fostered. When Patrick arrived on campus thirteen summers prior, Coach Thompson knew he had a future star. This young man from Kingston, Jamaica via Boston Rindge and Latin High School was his first super-recruit, a once-in-a-generation talent, a basketball wunderkind.

Coach focused his steadfast ferocity and created the greatest defensive college center of all time. Had Patrick had his way, no shot would have entered the basket during his first NCAA Final. Goaltends, blocks, rejections. They all would have been swatted away; they all would have disappeared. There would be two more NCAA Finals just as there would be two more NBA Finals. There would be success, there would be failure.

Perhaps while inside McDonough Gym Patrick recalled his freshman year. How reporters swarmed him, how Coach protected him, how his popularity insisted that his games be moved from these humble quarters to the Capital Centre. Every game was to be a road game whether it was the 30-minute trek to Landover or to the harsh confines of the Big East's big city arenas. The road fans always hurled repulsive insults and racial threats. They carried sick, disgusting, taunting signs. But there was always home: McDonough Gym. He would always come back.

The learning never ended. Whether it was Fine Arts or the fine art of basketball or life. The learning came here. The perfect baseline fadeaway jumper, the brush strokes on a canvas, the unstoppable jump hook, religion classes, the two(three)-step top-of-the-key drop step post moves, the adaptation, the preparation, the understandings, the life lessons.

Patrick stayed at Georgetown for four years. There was no need. The NBA had a reserved place for him. He would have been the number one draft pick in 1982, 1983, and 1984 just as he was in 1985. He would have been picked ahead of Worthy, 'Nique, Sampson, Barkley, Olajuwon, Jordan. But he stayed. During that time his son Patrick, Jr. was born. Today, he too, has returned. Returned to play for the Hoyas. Returned and wearing #33. His physical similarities are spooky. His body movements mimic his father's; he carries himself like our hero.

Pat Jr. accompanied his father to McDonough many times that 1994 summer. Sometimes when the gym doors opened I could see them working together. The old master sharing his knowledge, sharing his home.

Knick fans embraced Patrick Ewing before the lottery envelope was even opened. It didn't matter that he was St. John's University's #1 enemy, he was now ours. Our messiah, our championship provider. I immediately cut his in-Knick-uniform Sports Illustrated cover and glued it to my bedroom wall. The NBA Draft would be on my 11th birthday, June 18, 1985; the best birthday present ever. The fabled days of Willis, Bradley, Clyde, DeBusschere, Barnett, and Red were returning. Those too young to know these glorious days would soon have their own legends. How could our plan go wrong? Ewing the Warrior was now a Knick.

Maybe it was the anticipation. Maybe it was the bad GM moves. Maybe it was the stream of hired gun veteran pre-playoff pickups that never produced. Maybe it was the brawl in Miami. Maybe it was Michael Jordan. Maybe it was just bad luck. But the title never came and neither did the acceptance. Madison Square Garden was never home like McDonough Gym had been.

In 2000, he asked to be traded and the Knicks obliged. The Knicks' salary cap and future prospects have been cursed ever since. Loyalty counts and the basketball gods refuse to smile on us. Patrick should never have been a Sonic, should never have been a Magic, should never have coached with the Wizards or in dreaded Houston. And today he should not be coaching in Orlando. He should be a Knick. It's the only way we can ever lift the Ewing trade curse.

Still, we Knick fans don't embrace him like he deserves. In this website's poll we placed him as our second favorite Knick of the past 25 years. Behind John Starks. Behind John Starks. I too am guilty. While voting, I only remembered the what might have beens. But now I'm remembering the what weres. I'm remembering his tenacious commitment, his class, and his strength. His scoring championship, his determination, his corner jumper, the dope Ewing sneakers, his two Olympic gold medals, the fear he struck in other teams, his inclusion in the 50 Greatest Players of All Time, the jersey retiring ceremony. Next year I will remember his Hall of Fame speech.

I'm remembering the arguments with my friends, "No, that move is not a walk. Er, well, if it is than it's less than what your Michael Jordan gets away with." I'm remembering that every year I believed that the Knicks were going to win the championship. Not because I had blind faith but because Patrick's attitude told me that they would.

In August of 1994 my dad came to DC to visit. I took him to McDonough Gym to introduce him to my co-workers, to show him where I spent my days, and to show him the Hoyas' trophies. We turned the hallway corner and there was Patrick Ewing walking towards us. I said hello and my dad reached out his hand. "It's great to meet you," he said. "I've been a Knick fan my whole life and I just want to thank you for what you've done. Good luck next year." Patrick responded with a glow in his eyes, "Thanks, I really appreciate that."

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P&T Top Ten: Number 2 - Patrick Ewing