Famously Futile

(Note: First time writer today, posting on one of our favorite topics. If you're wondering why Steve Francis doesn't appear on the list below, the author mentioned that he hadn't yet formed a solid opinion of the Franchise given that he's been non-existent on the court in his brief Knicks tenure. Besides, as far as Drew's concerned, Stevie Franchise is nothing more to the Knicks than trade bait. Enjoy.)

If I were to tell you about my history as a Knick endorser, I'm sure it would be no different than the turmoil-beset tales of any other New Yorker who's suffered through those lousy Mets (Old Mets, New Mets, whatever), dem Bum Dodgers or, more recently, them Damn Yankees.

No matter how much abuse we get from our sports teams, however, it doesn't change the fact that as New Yorkers, we've all got big dreams. That goes for everyone on the socio-economic ladder; for the working class as much as for the guys with white collars, this is a city of expectations.

Our sanitation workers and blue-collar heroes can expect a healthy pension and six-figure homes in the outer boroughs with hard work and diligent civil service. Our out-of-work actors can expect to make it to off-Broadway shows, reality television notoriety, and local commercial spots.

But a part of me will always feel as if my ambitions are higher, that my goals should be respected, that no man can stand in my way. It stands to reason that my sports team (the Knickerbockers) should also embody this ethic.

This year: no dice. I have chosen not to browbeat the young squad, however, because I liken their growing pains to my own. I've yet to accomplish some of my more basic goals despite the stat-stuffin' potential I've been endowed with, but I know the time will come.

For now then I'll ease up on the Boys and let them become men under the pretext of patience. The Knicks have only matched the mediocrity and undue hype of our post-millennium city. No Y2K disaster befell us, the MTA is as shitty as ever for MORE money and the nightlife's been reduced to janky Midwest transplants smoking stogies on the Lower East Side with tight shirts as their only shelter.

Now you're starting to see just how much the Knicks fit into our skyline/byline.

I'll start with the more promising Knicks and work my way down to the dregs so you'll see what I mean.

Stephon Marbury: I don't know what is a sadder story. Is it that Starbury has already reached the peak of his success (his story emulated in Spike Lee's He Got Game) or that TWO... count TWO... point guards have been able to take former Steph projects to unforeseen success (Nash with the Phoenix Suns and Kidd with the lowly Nets)?

Or is that the Iverson comparisons have all but vanished as A.I. builds his argument for Hall of Fame balloting while Stephon complains about "intentional" fouls to injure his shoulder and the limitations placed on him by his coach?

I can't even begin to explain how much this guy's career has plummeted. But to his credit, the stamp of underachiever usually means you've been bestowed with those 'expectations' I spoke of earlier. He has never dipped below the 15 point, 7 assist mark...at least not until anti-offense Long Island Larry came to town.

He has never let the critics deter him from taking it strong to the basket and risking his reputation for the good of the team. He has never stopped wanting to win and doing his best to sort through winning techniques. It must addle Mr. Marbury that success has eluded him so, and even when he's languishing on the bench, I can see that in his eyes.

That's why I love him. He is the Coney Island kid who's hype carried so far that his cousin got drafted on it. Watch out for him. He's not done.

Jalen Rose: As soon as I heard he was unhappy in Toronto, I knew he'd be a Knick (more on this theme later). The Fab Fiver has also, arguably, seen the pinnacle of his hardwood days. During his Pacers stint under Brown, he was a quick-shooting southpaw guard/forward who created problems for defenders, defended other guards, and provided a real threat alongside f*cking Reggie Miller.

But, it was also during this time that the press and Rose developed a strained relationship. Like most good players stifled by Brown's tactics, he wanted more shots and to feel accepted as one of the league's stars.

That never happened and he always resented it. My guess is he became disillusioned with basketball and played only for the contract, hoping his game might someday receive the spotlight it deserved.

Here he is. Let's go Jalen. I've seen that dribble-pull-up of yours and I know you can. Let's go.

Jamal Crawford: From what I hear, he's a great guy: a real joker around friends, generous with family and lover of the Game.

But what could be more 2000's New York than a Seattle prep basketball star who played at Michigan (after the NCAA ban), was drafted to Chicago (after Jordan) and became a star in his own right in unfavorable situations? It's like the indie bands who come from Wisconsin and Iowa, where they saw some success, to take Williamsburg by storm because their fun fans pack it up to see them no matter where they go.

That's Jamal.

When he scored 51 as a Bull, I said, "that kid's good but the 50-point game is going to be fool's gold." Who else to invest in the pyrite market but Isiah Thomas?

Crawford fought with Kirk Hinrich for minutes at the one-two position before deciding he should just take the Game by his lonesome and hope some team might notice. Oh, we noticed. He has incredible talent and handles for DAYS, but I've yet to see him create a good shot for a teammate.

He will start to "get it" under LB, if only because he might need to audition for another team -- a team that doesn't care a lick about defense or good shots. Maybe, he'll have a Seattle homecoming. If so, it's been nice Jamal.

Quentin Richardson: Let's put it this way, on NBA.com his marriage to Brandy is listed among Career Highlights/Notes. This darling factoid sums up his worth in the league. Either that is his claim to fame or the stupid little hands-to-head gang symbol that he and buddy Darius Miles use to signify their ineffectiveness.

I don't know what's worse than a shooter who can't shoot. Maybe a dunker who can't dunk like Darvin Ham? Or a rebounder who can't rebound like Greg Ostertag?

I can't say I've much hope for him but he does represent the lost L.A.'er in New York, clinging to Tinseltown glitter amid smelly subway steam.

Eddy Curry: Even after spending all night trying to come up with a heart failure joke, none come to mind. I pity him for wanting to play a game that he's not even respected for playing.

He should have taken Chicago's money because it's the closest thing a Black man would've had to reparations since O.J. got acquitted. They offered him a salary of 500K-a-year to stop playing. I don't know what's sweeter than that.

Wait! It's playing at the Garden where everyone gets a contract and the boos reign/rain.

Jerome James: As soon as he showed up in the playoffs of 2004 with the Sonics, I knew he'd be a Knick. We haven't had a good Big Man since Patrick and we're like drug addicts looking for a fix when it comes to one. (You sure this is good stuff man? C'mon maaan, this is my last five-spot so this better be your best stuff!)

David Lee/Channing Frye/Nate Robinson: The jury's still out on these guys because I can see the effort. Frye will be the best pro as a jump-shooting PF.

And there you have it. These players aren't unlike Andrew Ricketts. They have all seen praise and been in the company of success. Now is their (my) time to prove all the scouts right and the naysayers wrong. I got you, fellas.

Drew Ricketts