SAN ANTONIO — The unmistakable smell of cigar smoke is wafting about the corridor leading directly to the visitor’s locker room at Frost Bank Center. Beneath the smoke scent are the citrus and mineral notes of champagne. The locker room itself resembles a crime scene: Here lie the Spurs, laid to rest by the New York Knicks. Plastic drapes cover the locker stalls. Empty bottles — Ace of Spades, Moet & Chandon and Michelob Ultra — are scattered across the table in the center of a room far too small for such a life-sized occasion.
Champagne drips from the ceiling. It has splattered all over the visitor’s locker room. Ultimately, it pools beneath the feet of those assessing the crime scene in the aftermath of New York City’s greatest sporting accomplishment in 53 years.
Before the cigars lit and the champagne bottles popped, before the celebration ever took place, assistant coach Rick Brunson and his son, Knicks captain, champion and Finals MVP Jalen Brunson embraced and shared a moment on the championship court. The father to the King of New York City then fielded questions from a group of reporters, one of whom asked him to share the details of his conversation with his son.
“What they gonna say now?” Rick Brunson said before walking off.
Nothing.
There’s nothing left to say about the best team in Knicks history, and perhaps the greatest player to ever wear orange and blue.
* * *
Ariel Hukporti is crying his eyes out. He just played the most impactful two minutes of his two-year NBA career, moonlighting for Karl-Anthony Towns in foul trouble and Mitchell Robinson in free throw purgatory. But the war is over. The final buzzer has sounded. The New York Knicks are champions.
And as a result, Hukporti is a champion. He walks off the Frost Bank floors onto the carpet littered with NBA Finals design.
“I thought this was a seven-game series?” He wondered out loud. “I thought they said Spurs in seven?”
Moments later, Hukporti emerged from the corridors leading to the locker room. He clanked two champagne bottles together a la prime Stone Cold Steve Austin.
“Let’s get this party f–king started,” he said.
Several minutes later, he’s trailing Landry Shamet, the reliable Knicks sharpshooter still trying to stay level-headed. Hukporti is trying to turn Shamet up several notches.
“Let’s just keep going,” Shamet said.
“Nah, f–k that,” Hukporti responded. “We’re champions now.”
Then, he looks at the Daily News writer.
“You, too,” said Hukporti. “You’re a champion now, too.”
* * *
It’s 2:04 a.m. Jalen Brunson has already left the remnants of Frost Bank’s visitor’s locker room: “I’ve gotta get the f–k outta there,” he said calmly making his great escape as NBA Finals MVP.
Shortly after, the words “Oh my God,” echo throughout the corridors. It can only be one person: Karl-Anthony Towns, who has forgotten how to stuff his Louis Vuitton duffel bag.
“How am I gonna do this?” He said aloud. “That s–t heavy. That’s why I workout! That’s why I workout!”
Towns is struggling because he is in possession of the Larry O’Brien trophy. The Larry O.B. The NBA Finals trophy each Knicks figure will spend time with before retiring it at a team facility.
“I’m putting this s–t next to the bed for when I’m getting it in,” Towns said. His ensuing words were unfit for inclusion in this story.
Only minutes earlier, as Towns left the locker room, head coach Mike Brown and OG Anunoby shared a long hug and several words. Years ago, Brown attempted to recruit Anunoby to the Nigerian National Basketball team. Fast forward a couple years and the two have united in orange and blue. Anunoby was the savior of Game 4, tipping in a Brunson miss for a go-ahead two with 1.2 seconds left on the clock. In Game 5, his numbers were limited by early foul trouble. But the impact was undeniable.
“That’s what makes you special,” Brown told Anunoby. “You guard [De’Aaron] Fox. You guard Wemby [Victor Wembanyama]. You guard everybody in-between.”
* * *
“Come on, pops! Come on, pops! Pops, let’s go!”
Jose Alvarado’s father has waited an entire lifetime for a moment like this. And now his son’s success is his own. Alvarado wears the Puerto Rican flag cascaded around his shoulders as he leaves the court and heads towards the locker room.
Moments later, the Knicks backup point guard has forgotten how to walk: “Oh my God, I am f–ked up right now,” he said, regaining his composure after briefly losing balance.
Kevin McCullar Jr. was one of few Knicks remaining in the locker room after the celebration. A sea of reporters await him, an accessory to the crime revisiting the crime scene.
McCullar only answered one question: What was the best part of the celebration?
“Popping bottles,” he deadpanned, shortly before making his great escape with a box the unmistakable green hue of Patron tequila.
The alcoholic beverages are flowing en-masse. The Knicks, after all, are champions — and champions celebrate accordingly: Trey Jemison III is carting off an entire box of D’usse cognac.
Dillon Jones can’t believe it: He’s a back-to-back NBA champion — first with the Oklahoma City Thunder last year, now on a two-way contract with the Knicks.
:“This s–t is so unreal. It don’t even make sense,” Jones said outside the locker room. “The NBA champions. F–king insane. I don’t even know what to say.”
And then comes Mohamed Diawara, the rookie the Knicks selected in the second round last season. Diawara is cool and collected with shades covering his eyes — until he knocks his luggage over into the middle of the floor.
“I don’t drink guys,” he said. “I definitely don’t drink. Never that.”
* * *
Of course Josh Hart has to get his jokes off. He’s drinking his own Kool Aid — literally: an iced-out all-blue bottle of Patron with a depiction of Hart shooting a jump shot and the words “Hart of the city” etched along the side. He’s watching a video of Anunoby celebrate becoming an NBA champion at the final buzzer. Anunoby vaults the basketball into the air, but it is more of a line drive than a toss into the sky.
“OG throwing the ball was so trash,” Hart joked. “You know how n—-s be throwing the ball to celebrate? This n—a threw a rocket.”
Hart then spent at least a half hour if not longer in an area adjacent to the locker room, alongside Hukporti and McBride, taking calls ostensibly from loved ones.
Then Worldwide Wes barges into the room. He tells Hukporti: “You chased that big motherf–ker out of the paint!”
Moments earlier, Tyler Kolek coined a new name for the new team to beat in basketball.
“Champ Cheese!” He shouted three times. A Knicks public relations staffer stopped Kolek, who was wearing a fur coat, and asked him if he’s an NBA champion.
“Are you an NBA champ?” Kolek responded. “Champ cheese!”
All the while, Jordan Clarkson is attempting to recruit one of the Spurs’ security guards and ushers. Clarkson’s leather pants are sagging well below the safe range, but he is an NBA champion. Clarkson can do as he pleases. And on this day, he wants to poach one of San Antonio’s elder staffers.
“OG, you gon be here next year,” he said. “But next year, you gonna be here with us. And we’re gonna come right back to this locker room and do it all again.”
