The New York Knicks defeated the Philadelphia 76ers 112-109 yesterday, a win familiar for anyone who has ever sat on the edge of their bed at the end of a long day of getting a small child through shopping and vaccinations and missed naps and vegetables and vomiting and felt that peculiar buzz that’s a mix of adrenaline and apathy. The Sixers are the closest thing the Knicks have to a heated rivalry, especially when the teams play at Madison Square Garden West, especially especially when Joel Embiid
is healthy and Embidding. At least he was half of the time — the very definition of Embiiding.
Believe it or not, we’re now nearing a decade of Embiid vs. Mitchell Robinson, who still gets as juiced for this matchup as he did his rookie year. Good thing he does, and that he played as well as he did, because the Knicks needed it with Karl-Anthony Towns still rabbit-holing down his one-man magical mystery tour. After five fouls each in four of the last five games, KAT went all “Have thy will, I am the love that dare not speak its name” with foul number six and finally gave in to temptation, fouling out after 16 minutes of play so bizarre they’d leave Kafka pissing his pants. Once Robinson checked in, the Knicks went on a 12-0 run.
“From a certain point onward,” Kafka wrote, “there is no longer any turning back. That is the point that must be reached.” Mitch was that point.
As Ryan Ruocco reminded the viewers every three minutes, when Embiid is at the top of his game the 76ers are a team every team must fear. Outside of San Antonio, how many teams have a truly unguardable two-way big man? If Embiid is still playing in June, he’s one of maybe four people alive the Thunder don’t have an answer for, along with Victor Wembanyama, Nikola Jokić and Kevin Durant, mysteries for whom neither God nor math offer answers. Peak Embiid is 28 points in 17 first-half minutes without breaking stride, like the Knicks endured Saturday.
As I repeated to Ruocco every three minutes via my TV screen — loudly and profanely late in the first half, when I was hungry and the Sixers took the lead; softer and smarmy most of the second, after mac and cheese and the Knicks resuming control — “‘Embiid’s good!’ isn’t news.” Despite his history with the Knicks, he’s easily one of my favorite players to watch play against them — a real marvel. The playoffs are way better when he’s a meaningful part of them. And yet to ignore the other shoe, the one everyone’s waiting for to drop, is to be a fool. And now is no time for fools. Be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.
After playing only six of Philadelphia’s first 18 games, never more than 26 minutes, yesterday was the 16th time in his last 19 games Embiid’s played 30+. In just over three weeks, he’s played 36+ five times. Last time he played that many in that short a span? Twenty-one months ago. Remember?
In the first half Embiid was the good boyfriend, stroking your hair, using the soft voice he did when you first met, when he first swept you off your feet. He finally met with your uncle for that job interview; it went really well. Why’s he so sweaty? He’s working out again. He’s even seeing a therapist. Things are gonna be different. Then one day he isn’t answering your texts, not since the night before, after he came home sweaty, long past when the gym closed. You’re missing some cash.
Ariel Hukporti fell on his knee. It could have been any number of things, could have happened to anybody. That’s what makes it human. But it’s always something, always happening to the same person. That’s what makes it Embiid.
Embiid played a part in Philly’s last stand, but looked to be laboring through it. For much of the endgame the Knicks played without a center and looked none the worse for it, though Embiid’s partial brilliance might have been enough to knock the Knicks off on a night Towns, Mikal Bridges and Miles McBride went 8-of-31. But there’s one advantage the Knicks enjoy over their fellow Boston-hating East Coast metropolis: OG Anunoby. Whether his flurry of first-half dunks or late game heroics on both ends, Anunoby, if not/alongside Mitch, was the player of the game. His fake swing pass as V.J. Edgecombe came flying at him led to a bounce pass to Landry Shamet in the corner showed the sublime ease of a perfect panenka.
When you sit at the high-rollers table, where the Knicks now do, how you win means less than how much. 85% of New York’s victories this season have been by 5+ points, including six by 20+. Detroit? 75% and five. Who cares? The Pistons have won 32 games, period, while the Knicks have 26. That’s the only number that matters, at least until they all re-set in April.
41 wins matters when you’re up and coming. 50 matters when some dreams have come true and others remain. When you’re the Knicks in January 2026, it’s all about winding your way through 82 games, then winning 16 more. Nobody cares how, or by how much.
Quoth iwamofo: “Fugly win.” It was. This one was never in jeopardy and never in the bag, for either team. When it ended I felt empty, tired, and joyless — but not hopeless. Every day like that is a win. Like the Knicks, all I can do today is win the games I’m in, then do it again tomorrow, every day, long as I can, long as it takes. You too, loves.
