I’ve been taking walks for the express purpose of spotting a goldfinch. Of my many superstitions, one is that seeing a goldfinch is good luck. Another is that finding a wheat penny is good luck. The wheat penny thing started in college, when one of my friends noticed that a penny from his pocket had stalks of wheat on the tails side. Later that day he hooked up with someone he’d had a crush on, so we decided those old pennies with the wheat on the back were good luck.
On April 30, my son and I went
for a walk around the neighborhood and spotted a penny in the street. I don’t usually pick up coins, but I thought it would be funny if this one, on this day, happened to be a wheat penny, and it was. I swear to god I’m not making that up. I shouted so loud I scared my kid a little bit. You might remember what else happened on April 30.
I’ve also decided it’s a fortuitous exercise to revisit past heartbreaks. I forced myself to rewatch the finishes of both Tyrese Games – Maxey ‘24 and Haliburton ‘25. When I watched Game 1 of the 2025 Eastern Conference Finals live, I was at a bar in the Financial District with some work friends, so I got the idea that for Game 1 of this year’s Eastern Conference Finals, we should go back to the same bar and sit at the same table, to reverse the luck. I’ve tried to explain the eeriness of the ensuing outcome to other people, but only you will understand.
Think about it. Ridiculous comeback, strange bounce in the final minute, overtime victory: Game 1 of the 2026 ECF was a mirror image of Game 1 of the 2025 ECF! Come on! So of course I’m watching Game 1 of the NBA Finals with my friend Max at his apartment. Because I love him, but also because I watched Game 1 of the 2021 Knicks-Hawks series at his apartment, and that was an absolute killer. Gonna try to pull the mirror trick on that one, too.
The hardest part of being a fan is the helplessness. It’s so stupid to care so deeply about something over which you have no control. Superstition, for me, is play-acting control. I know these little totems and tics and tasks won’t change a Knicks outcome, but … well, now that I’ve thought of it, I might as well do it. What if I DON’T do it and the Knicks get a bad lottery pick? Then I’d worry it was my fault.
It was almost always lottery picks, by the way, back when I was blogging about the Knicks. In my life I’ve probably taken notes and written recaps on … I dunno, somewhere between 500 and 1,000 Knicks games, and almost none of them mattered. I cared about each of them, but with the exception of that feverish 2012-2013 season, the game outcomes didn’t count toward anything meaningful. So when I grasped at luck – when I held my pee for three hours or wore a crown in my parents’ living room because I’d decided it was fortunate – I was mostly play-acting control over ping-pong balls. Never worked, of course, and it’s extra stupid because lottery outcomes aren’t controlled by any person, let alone me.
Now the games matter and I’m back to wondering if I matter, too. People control games. The Knicks are those people. The players, the coaches, the trainers, the staff. But also, maybe, me. I care so deeply about this team and this playoff run, and for once that doesn’t feel stupid. I believe it helps the Knicks to feel how much you and I care. And look at them. This is the team I would build if I could build a team. They play the way I want them to play. The games keep going the way I want them to go. How else can I explain such satisfaction except that I made it happen, that I put my unabiding devotion into the air and some of those particles drifted into the locker room? Me sitting at a haunted table at a haunted bar did not make Landry Shamet’s three-pointer boink into the basket, but fuck you, yeah it did. Prove that it didn’t.
I feel so nervous. I know I’m helpless. I think they can do this. I think I can help them. I’m gonna go look for a goldfinch.
