I love sports sooooo much.

Hi, friends. I’ve spent most of the day watching and rewatching clips from last night’s Knicks game. Like everyone else, I’ve never seen anything like it. I have seen my share of epic comebacks—remember Carlos Alcaraz stealing the French Open from Jannik Sinner last year?—but something about last night was in a class of its own.

Just watching OG tip that ball in and the pandemonium that followed—goosebumps.

I’ve always loved sports. When I was a kid, girls had two options: cheer for the boys or be gay. I wasn’t gay, I’d never cheer for the boys (gross) but I was what everyone called a “tom boy,” which created for me all kinds of uncertainties about my gender that might have manifested differently had I grown up today. I can’t say. While I’ve never questioned my gender identity since, I have always struggled with the trappings of classic femininity—clothes, makeup, shoes, etc.

Do I digress? My point is just that playing sports—but really watching sports—has always been, for me, a great way to forget about all that. Being a fan is an equalizer.

My daughter hates sports. She finds it all super boring. I try to explain to her the mechanics, logistics, and smarts of sport, but she doesn’t care. Often I think I don’t care either. Breaking down a formation, a strategy—okay, this is interesting enough. But mostly what I care about is winning. The adrenaline rush that goes along with it. And the camaraderie of joy when it happens.

I was once in Krakow, at a giant outdoor watch party in a giant field somewhere, as Poland won a World Cup game. It was bananas. Everyone was so happy. I’ve been to stadiums where people are crying, sweating, overflowing with the biggest feelings.

I can’t get enough of this. In fact, the older I get, the more I crave these opportunities to feel without repercussion or judgment. Fans are allowed to be insane. To jump around like maniacs. To yell, swear, and cry.

So what happens when all this fandom gets attached to narrative? Then things really get interesting. After all, comebacks in sport are all about character and story. Resilience, belief, hunger. The Knicks haven’t won a final since 1973. Like the Mets, they are scrappy underdogs, and their fans are long suffering. So what’s the story from last night? Never give up. Believe. Your time will come. All the platitudes people need to hear because life is freaking hard. Being a New Yorker is freaking hard.

This morning I wrote on Facebook, “If nothing else ever again, that game.” Seems like a ridiculous thing to say; it was just a game. But it’s never just a game, is it. It’s life, just like Dani Rojas says. Go, Knicks.