Live from New York, it's the NBA Finals

A figure in a Spider-Man costume kneels atop a streetlight, waving a Knicks flag over a sea of euphoric fans who point toward the sky and roar. The Empire State Building smiles down in orange and blue.

The smell of weed and cigarettes and sweat permeates the air. An ambulance drives by, paramedics honk and wave. Groups of people yell and laugh and cry.

Twenty-seven years of waiting for this moment. A lot of fanbases — my own included, as of now — never get to feel this. But for a city like New York, so storied and expectant, a drought can feel like an endless winter.

Bodies dart toward the Garden from every direction, chants recited like prayers. “We want Wemby!” Even several choruses of “Fuck Trae Young,” an ode to a villain from a past era of Knicks heartbreak. It’s all part of the shared language — fluent to those who survived the lowest lows and are now flocking toward Madison Square Garden to share this release like believers gathering at a temple. Only here, the Knicks are the religion and Jalen Brunson is the messiah.

This is the only place in the world that exists right now. Thousands of people assembling to share a kind of catharsis.

Of course, it’s a different experience watching as an outsider — being there but not being amongst the screaming blobs torpedoing through the street. It allows me to soak it in more patiently; to stand back and see it through their eyes.

I position myself in the middle of a moving crowd, watching sweaty bodies hungrily flock toward my Bleacher Report microphone, forcing me to clutch it tightly against the chaos. Even as drunk men trip over each other to roar profanities into the camera, I can only smile. What a privilege it is to experience such unbridled joy. What a delicious slice of humanity.

I listen to people of all ages talk about what this means to them. Many weren’t alive the last time this team made it here. They’ve been waiting their whole lives. Then there are the ones who were there, who have been waiting to taste it again, to share it with the next generation.

Some close their eyes and think about a person they wish were here to experience this; someone gone, yet eternally present in the shared experiences of fandom: The hilariously dramatic phone calls spent discussing the dire state of your team with the clarity and intensity of government officials discussing a national crisis. The moments you stood in front of your TV; racing hearts and sweaty palms, hoping and waiting and praying.

This is the payoff. A moment no amount of dreams could have properly captured; a celebration decades in the making, one you can share with loved ones and strangers alike.

That’s what strikes me most about being here. Everyone is dizzy with a sense of belonging. All of the years of longing bubbled underneath the surface, creating the groundwork for this beautiful explosion.

Some will scoff at the audacity of these fans to react like they just won the Finals; to celebrate unabashedly before the hardest part begins. But sports are a reminder of what makes us human. We shouldn’t delay happiness. We should do everything we can to soak it up; to store it in our memories and hearts.

Nobody here is afraid or worried about what’s around the corner. All that matters is this moment, fleeting yet eternal.