The Knicks Let Spike Lee Walk Out the Door

Sometimes I wonder what I would do if the Knicks finally figure it out. On one hand, it would be wonderful. I am old enough to know that, no matter what the Yankees, Rangers, Giants, Jets, Nets, or Mets accomplish, there is nothing quite like New York City when the Knicks are rolling. This noisy town lifts into a whole extra gear. The Knicks don’t even have to win championships. They’d just need to be halfway competitive for this melancholy hoops mecca to spring to life again.

On the other hand, and strictly from the self-interested position of a sports columnist, the Knicks, as presently constituted, are a regular and deeply appreciated source of unintentional comedy. Despite playing in the best basketball city on earth, there is no common-sense scenario the Knicks cannot hilariously bungle; Over the past couple of decades, this franchise has become the New England Patriots of the self-inflicted disaster. It would be insincere for me to not acknowledge this levity has an upside. These are challenging times, and when the news is mostly grim, like it is now, we can always laugh at the Knicks, habitually walking straight into a screen door. 

 

This is a long way of getting to the matter of the Knicks and Spike Lee. Lee, the Brooklyn-born Academy Award winner, is easily the most recognizable Knicks fan on the planet. His fandom stretches from his Brooklyn childhood, sneaking into Madison Square Garden to watch the championship glory of Earl Monroe and Clyde Frazier; to the high-scoring days of Bernard King, which peaked as Lee prepared his first feature, “She’s Gotta Have It;” to the ‘90s and the sharp-elbowed Patrick Ewing-Pat Riley era, which paralleled Lee’s ascent as an acclaimed filmmaker. Lee’s fandom may best be remembered for his infamous verbal joust with Indiana’s Reggie Miller in the 1994 Eastern Conference Finals, but his devotion is heartfelt. Last fall, he paid close to $70,000 to the estate of late Knicks coach Red Holzman to purchase the net used in Game 7 of the 1970 Finals. By Lee’s own estimate, he has shelled out millions for his prime seats at the Garden. Even in these fallow years, on the ocean floor of the NBA standings, he is not hard to find, courtside, usually decked in orange and blue.

Until now. Lee says he is done with the Knicks, at least for the remainder of the 2019-20 season. On Monday, Lee got into a dust-up at the Garden over whether or not he was using the proper stadium entrance. Lee says he was using the same door he’d always used; an entry utilized by employees and media members. The team says it merely wanted Lee to use an entrance around the corner that every other VIP/celebrity is asked to use. As disputes go, it is minor-league, who-cares stuff, but the following morning, Lee visited Stephen A. Smith’s ESPN Ayahuasca tent, “First Take,” and, in a rivetingly defiant act, ripped the club’s handling of the incident; the team’s owner, James Dolan; the franchise’s long decline; and basically disowned the greatest joy of his New York life. 

At the risk of sounding like a self-absorbed New Yorker—I know, too late, sorry—this is a big deal. It is fashionable these days for Knicks fans to theatrically renounce their fandom, but Lee is no mere fan. He is more famous than any Knicks player, and he has been profoundly loyal. He has been there all the time, through the good times and many more bad ones, the umpteen renewals and rebuilds, the streams of coaches and underperforming stars, clinging to hope against all evidence that he might see another banner raised the rafters. Lee felt like last true believer in the Garden. The Knicks losing Spike is akin to LBJ losing Cronkite.

And sure, I get it: What’s the big deal, can’t he just use the other entrance? But here’s where the Knicks being the Knicks comes in. In a dispute like this—which, if you drill down, is really just an ordinary customer/business stand off—cooler heads are supposed to prevail. Were the Knicks an ordinary business, they might be privately miffed that Spike took it to ESPN, but they’d rightly conclude that there was zero upside in escalating a public tangle with their most high-profile customer. The only mission would be to make it right. The situation would be finessed. They’d opt for the high road, and let Spike win this one. Right or wrong, he’s earned the goodwill. For crying out loud, the man wants to come to Knicks games. 

If you don’t already know the rest of the story, you’ve surely concluded that cooler heads did not prevail. Instead of letting Spike win, the Knicks pettily snapped back at Lee with a public statement in which the team claimed Lee was using a “false controversy” to “perpetuate drama.” It said Lee was welcome to come to any game so long as he used the VIP or a general public entrance. It called the idea that Lee had been victimized “laughable,” a knowing charge from a club that has more or less copyrighted the term. On Twitter they included a grainy photograph of Lee in a handshake with Dolan on the night in question, suggesting the owner and director had indeed repaired the situation before Lee went on ESPN. In other words, they tried to embarrass Spike Lee. 
 

And it is incredible, really, in what remains very much a crowded, streetwise city of schmoozers and fixers, that one of the most iconic New York brands can never read the room. The Knicks change their players and personnel—they just installed a new president, Leon Rose, best of luck to him—but the petulant vibe stays the same. They get it, you don’t, and dissent will eventually get you exiled. 

Now Spike is in exile, self-imposed. He is clearly taking delight in going rogue—his fulminations on ESPN were more than a little winking, especially when delivered to Stephen A., a Stradivarius of winking fulmination. Lee’s protest already has an expiration; he plans to be back next year. The Nets are making a cute bid, but Lee’s not interested in shifting his NBA allegiance across the bridge. This, too, should count for something to a stubborn franchise coasting on geography and the inexplicable faith of its customers. I don’t expect the Knicks to stop being funny; I don’t expect them to turn into well-run contenders; I don’t expect a misbegotten basketball city to suddenly breathe to life. But Spike Lee has paid a lot of money to watch a lot of crummy basketball. Let him use whatever door he wants. 

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