SAN ANTONIO – New York ran up 2-0 in the 2026 NBA Finals on Friday. Shoved past the Spurs in Game 2 by a 105-104 score after Victor Wembanyama unleashed a too-strong 17-footer in the final seconds, the 22-year old center clanging an opportunity to tie the series.
On San Antonio’s previous defensive possession Wembanyama fouled Jalen Brunson, and Brunson’s 84 percent free throw percentage, Brunson split a pair for the game’s deciding points. During San Antonio’s previous offensive possession, the 2024 Rookie of the Year (Wemby) threw the ball off the back of the 2025 Rookie of the Year (and Spurs teammate) Stephon Castle, Brunson gathering the loose ball ahead of that Wembanyama foul. It was an odd ending.
There is an odd-sounding word, it is gestalt, I learned it in 1996 when the NBA used its 50th anniversary season to spend an inordinate time celebrating the two-time Knick championship teams from the 1970s. Gestalt theory is an idea I return to about once a year and usually in June, when a team turns a corner, providing proof of something stronger that what’s listed in the lineup.
This year’s Knicks may not take the 2026 NBA title, there are still two wins left to grab before it turns official, but the Knicks have grown taller than all of themselves stacked together. This group improves with every outing and against competition which stiffens with each round. You’d need anti-inflammatories too, after battling these Knicks.
The development, the advancement from April through June and 13 consecutive playoff victories, would be unique among NBA champions. What is typical is the gestalt, the way we’re assured something larger than the image New York presents.
Nothing’s fazed them in Mike Brown’s first postseason with the Knicks. Be they down 2-1 to C.J. McCollum’s third team in 12 months, debated as favorites in the second round because Joel Embiid looked OK for four days, and then, well, Cleveland. There was no dramatic or even minor obstacle in the Cleveland series, analytically or otherwise.
San Antonio, once favored by many, isn’t fazed. Maybe a little tired, probably a more than a little impressed. Nobody doubted the talent on this Knicks team, individual or collected. What is astonishing is how well the talent on the New York Knicks performs when it works alongside one another. The elastic defense and deliberate offense, the absence of self, the dedication, devotion, the turning on the nighttime into the day.
That’s a Dire Straits song, and not an example of gestalt theory, but straits certainly indicating where the San Antonio Spurs while boarding the flight to New York. Five games to win four, three in NYC, they ain’t won a first yet.
San Antonio came close on Friday, reeling in Knick momentum long enough to eliminate the 14-point lead the visitors established with six minutes remaining in Game 2. De’Aaron Fox, Wembanyama and Dylan Harper combined to battle for buckets until the contest was tied, ten seconds left, Wemby with the ball and, uh oh, here comes infamy.
Threw it right off Stephon Castle’s back. Ball bounced to Brunson whom Wemby fouled, sending Jalen to the line for a game-winning free throw.
Stephon wasn’t looking while running up the court, I noticed this before Wemby let loose and said “heads up!” while standing at press row but there was no way Castle heard me. I’m sensitive to these things because I let a ball bounce off my back on the same spot in the court in an intramural basketball tournament in college, and I don’t think I will get over what happened to me before Game 3 on Monday and it happened 26 years ago. So I’m not sure how Stephon can blot his out in three days.
The Spurs will need other exhibits to shape up. The transition defense was strong but not strong enough, New York scored 19 points on the break, San Antonio’s worst mark of the postseason. New York’s offensive rebounding was bound to happen, but did it all have to happen in the second half? And when did San Antonio start missing dunks?
Meanwhile, Karl-Anthony Towns’ elbow torquing cleanly under each three-pointer is an absolute picture of actualized alignment and precision. Towns scored 17 in the first half. His dives from the Domantas Spot turned this series, it isn’t an adventure when KAT (21 points, 13 rebounds, four assists) puts the ball on the floor and against a team with Wemby on that floor.
The word “gestalt” entered my mind repeatedly in that second quarter, watching the Knick bust tail defensively, one movement anticipating another. We’ll hear a lot about the 1970 and 1973 championship Knicks over the next few days, and I’m glad the first guy who reminded me of them was the Knick fan with the inexpensive “HARLEM” tattoo up in the 200 section of the Spurs’ arena, weeping, well, no, crying while he walked with his buddy a few minutes after Game 2. “I’ve waited my whole life for this,” he told his friend, and I’m assuming this isn’t about visiting the Alamo on Saturday.
If it was about the Alamo, wow. What a weekend for him!
He’d removed himself from the upper concourse’s PG-rated pogo pit, Knick fans streaming and phoning home and popping jerseys together. It was a block party and I posted up inside a closed nachos stand, happy to watch one pleasant New Yorker after another thanking San Antonio fans for their grace and hospitality and congratulating the Spurs on its bright future, Knick fans going out of their way to throw trash in the appropriate receptacle, clearing room for the elderly, the infirm, the small children in Spurs uniforms squeaking by the sea of blue and orange.
The next time I saw nachos was in a gas station parking lot, in the hand of the single publicly inebriated Knick fan I saw among hundreds of publicly Knick fans during three nights in the heart of San Antonio.
Clinging to his nachos and teetering around the parking lot with the rest of us who decided the rideshare rate from the arena was too much and decided to walk to a more affordable spot. My Nacho Guy was in an Allan Houston uniform, beaming, 20 minutes after I’d walked by Allan Houston in a sweater, beaming.
While I gathered to call my wife to tell her how cheap I was, another Knick fan plopped down on the gas station stoop next to me, awaiting his rideshare, cordial and curious, noshing, asking me who I wrote for and what I thought about Game 2 while offering immediate analysis: Mikal Bridges and Jose Alvarado down the stretch of the third quarter with Towns and Brunson off the floor, San Antonio’s youth and inability to get to their spots, Wemby’s obvious fatigue, the growing capability of Mike Brown.
You know, pal, I was gonna write all that.
The young man was irrepressible, hopping in his rideshare Mercedes right next to a mother and kids cleaning out their van at a gas pump minutes past midnight on a Saturday morning. The gas station was so replete with polite Knick fans that the families selling shaved ice in the parking lot began courting them with Knick chants. Kids on their first Friday night off from school chased each other around the tire inflator/car vacuum machine, one of them in a DeMar DeRozan Spurs jersey likely as old as she is.
Every bus stop on Commerce St. featured a Knick couple waiting on that rideshare, completely unsure of what they just watched less than a mile away, less than an hour ago. San Antonio on a Friday night, streets filled with New Yorkers. It’s almost like it’s their world, and we just live in it.
