Brooklyn Bridges: Why Mikal Will Never Cross to the Knicks

 

In the borough where the bridges span,

There’s a tale that makes the Knicks fans ban,

From dreaming of a trade so grand,

With the Brooklyn Nets’ finest man.

Mikal Bridges, they want so much,

To don their blue and orange clutch,

But Joe Tsai’s got a patient touch,

He’s building slow, and won’t be rushed.

Knicks fans, in their hopeful plight,

Dream of the day Bridges takes flight,

From Nets to Knicks, a fancied sight,

Yet this trade won't happen, not tonight.

The Nets won’t aid their rivals’ climb,

No helping Knicks to save some time,

If Bridges moves, it’s quite the crime,

To trade with Knicks? They’d need a mime.

Other teams await in line,

With picks so high, their prospects fine,

But Knicks fans still, in public pine,

For Bridges, like he’s Valentine.

Even with a season somewhat bright,

Knicks fans still beg, with all their might,

From the team they mock, now they cite,

Irrelevance, in daily light.

If Nets gave in, oh what a scene,

Knicks fans would jeer and act so mean,

To Sean Marks, they’d be so keen,

To taunt and say he’s lost his sheen.

So know this well, and understand,

The trade you dream is never planned,

For Bridges stays, by Tsai’s command,

In Brooklyn’s land, by the East River strand.

A Tragic Tale: The Knicks’ Playoff Dreams Shattered by the Pacers in Game 7

 

Oh, noble fans of New York’s storied team,

Lend me your ears, whilst I recount the dream

That hath been dashed upon the hardwood floor,

In the hallowed halls where heroes oft’ would soar.

The Knicks, with valor, did in battle stand,

But fortune’s fickle hand left them unmanned.

In Game the Seventh, ‘gainst Indiana’s might,

At Madison’s grand square, on fateful night.

Each quarter passed, the Pacers led the charge,

With baskets true, their lead did swift enlarge.

No respite found, nor succor from the fray,

The Knicks, beleaguered, saw hope fade away.

By twenty-one, the margin they did fall,

Despite the valiant efforts of them all.

No chance had they, as fate did mock and jeer,

Their hopes of glory turned to dust and fear.

And oh, fair Brunson, warrior so brave,

His hand did break, no more could he then save.

In final quarter, absence keenly felt,

Yet doubt persists if change it might have dealt.

For Pacers’ marksmanship was truly rare,

Their shots did find the net with skill so fair.

Astonishing, their sixty-eight percent,

A feat of prowess, bold and heaven-sent.

Now must the Knicks reflect, and questions pose,

For in their ranks, doth discontentment grow.

Doth Thibs’ short rotation breed this plight,

Contributing to injuries in their fight?

Or doth the team lack instinct sharp and keen,

A killer’s edge that’s rarely ever seen?

And Brunson, noble heart, yet stature small,

Can he, alone, rise to the championship’s call?

Oh, Knicks, again in sorrow do you bow,

To Pacers, victors, stand with laurels now.

One hundred thirty points, they did amass,

While Knicks, one hundred nine, did but surpass.

So ponder well, ye men of New York’s pride,

Seek answers in the depths where truths abide.

For only through the shadows of this night,

Can dawn emerge, and bring new hope to light.

Thus ends the tale of Knicks in bitter woe,

But from this loss, new strength and wisdom grow.

For in the game of life, as on the court,

’Tis through our trials that our spirits fort.

And so, dear fans, take heart and courage bold,

For brighter days and glories yet untold,

Await the Knicks, who shall rise once more,

To strive for victory on that distant shore.