Let’s get something straight. The New York Knicks don’t owe Tom Thibodeau a damn thing.
The emotional eulogies flooding timelines and radio shows this week speak of a man who "brought the Knicks back," who “restored pride,” who should be immortalized in the rafters like he wore the jersey himself. But nostalgia is a hell of a drug in this town—and it’s blinding folks to the truth. When the truth is finally told, and we set aside the smoke and noise, we’ll understand that Tom Thibodeau didn’t lead the Knicks to the brink of the Eastern Conference Finals. He was carried there.
Carried by a six-foot-two assassin out of Villanova named Jalen Brunson.
This was Brunson’s team. From opening night to elimination, it was Brunson dragging defenders, dropping buckets, and demanding double teams while Thibodeau stood on the sidelines, arms folded, rotating through the same tired script he’s been reading from for over a decade. Brunson played at an MVP level. Not All-Star, not “franchise cornerstone”—MVP. And if you’re being real with yourself, you know it too.
Thibodeau didn’t develop Brunson. He benefited from him.
Let’s talk about that. Let’s talk about the load Brunson was forced to carry night after night because Thibodeau refused to adapt. A 40-minute-per-night grind. An ISO-heavy system with little imagination. A bench that stayed glued to their seats while opponents ran circles around tired starters. Game after game. Series after series. Until the tank ran dry.
People keep yelling about how far the Knicks have come. Sure, they’ve come far. But it wasn’t Tom’s map that got them here—it was Brunson’s compass.
And yet we’re told we owe Thibodeau our gratitude. For what, exactly?
For refusing to trust young talent?
For squeezing the joy out of ball movement?
For being outcoached by Rick Carlisle while Brunson tried to summon a miracle with a bad foot?
No. The Knicks don’t owe him. And the fans? They especially don’t owe him.
This is the same fanbase that’s been through 25 years of false starts and PR spin. They know the smell of real progress, and they know when they’re being sold a used story in a fresh package. This ain’t about being ungrateful—it’s about being honest.
Thibodeau didn’t elevate the Knicks. The Knicks elevated him.
And now that it’s over, we don’t need the flowers and farewell parades. We need a coach who can take Brunson’s brilliance and build around it. Who can manage rotations. Who can make adjustments in May, not just February. Who sees basketball as a symphony, not a grinder.
We need someone who doesn’t just demand effort—but inspires evolution.
Tom Thibodeau did what he always does. He gave everything he had, until he had nothing left. That’s respectable. That’s his brand. But respect and reverence are two different things.
Thank you, Tom. You gave us what you had.
Now go on.
New York owes you nothing.
