In this city of lights, grit, and dreams so big,
There lies a team called the Knicks, who’ll give you a dig.
Oh, how they swore this year would be grand,
But alas, they fell short, just as planned.
To the Hawks, they lost with predictable flare,
121-116—oh, the horror! Don’t stare.
Karl-Anthony Towns did his best, gave it his all,
With thirty-four points, he stood very tall.
And Jalen Brunson, bless his little heart,
Dropped a modest twenty-one, a noble start.
Mikal Bridges, though, ten points was his deed,
While the rest of us prayed for a much bigger feed.
But the Hawks! Oh, those pesky Hawks took the stage,
With Zaccharie Risacher stealing the page.
Thirty-three points—he might as well have flown,
While Trae Young and Jalen Johnson both hit twenty-three of their own.
Now, where do the Knicks stand, you might kindly ask?
Below .500—it’s a masterful task!
The Brooklyn Nets, they’ve slithered ahead,
While the Knicks faithful are left shaking their heads.
Yes, they tell us to trust, to believe in their plan,
But dear Knicks, oh Knicks, we’re a disillusioned fan.
So here’s to you, Knicks, in your grand artistry,
Of turning collapse into New York City’s history.
