From the Sidelines

Now, he can finally rest

Maybe it was because he was never willing to open up, to let people in. Or maybe it was his predictions of victory, which rang hollow more and more with each postseason defeat. Or maybe it was having to watch him lumber through the lane, putting up his 1,000th drop-step jumper. Maybe it was simply decades of disappointment in a city hungry for a championship. Whatever the reason, Patrick Ewing, the heart and soul of the New York Knicks, was traded last week, and New Yorkers rejoiced.

COURTESY NBA Patrick Ewing's trade to the Seattle SuperSonics ended his 15-year career with the New York Knicks.

Last fall, when Ewing was recovering from his torn Achilles more slowly than his doctors had expected, teammates and reporters whispered that he was taking his sweet time. And when he treated such suspicions with scorn and refused to talk about them, the media portrayed his reticence as proof of his guilt. Ewing's relationship with New Yorkers and his teammates was always a stormy one. He wasn't a Derek Jeter, with good looks and a charming demeanor, or a Latrell Sprewell, who gave eloquent interviews while delivering crowd-pleasing moves. But he deserved better than what he got and better than what he is getting.

To feel sorry for the man is simultaneously easy and ridiculous. Ewing wanted more money and another fat contract, and the Knicks, who ponied up more than $60 million three years ago, weren't interested. A few years before that, Ewing tried to opt out of his contract to get even more bucks. It's tough to sympathize with a guy who makes $14 million a season and is headed straight for the Hall of Fame as the greatest shooting center ever.

But does he really deserve the tabloid headline, "Good riddance," that ran a few weeks ago? Ewing has been blamed for every loss and every single playoff disappointment for the last 15 years. When it came time for the big shot, Ewing clanked it off the rim. And when Michael Jordan stood in the way, Ewing could never manage to get around him. But the Big Fella took the Knicks to 13 consecutive playoff appearances—and though he may not have made them all, he never backed down from the final shot or from the inevitable criticism that followed. Remember last year's playoffs, when the Knicks beat the Heat? Ewing scored the winning basket. He poured his heart into the Knicks for a decade and a half. And it's hard to argue that anyone in sports desires—or deserves—a title more.

I won't even go into whether the Knicks made themselves better with this trade (they didn't), or why they gave up a star, albeit an old one, like Ewing, for an aging shooter when they already have Houston and Spree (who knows). To a certain extent, everyone knew Ewing was gone the minute the Knicks lost to the Pacers in June. His teammates no longer believed he was helping them win. "Numbers don't lie," Spree said after noting that the Knicks were 5-1 without Ewing against the Pacers in the playoffs the last two years. Once the other Knicks stopped trusting in Ewing's ability, his fate was sealed.

Sometimes, things don't always work out the way they're supposed to. That could be the epitaph on the gravestone marking Ewing's Knick career. In 1985, when he stood on that podium, beaming as the No. 1 pick, the Knicks seemed destined to win a title. But fate and a certain Chicago Bull conspired against Ewing and his team, despite a decade of excellence. Though he might not merit our sympathy, he certainly deserves our appreciation—more than we've shown him.

In sports, heroes don't ride off into the sunset—they get dragged into retirement by their horses: Joe Montana, Babe Ruth, Wilt Chamberlain. Only MJ managed to end it on his terms, thwarting Ewing, in a sense, one last time. And next year, when the Knicks fall short once more, their hopes dashed by an Alonzo Mourning dunk or a Reggie Miller jumper, No. 33 won't be around for fans and the Knicks themselves to point their fingers at. Who will they blame then? Ewing isn't carrying an entire city's hopes on his back any longer. Finally, he can rest.

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