Bounding, Astounding

By the time my stomach had settled down, following the remarks at the wedding but not too long thereafter, it began to tighten again. I headed back to Brooklyn and tried my best to ignore it, but: the wedding party had settled in a place that had Game 2 of the NBA Finals on the screens. Unbeknownst to pretty much everyone else involved, it was time for the New York Knicks.

Through the first half, I tried my best to ignore it – really, I did, honest. When I felt my eyes stray for too long, I would shake myself back, trying to be present, trying to pay any amount of attention from a dwindling account. It was, coincidentally, also my parents’ wedding anniversary. I wasn’t ever going to forget any of this. Aside from a Knicks Spritz in the name of the gang, I mostly think I held it together in not talking about what was happening so apparently in front of me.

We’d landed at an outdoor/indoor biergarten, and the group made the decision to roll to a bar with no TVs at halftime, when the Knicks were up 56-52. Game 1 already in hand, and with this one looking at least competitive enough to add impactful miles to an already-weathered San Antonio Spurs team, I was content with it.

Between a proffered explanation of the B-52’s song “Give Me Back My Man” and an extended look into the psyche of whoever is handwriting custom jukebox playlists at said bar, I managed to forget entirely about, if not the Knicks or the game, what the score might’ve been in any given moment. That would arrive soon enough.

Emerging from the bathroom and taking a seat opposite one of the betrothed, in whose honor I’d earlier given the remarks, two other people who also gave remarks started spreading the news: “The Knicks won.”

In reflex, almost, I raised my arms, closed my eyes, and thanked whomever was out there to hear it. Then I returned to not thinking about them, at least not in speculation. I was safe enough in what I knew.