When the game-four halftime buzzer sounded on Wednesday night, the Garden faithful near me in section 414 let out a collective groan. The Knicks were down 76-49 to the Spurs, who looked like they were participating in — and winning — a three-point contest and not game four of the NBA Finals. One fan in my row got up to exit. “Sorry to make you move, but I’m gonna go punch a wall … or throw up,” he said. My friend Abby, also a lifelong Knicks fan, who snagged two tickets a couple hours before tipoff and generously treated me to one of them, was feeling the weight of her financial investment. The halftime performers, Staten Island’s own Wu-Tang Clan, came out to a deflated crowd. My mother suggested that I do my part to change the mood:

And yet, despite the 27-point deficit, I wasn’t ready to give up. I pulled out my phone, texted my demoralized group chat, and professed my belief that a turnaround was still possible:

My friends believed, too, but I could sense that they were a little too timid to declare it with confidence........

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