Moser, about to hand the ball to the Celts’ John Havlicek, looked at the agonized Holzman—the Knicks were 16 points behind—and said firmly, “That’s enough,” without exclamation point.
Kerner comes to a basketball game looking, fittingly, likes the best-dressed man in the hall. He leaves looking more like Emmett Kelly, the clown.
Cartwright is the nucleus around whom the Knicks are being rebuilt, the dominant center who is the key ingredient on any winning club.
Just as he did as a player, Reed threw himself wholeheartedly into the job.
Basketball may be the No. 1 sport in New York, but the Knicks no longer will be kings of the NBA.
It isn’t easy to strip away the superlatives, to assess Bill Bradley calmly, to look at both the veteran pro and the rookie pol.
McAdoo is dangerous near the basket, but he also gets a lot of points on 15 and 20-foot jump shots, which he unleashes with a noticeable snap of the wrist, rather than a pushing maneuver.
To many, who had become accustomed to the Knicks being have-nots unable to make the playoffs for seven straight seasons (1960-1966), their “instant success” seemed almost unreal.
“Walt,” says teammate Dave DeBusschere, “could strip a car with the engine running.”
The dynastic age is dead.