The love of my life has cancer. We’re waiting on official word after weeks of tests and surgeries, but from what we’ve heard it’s all but official. That’s the bad news. The maybe encouraging news is that there were a few different cancers it could have been and early signs point it to it being the less-lethal one. What a weird place to find oneself: in March we were playfully arguing whether we want to live till 75 or 85 together. Now we’re grateful for good cancer.
Not too long ago the Knicks’ goals were simple: stand on your own two feet.