The blood hysteria inching over the NBA patchwork has revealed both a stoic Knicks-shaped tourniquet and a grinning Knicks-straight razor, disappearing into the crowd together. New York is now seven games over .500, behind nine consecutive wins. A red hot squeeze on every bleeding brain floating through the ether. Every TV and radio shock jock hack, countless twitter-confident spews. Their heads all swell to a cranial pink sock, hemorrhaging out until it slaps a blobby goo, heavy against their earlobes. This feverish night terror, the Knicks, are good. Mewl.
Enter the Phoenix Suns, second place in the dreaded Western Conference.