Deep in the heart of Texas, Kristaps Porzingis is smiling. Because tonight in southeast Michigan — Little Caesar’s Arena, to be exact (‘cuz why shouldn’t a billionaires’ plaything née public trust be in their third arena in 30 years...in Detroit, of all places, a metropolis just awash in budget surpluses and rocksteady infrastructure over that time?) — the Knicks’ penultimate game before Friday’s reunion with their erstwhile Latvian love was eerily similar to most of their games this year, this decade, this century. They lost, they never threatened to win, they defended like a teenager sulking after being grounded and the light at the end only means there are other days like beyond the horizon.
Pistons 122, Knicks 102: Scenes from a Piston-whipping
