The Hardwood Sisyphus

Sisyphus was just too damn good. With the most powerful beings in the Greek pantheon after him, he just kept coming up on top. He cheated death. Twice. For embarrassing the Gods and creating imbalance in the world, he was condemned by Hades to forever push a boulder up a hill, only to see it roll back to the base just before he got to the top. It took divine intervention, but he never won again.

So goes the journey of Patrick Ewing—a phenom whose story has become familiar in American professional sports. A freakishly big man from a far-off land (in this version, Jamaica) picked up a ball and combined a natural gift with an intense work ethic. Young Patrick dominated in high school, winning a championship three consecutive years. In the Boston suburb of Cambridge, Massachusetts, the gangly baller drew immediate comparisons to Bill Russell from coaches and fans. His presence on his public school team, where he began dunking as an underclassman, was so deeply felt. Rather than come to cheer on their own teams, fans from elsewhere came to games just to boo the boy who they knew was going to beat them.

At Georgetown University, he was a starter in his freshman year and earned virtually every accolade available in the NCAA, including “champion,” after vanquishing Hakeem Olajuwon and the University of Houston Cougars. Ewing almost won two championships, but as a freshman alongside Eric “Sleepy” Floyd and a few other spare parts, he lost by a single point to a Tar Heels roster that featured future NBA legends James Worthy, Sam Perkins, and Michael Jordan. No matter what was thrown at Ewing, he always gave his team a chance to win. He struck fear in the entire collegiate field, and led an aggressive Hoyas team with an in-your-face style that would become his signature. It was during this time that he was also creating a minor fashion craze that still endures: wearing a t-shirt under a basketball jersey.

And then, one day, David Stern drew an envelope from a rotating sphere. Its contents condemned the king of college basketball to forever push a boulder up a hill which he would never see the top of. Patrick Ewing would spend 15 seasons in the abyss of Madison Square Garden, a true Hell for winners if ever there was one.

Pushing the Team
Ewing was doubly cursed to be an all-time great in an era dominated by absolute legends on the court. He earned an Olympic gold medal in 1992–his second–as a member of a team so good that every assembly of all-stars before or since is now compared to it. He made deep playoff runs every year in a decade where winning a championship virtually required both a red jersey and no less than two first-ballot Hall-of-Famers. He still made it to the Finals twice, in 1994 and 1999, despite never playing with another player who had more than a single All-Star appearance until the twilight of his career. It’s legitimately like if Kevin Garnett—famous for being a top 5 player in the league who didn’t have much help—willed his Timberwolves to the NBA finals by himself. Playoffs or regular season, it didn’t matter—Ewing just kept pushing that boulder up the mountain, having to believe that some day he’d reach the top.

“I wanted to be like Patrick Ewing. When I came in the NBA he was the first guy that I was intimidated by.” —Shaq

Ewing’s stats are eye-popping. On paper, he can go toe-to-toe with any bigs of any era, averaging over 20 points and a hair shy of 10 rebounds a game for his whole career, with very little variance between regular season and playoff games. His consistency spread from season to season, as well. Ewing carried 20/10 double-doubles for nine straight seasons and didn’t drop below 20 points per game until he was thirty-six years old. He was good for a few swats at the rim, too. Ewing held the record for most blocks in a Finals appearance (8) until it was surpassed by Dwight Howard in 2009.

Beast of The East
In the history of the Knicks franchise, Ewing is the leader in virtually every meaningful category on both ends of the court: He leads the team in games played (1039), field goal attempts (18,224), field goal makes (9,260), rebounds (10,759), steals (1061), blocks (2758), win shares (123), defensive win shares (77.6), and points (23,665). Being the best of a franchise in this many categories is impressive anywhere, but mind you, this isn’t a scrappy expansion team. This is the biggest stage in basketball—a team with a nearly 80 year history, and one of only two original NBA teams that is still in the same city. But as announcer Bob Neal said in 1985 when the giant of Georgetown became the first pick in the lottery era, “statistics are not the story of Patrick Ewing.”

“We were going to be the hardest-working, best-conditioned, most professional, unselfish, toughest, nastiest, most disliked team in the NBA.”

The story of Patrick Ewing is one of a man entering a game in flux. It’s also the story of a player rising to the occasion to redefine a sport that was still establishing itself as a major American pastime. After a decade of fastbreaks, finesse and “showtime,” Ewing’s Knicks (coached mostly by “Showtime Lakers” coach Pat Riley) joined a new era of beat-'em-up basketball in a league increasingly comprised of big men. Ewing got in everyone’s faces immediately. He was ejected from the game the second time he dressed for the regular season. In the late 1980s, he transformed the Knicks into one of the toughest, meanest outfits in sports. Pat Riley once said of the team’s identity: “We were going to be the hardest-working, best-conditioned, most professional, unselfish, toughest, nastiest, most disliked team in the NBA.’’ Who led that charge on the court? Number 33, Patrick Ewing.

By the 1990s, a culture had been established that has been rivaled and imitated, but never surpassed. Ewing established himself as a leader on the squad, setting the tone on both sides of the court for well over a decade and earning himself the nickname “the Beast of the East.” He was a defensive presence so fierce that Shaquille O’Neal once said “I wanted to be like Patrick Ewing. When I came in the NBA he was the first guy that I was intimidated by.” Ewing had an enviable offensive game, too. He could dunk, but he also had a fantastic mid-range shot and an above-average free throw percentage. Surrounded by larger-than-life play and colorful personalities, Ewing is significant for being, in many ways, an anti-highlight reel player. The man just worked. He did his job the same way, game in and game out, season after season.

The consistency paid off—in his fifteen years with the Knicks, Ewing led his team to the playoffs thirteen times. He punched his post-season ticket in his third season and never missed it again while in the orange and blue, bringing springtime basketball to the Big Apple for thirteen straight years. Since his departure in 2000, Madison Square Garden has only hosted the playoffs seven times, and in no other period in franchise history has the team made the postseason for so many consecutive years in a row. It bears repeating here: There were no other true stars on the roster. Ewing had no Scottie Pippin, no Clyde Drexler, no John Stockton. He had a serviceable shooting guard with a fighting heart in John Starks. Charles Oakley—possibly the only guy in the league who could be an enforcer for someone as physical as Ewing—was a sturdy presence in the paint. Only the most die-hard Knicks fans can name another player on that team without struggling until the ghost of Larry Johnson arrived in 1996.

It is easy to dismiss Ewing. His prime came in the midst of one of the most dominant teams, led by the most dominant star, in the modern era. In his two Jordan-less shots at a title, Ewing suffered the vengeance of Hakeem Olajuwon at his first go (though Ewing performed admirably) in seven games. Then he was robbed of his last dance in 1999 when he suffered an achilles injury in the Eastern Conference Finals. Ewing had to watch the beginning of the Spurs dynasty materialize from the sidelines. Despite all this, Ewing is always on the greatest players of all time lists. Because choosing “the greatest” is a fool’s errand and there are too many legends in contention. Choosing who is “great,” though, that is as easy as watching the games. And watching the games is easy with Ewing because his part in them is almost always the same: show up, work hard, and love your lot—no matter what. He did so until he retired just shy of his 40th birthday. Reflecting on his time at MSG Ewing once said “I had so much joy playing in New York, playing in front of all of those fans. I enjoyed every minute of it.”

Willing to Go Home on His Shield
The National Basketball Association’s Sisyphus did not cheat death. He did something akin to what the Corinthian king of Greek mythology did, though—he beat the Gods at their own game. A gangly kid from Jamaica showed up in a Massachusetts suburb and absolutely destroyed the competition. Then he moved to Washington, DC and became one of the most celebrated college athletes of all time. He beat the basketball gods. Twice. And like Sisyphus, Ewing’s genius was punished, some would say unfairly. Sisyphus rolled that boulder up the hill forever, while Ewing rolled through season after season, always almost at the top, then always starting again at the bottom, and dutifully rolling the ball up the hill again, never to see it fall the way he needed it to.

He didn’t complain. He didn’t give in. He kept on going up that hill with a profound sense of duty. His body eventually gave in but his heart never did. Although Ewing never achieved his ultimate goal of winning an NBA title, he nonetheless became the stuff of legend—the “Beast of the East,” who brought gold to America in the Olympics twice, including once as a member of an actual “Dream Team.” He inspired a generation of big men to grind it out, and solidified his place in Association mythology. In a league whose fanbase is obsessed with stats and with rings, Ewing stands out as a player who gave fans something else: He gave them everything.