Sunday Morning Coffee — June 21, 2026 — Oh, My Papa — Knicks Win; Knights Don’t; Baseballs Flying & Phil’s Woes

By Roy Berger, Las Vegas, NV

Correct, there was no Sunday Morning Coffee last week. Correct, the Knicks won the NBA championship the night before. Incorrect, for those who said they expected a Knicks SMC. With apologies, I got home too late and too tired after a night on the town looting. How else do Americans celebrate championships? Revelry turns into arson, shattering store front windows, torching school buses, smashing a police car windshield, hanging off street lampposts and just for good measure a random shooting or three. All in the name of a pending ticker-tape parade down the “Canyon of Heroes” in Lower Manhattan which hasn’t seen much action since the football Giants last marched in 2012.

So, today’s SMC, in honor of Father’s Day, will be all sports. Some celebratory; some crying in my Sunday morning coffee. Which means for all those who tell me they read right past the sports stuff, go finish your Wordle and we’ll catch you next week.

The good, of course, was the New York Knicks winning the NBA championship. Finally. Only fifty-three years after the last one. My fellow Boomers can truly appreciate that long, arduous wait. But for every Knicks fan, from all generations since, the enjoyment of shaking that monkey off our backs has finally been realized.

The Knicks were born in 1946 when the Basketball Association of America was founded with teams in 11 cities: Boston, Chicago, Cleveland, Detroit, New York, Philly, Pittsburgh, Providence, Toronto and all the way out West in St. Louis. The league was rebranded as the National Basketball Association in 1949. And even then, the Knicks were the Knicks and accomplished nothing.

It took 24 years for the Knickerbockers to finally win. That was in 1970. By then, turning 18, I had been a Knicks regular at both the old and new Madison Square Garden for five or six years. It was easy from Long Island taking the forty-minute train ride into NYC and watching from the green seats. We won again in 1973. Like the Jets in ‘69, we figured this would become habit. Then through nine U.S. presidents nothing, nada, zip, until last week.

And I certainly appreciate New York going bonkers over the win, even those who had no idea there was a basketball team in the city. The Knicks are New York’s team. In New York, a town that at one time had three baseball teams — the Yankees, Giants and Dodgers then the Mets came long when California called in the late 50s and the Dodgers and Giants had new digs. The city’s baseball loyalty was always split. Same for professional football which now has a team and a half with the Giants and Jets. Three hockey teams play in the metro — Rangers, Devils and Islanders. But there really is only one basketball team. Oh, sure the Nets linger but nobody really cares. The Nets came into the NBA in 1976 and subsequently moved around more than Dr. Richard Kimble, playing one year on Long Island, then New Jersey for 35 and now, for the last 14, playing really lousy hoops in Brooklyn. The Nets are a total afterthought. The only time there is a Nets ticket rush is when the Knicks come to Brooklyn. The Knicks have the undivided loyalty of New York City as do the Lakers in multi-team LA. It’s always been fashionable to back the Knicks and Lakers; the Nets and Clippers don’t register. And as a bonus this Knicks team this season was not only good but likable, not a villain among the bunch. Celtics fans may even agree.

And no disrespect at all to the younger generations. That’s all the Knicks fans who haven’t lived with disappointment for the past 53 barren years because they haven’t been alive that long. That includes you, Marty Supreme, who got more playoff airtime than John Starks. I’m happy for you and all the 20 and 30-somethings but you’re not Knicks Diamond Club members. The younger generations can’t nearly appreciate the championship drought like my Knicks Boomer contemporaries including Spike Lee, Larry David, Jerry Seinfeld, Johnny Mac, Steve Dinkes and yes even Mr. Trump. Stephen A. Smith was three when the Knicks first won in ‘70. Not a Diamond Clubber but still the right to brag incessantly which he doesn’t need an invitation to do.

To qualify as a card-carrying lifetime Diamond Club Knicks fan, you have to be able to recite the starting line-up of the 1969-70 team in five seconds or less. (Reed, DeBusschere, Bradley, Frazier, Barnett.) And then the 1972-73 team (the same except Earl ‘The Pearl’ replacing Barnett). Bonus points for the sixth man of each team: Cazzie Russell in ‘70 and Jerry Lucas in ‘73. You remember Phil Jackson as a super-sub for each championship run. You really earn your blue and orange stripes if you can name the entire coaching staff of each Knicks championship team. Don’t strain too hard because there was only one. Head coach Red Holzman. The only other non-unformed player on the bench back then was trainer Danny Whelan, one of the great trivia question answers ever. Whelan was also the trainer of the 1960 Pittsburgh Pirates who stunned the heavily favored Yankees. This season, for the championship run, Knicks head coach Mike Brown was accompanied by a dozen assistants proving just how smart Holzman really was. The Diamond tiebreaker is for those who actually remember the Knicks coach before Holtzman. That was Dick McGuire for two years, who was let go in 1967 for Red.

Some of us old timers will take issue with the 29-point Knicks comeback and the unbelievable winning tip-in by OG Anunoby as being the best moment in Knicks’ history. I’ll maintain it was the second best, a photo finish behind seeing captain Willis Reed limp out of the locker room with a severe thigh injury onto the Garden floor to play Game 7 against the Lakers on May 8, 1970. Nobody expected Reed to play and we braced for Wilt Chamberlin to dominate the middle and send us to the runner-up heap once again. When Willis emerged Madison Square Garden actually shook. Trains in Penn Station below were knocked off their rails. Okay, maybe not but you get the impact that it had. All of us Diamonds have that moment etched in our slowing minds; it will never be erased. Reed scored the first two baskets of the game, his only points. Most importantly he neutralized Wilt in his 27 minutes of hobbled hoops. Walt Frazier took over the offense with 36 points and 19 assists as the Knicks rolled to a 14-point win and their first ever championship. No question coming back from 29 down is something else but in my playbook it’s second to Willis’ walk from the locker room. Both ultimately led to very rare championships but when all’s said and done, you always remember your first.

Reed emerges from the locker room before Game 7 in 1970 surprising even his teammates. It was the catalyst for the Knicks first ever NBA championship.

No matter how old you are, when you’re a Knicks fan, you’re a Knicks fan to your last dying day. Unfortunately, that is a lot closer for some of us than others. And if this was our last Knicks’ title, we can live (and die) with that.

Concurrent with the Knicks’ miraculous run was the Stanley Cup Finals which happened just up the road on the Las Vegas Strip and in Raleigh, North Carolina. Yep, Raleigh, the state capital but probably more familiar to Knicks Diamond Club demographics as the city Barney Fife moved working as a detective when he was written out of the Mayberry script. To Raleigh ice hockey fans, it was no surprise the Carolina Hurricanes were in the Finals. They were the best team in the Eastern Conference all season.

The surprise was the Vegas Golden Knights winning the West. With three weeks left in the regular season the Knights were on the playoff bubble, some players even making tee times. With eight games left, the Vegas brass fired popular coach Bruce Cassidy who won the Stanley Cup behind the Knights bench only three years ago. He was replaced by crusty John Tortorella, who has made more coaching stops in the NHL than United Van Lines. Tortorella wins and rubs on people. He is smug and an asshole with the media. He wears out his welcome almost everywhere. Vegas was his sixth coaching stop. But now he was our smug asshole. He put the floundering team back on the winning track, sweeping Stanley Cup favorite Colorado in the semifinals before racing off to a two games to one lead over Carolina in the Finals and the thoughts of another Stanley Cup parading down Las Vegas Blvd.

This is the Vegas franchise’s ninth year. It is the third time they have played for the Cup. The team takes no prisoners. Whether it’s a head coach or star player—when they lose their usefulness they are shipped out. Other teams and fans resent our success and cutthroat management style. Despite being down two games to one, Carolina got their skates back under them and won the final three games, including the clincher at T-Mobile Arena last Sunday. The Knights playoff run was magical and extremely nerve racking. Every home game was riveting. So intense that I actually stayed to the end of all of them. Very disappointed in myself. My dad would not be proud; he taught me better than that. However, under this tutelage I did have great parking spots. But when it was over and done the Hurricanes were the better team and deserved to take the hardware back home. The Knights offense, propelled all season by Jack Eichel, disappeared. Or as one local cynic posted, “JFK would be alive if Eichel was the shooter.” Whew, that’s harsh for a team that played well beyond its regular season means for the last couple of months. Two days after the series ended, the Knights announced Tortorella was a short-term rental and will not return. It was their decision, not his. He is now looking for his seventh head coaching job. United Van Lines is back on retainer.

The Golden Knights and Hurricanes face off for the Stanley Cup which Carolina ultimately won.

While the NBA and NHL were making national headlines, Major League Baseball was also played in Vegas last week simultaneously with the hockey playoffs. Well, actually played up here in Summerlin at Las Vegas Ballpark, two miles from my driveway. The stadium is the home of the town’s AAA team, the Aviators, the A’s top farm club. Being a baseball guy, that’s too close to home to ignore.

The vagabond Athletics, playing in Sacramento for three seasons before their new stadium on the Strip where the Tropicana used to digest slot machine coins, will be the site in 2028. But last week the beautiful AAA stadium was the host with three games against Milwaukee and three more against Colorado. All 8,200 seats were occupied for each of the six games.

The Las Vegas Ballpark is no bandbox. The dimensions are similar to Dodger Stadium, in fact a little bit deeper. Vegas is 340 down the right and left field lines; it’s 330 in LA. The power alleys are identical at 380 feet and centerfield in Vegas at 415 is deeper than LA’s 400.

The A’s played six games in Vegas producing 102 runs.

The difference is in elevation. Summerlin is 3000 feet above the sea, the air is light and the wind blew out every game. Dodger Stadium is in a ravine. So, with this atmosphere slo-pitch softball games broke out. There were 102 runs scored, or an average of 17 a game over the six dates. Home run balls were flying through the sky like missiles on a busy Beirut night; there were 32 over the fence. And if base hits are your thing, and they certainly aren’t for pitchers, there were 147. Pop-ups to second base went back to the right field wall. Fly balls landed on the Caesars craps tables, ten miles east. I went to three of the games and for anyone who says baseball is boring, well you’ve never seen a big-league game at Las Vegas Ballpark with the wind blowing out. Sunday’s finale, played in 102-degree heat, finishing two hours before the Knights-Hurricanes Game 6, was won by Colorado 23-9. It’s the most runs the A’s have given up in 71 years, dating back to 1955 when they played in Kansas City. No, I wasn’t at that game.

And finally there will be some television time today watching the final round of the U.S. Open from the Shinnecock Hills Golf Club on Long Island. If you are looking for Phil Mickelson it will be a short TV day for you. Phil has never won the Open and he won’t this year either. Mickelson didn’t play enough events to qualify. Come to think of it, he no longer qualifies for the club championship at his personal golf course, The Farms Club in Rancho Santa Fe, California, either. Last weekend, Phil was pulled off the course mid-round and his membership revoked after a female employee accused him of “nonconsensual and inappropriate conduct” according to club officials. Who really knows what did or didn’t happen but my initial reaction was I hoped he already used all his food and beverage minimum before getting tossed.

So, happy Father’s Day to all dads, grandads and great granddads. In the tradition of those who listen to Alice’s Restaurant every Thanksgiving at noon, I have mine: Close my eyes, wait five or 10 seconds for the commercial skip button to pop-up and play Eddie Fisher’s 1953 recording of Oh, My Papa reminiscing about a wonderful life inspired by Herb Berger. Enjoy:

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I’m proud that Medjet is sponsoring Sunday Morning Coffee. I spent 20 wonderful years with Medjet in Birmingham, Alabama, and can tell you unequivocally they are the standard-bearer for medical assistance membership programs. A talented staff, who cares about its members, is at the forefront of the company’s success. Whether you are traveling for business or pleasure, domestic or international, a Medjet membership should be an important part of your travel portfolio before you leave home. Check out the Medjet website at medjet.com or just tap on the Medjet logo and you’ll be able to get a look at Medjet’s services, rules and regulations, pricing, and an overview of the organization. And remember, any opinions expressed in Sunday Morning Coffee content or comments belong to the author and not the sponsor. Safe travels with your Medjet membership! — Roy Berger