InNETSweTrust
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<div class="quote_poster">Quote:</div><div class="quote_post">So there was a Knicks-Magic game. The fans came for Patrick.
Patrick Ewing's No. 33 was sent up loudly to the Madison Square Garden ceiling Friday night. Even during introduction of the starting lineups, the sellout crowd was voicing over the proceedings with chants of "Pat-rick! Ew-ing! Pat-rick! Ew-ing!"
When Ewing first appeared at his courtside seat six minutes into the Knicks-Orlando Magic game, the fans turned their attention completely away from the action on the floor to bestow a standing ovation on him. They booed when Orlando, with nine seconds to play in the second period, delayed Ewing's halftime ceremonies by calling a timeout.
Now, consider the Ewing persona, which unlike the late Mr. Rodgers, never, ever asked if you would like to be his neighbor. Rather, it demanded that you acknowledge his work, respect it, appreciate it. Opponents over the years described Ewing's style as "mean." But with admiration. He played with a frown and was "intimidating." He was "a warrior," the perfect representative of the impersonal business of sport.
And nobody - certainly not Ewing - was attempting to reinvent what he had been for 15 years as a Knick, all that time playing by china shop rules: You break it, you own it. When he slammed down a dunk, opposing coaches' children got rashes. When he blocked a shot, the shooter's house pet died. Amid basketball's floating poetry, Ewing was the mightier action speaking louder than words.</div>
Full Story By John Jeansone
