Imagine the electrifying rush of spotting your own jersey on a stranger's back – a tangible symbol that your hard-fought dreams have become reality. It's a moment that can warm an athlete's heart or, as some Knicks stars recall, lead to a hilarious twist of fate. But here's where it gets intriguing: what happens when that jersey once belonged to you, yet now honors someone else? In this piece, we dive into heartfelt and humorous anecdotes from New York Knicks players about their first glimpses of fans rocking their gear, revealing the raw emotions behind the game. And this is the part most people miss – how these experiences highlight the fleeting nature of fan loyalties in the fast-paced world of professional sports.
Editor’s Note: For more in-depth NBA insights and stories, check out The Athletic's extensive coverage at https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/nba/. Keep in mind that the opinions shared here are solely those of the author and do not reflect the official stance of the NBA or its teams.
Josh Hart thought he'd be celebrated in Los Angeles upon his return, post-trade – or at least, that's what he initially believed.
Having relocated to New Orleans after a massive deal that ushered superstar Anthony Davis to the Lakers back in 2019, Hart was strolling through the sunny, bustling avenues of Southern California during some downtime. Mid-walk, he spotted a pedestrian decked out in the team colors and number he used to don.
Naturally, Hart's spirits soared with affection.
“I thought, ‘Wow, that's awesome!’” Hart, currently suiting up for the Knicks, reminisces. “They're still wearing my jersey, keeping the love alive.”
But just a few paces further, that warmth turned into sheepish amusement. Hart chuckles as he explains the reason.
“I took a closer look, and it read ‘Davis’ on the back,” Hart shares with a grin. “It hit me then – oh right, Anthony Davis took over my number 3. They've switched their allegiance to him.”
For any elite athlete, receiving your personalized jersey ranks among life's pinnacle joys. Picture the beaming smiles on rookies' faces during the draft, as they hoist that garment for the first time, soaking in its significance. It's proof they've arrived – all those grueling training sessions, sacrifices, and aspirations have materialized. It's about securing futures for loved ones, transitioning from admiring idols in their childhood jerseys to becoming the idols themselves.
Yet, witnessing fans don their jersey can evoke an equally profound warmth. Out of countless choices, supporters picked you – a testament to your impact. That's why Hart initially felt that glow in LA.
Not every player vividly remembers their maiden sighting of a fan in their jersey, but all cherish the sight whenever it occurs.
“My initial encounter with someone sporting my jersey happened in New York,” Jalen Brunson recounts. “It felt pretty special.”
Despite his status as a franchise cornerstone for years and his collegiate stardom, Brunson still gets emotional about such moments. His earliest memory traces back to when his “sister or wife” surprised him with his high school jersey.
In the NBA, Brunson was a standout in college, yet he slipped to the second round and joined the Mavericks alongside Luka Dončić. Consequently, fan enthusiasm in Dallas gravitated toward Dončić and the iconic No. 41 of Dirk Nowitzki. Fast-forward to his arrival in New York, and Brunson swiftly became “The Captain” at The Mecca. Emerging from Dončić's shadow – a dear friend – he cemented his reputation as one of basketball's premier point guards, delivering hope to one of the league's most enduringly loyal yet long-suffering fanbases.
Soon enough, Brunson jerseys flooded New York's streets and Madison Square Garden, dubbed “The world's most renowned arena.” He basks in it all. But it's not solely his own jersey that stirs him; seeing teammates' gear also resonates.
“This past summer, I was strolling along the boardwalk and noticed a kid in a Josh Hart tee,” Brunson says. “He didn't recognize me. I pulled up Josh's contact and showed him. He was floored, like, ‘Oh my gosh, it's Josh Hart.’ I walked off, and seconds later, he pieced it together that it was me.
“It's thrilling to spot jerseys of not just myself, but also Josh, Mikal (Bridges), and teammates you've bonded with since your early days. Even catching Donte DiVincenzo's around town is a real treat.”
Miles McBride found himself in New York just one day after the Knicks selected him in the 2021 NBA Draft. Scanning the vibrant, orderly chaos of his new city's streets, the guard from West Virginia caught sight of someone in apparel matching his old college team's hues.
From afar, McBride squinted harder. Sure enough, it was a West Virginia jersey. Zooming in further, he confirmed the No. 4 and his surname emblazoned across it.
“That might be the coolest sight I've ever witnessed,” McBride exclaims. “It was mind-blowing.”
Guerschon Yabusele, despite being a first-round pick by the Celtics in 2016, spent that season abroad, suiting up for the Shanghai Sharks in China. The French native had no clue what awaited him upon landing. Would anyone there even know his name?
After his debut outing, as Yabusele left the court, a supporter approached him to autograph a jersey. It looked like a standard Shanghai Sharks kit – blue and orange. Yabusele didn't think much of it, assuming it belonged to a past star or club icon.
He took the jersey and marker, glanced at the number 16 – his own – and then flipped it over. There, in Chinese script, was his family name.
Yabusele had encountered fans with his jersey back in France, where he'd played pro ball. It wasn't uncommon, and it always touched him, especially from his countrymen during his youth. But glimpsing it in China, right after an NBA draft and amid career uncertainties, struck a deeper chord.
“It brought a unique kind of happiness because it's happening globally,” Yabusele reflects. “China feels worlds away from France. That's when it truly sank in – I was overjoyed by my journey, especially seeing those young fans buzzing with excitement post-game.”
But here's the controversial angle that might divide fans: Is it a betrayal when supporters so swiftly trade in one player's jersey for another's, as Hart discovered? Or is it simply the pragmatic side of fandom in a sport where trades shuffle loyalties like deck chairs? This is the part that sparks debate – does the quick shift hurt athletes' feelings, or is it an inevitable byproduct of the business?
What are your thoughts? Have you ever switched teams mid-game in your fan allegiances? Does this humanize players, or does it highlight the impersonal nature of professional sports? Share your opinions in the comments – I'd love to hear agreement, disagreement, or fresh perspectives!
James L. Edwards III (https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/author/james-l-edwards-iii/) serves as a staff writer for The Athletic, focusing on the New York Knicks. He previously chronicled the Detroit Pistons for The Athletic over seven seasons and, prior to that, reported for the Lansing State Journal, covering Michigan State and high school athletics. Follow James L. on Twitter @JLEdwardsIII (https://twitter.com/JLEdwardsIII)
