Baseball season is right around the corner (hey, three weeks is like four days when you’re my age, so twentysomething days is “right around the corner” to me), and after all the snow this winter, I’m ready. But here comes one of those “the old days were better” ramblings – they don’t call me Old Man Freier in my neighborhood for nothing (actually they pretty much just ignore me because I start every sentence with “Back in my day”). I was recently watching part of game five of the 1976 Yankees-Royals LCS that YES always seems to show and an episode of The Bronx Is Burning on MSG (the one about the 1977 LCS, which intersperses real highlights from the series), and it’s safe to say that baseball has changed since then. It may not have been better, but it was different. It’s lost a lot of its toughness and boys-will-be-boys attitude. In the 1976 game, the first pitch thrown by Grant Jackson right after George Brett hits his game-tying three-run homer in the top of the eighth is aimed right for John Mayberry’s head. It was clearly 100% intentional, but nobody batted an eye. Mayberry ducked out the way, but didn’t even look at Jackson, let alone stand and glare at him or shout at him. The announcers barely mentioned it – just that it was ball one. And there were no stupid umpire warnings, thank god. If that happened today, alarms would go off and the batter would run and hide until it was safe to come back on the field.

In the 1977 LCS, Graig Nettles broke up a double play by putting his shoulder down and running over Frank White, sending him to into oblivion. He made no effort to slide. Of course, the rules have changed since then, and players now have to at least pretend to slide. The rulebook was mainly rewritten because of what Royal Hal McRae did to Willie Randolph, when he body blocked him into left field. Second basemen were just waiting to get killed back then. Again, maybe that’s not better, but different. And then there was the famous fight between Nettles and Brett. Punches were thrown, bodies were slammed, Nettles even kicked Brett – but no one was thrown out of the game. Boys will be boys. There’s even a scene in the miniseries where Billy Martin/John Turturro stands on the top step of the dugout yelling expletives at Royals pitcher Larry Gura (I’m assuming that it’s based on a true incident). Can you imagine Joe Girardi cursing at John Lackey? Today’s players are so much more sensitive and fragile than the old-timers, with their taking offense to any pitch that comes near them, their body armor, pitch counts, delicately sliding around catchers, manicured hair, dancing and handshakes, the disappearance of bench jockeying, coddling by the union and owners, wearing batting helmets while running the bases – you get the picture. And they’re so much nicer to their enemies, with all the fraternizing that goes on. Sure, today’s spoiled players are more athletic, faster, bigger and stronger (wink, wink), but little by little, the game is turning into softball, with no contact, and god help you if you hurt anyone’s feelings. As the Hanson Brothers might have said: “Old-time baseball! Thurman Munson! Cookie Rojas! Lou Piniella!”

Ok, the boring sermon is over, and now back to 2010. Here are the top stories in the world of New York sports this past week:

Comings and Goings: The NFL free-agent frenzy has begun. Say good-bye to Thomas Jones (Chiefs), Kerry Rhodes (Cardinals), David Carr (49ers) and Fred Robbins (Rams), and say hello to Antrel Rolle, Jim Sorgi, Brodney Pool and Antonio Cromartie. The Jets kindly gave $500,000 up front to their new cornerback so he can clear up the many, many, many (many) paternity issues he has going. He’s the Brady Bunch, Eight Is Enough, With Six You Get Eggroll, Yours, Mine and Ours and My Three Sons all rolled into one.

The Week in Port St. Lucie: Thyroids, pink eye, sore shoulders, pitchers getting hit in the knee with line drives, Oliver Perez getting hammered, front office miscommunications and buffoonery – it’s just another routine week for the Mets. John Maine had a promising outing, though when healthy, he’s usually good, while Perez and Mike Pelfrey were lit up. Any bad performance by one of those guys and we’re in “the sky is falling” territory, but with Johan Santana it’s all about how he feels. Statistically, his first start didn’t go so well (1.2 innings pitched, four runs, six hits, one K, one BB), but as long as he’s healthy, who cares? Frankie Rodriguez is back in camp after suffering from pink eye and the slings and arrows of Goose Gossage calling him a clown (I’m not sure which is worse). Clowns everywhere will come out of the woodwork to criticize Gossage because the Hall-of-Fame reliever used the word “clown” in a derogatory manner. We’re only days away from a press conference/formal apology from the former Yankee great: “I apologize to any clowns I may have offended. I regret my choice of words. I should said ‘bonehead’ instead.” And because the Mets can’t seem to pull off the simplest of tasks, for a few days we had Thyroid-Gate, starring Jose Reyes’ overactive thyroid (“It’s not overactive!” “Yes it is!”). Of course, now he’ll be out for weeks or even months before he can resume any kind of baseball activity. But kids Jenrry Meija and Ike Davis along with not-so-young Chris Carter keep on impressing everybody – so they have that going for them.

The Week in Tampa: The Phil Hughes/Joba Chamberlain duel began this past week, and the verdict so far: Hughes pretty good, Joba very bad (27.05 ERA). Francisco Cervelli was drilled in the melon and got a concussion on Saturday. Thankfully, he seems to be doing fine now. And speaking of doing fine, Nick Johnson’s back on the field and homered twice on Tuesday. CC Sabathia looked a lot like Santana on Tuesday, when he went 2.2 innings and let in five runs on seven hits. Meanwhile, the Alex Rodriguez/Dr. Tony Galea controversy continues. The shady doctor treated A-Rod without permission from the Yankees, and now, unlike Jose Reyes and Carlos Beltran, he’s refusing to come clean on what went on. The feds may be twisting his arm, but if he’s not guilty of anything then just say so. Of course, A-Rod can’t trust himself to not stick his own foot in his mouth. He’s walking around camp muttering advice to himself, “Don’t say anything stupid. Just pretend you’re somebody else.”

The Race for the Worst: The Nets beat the Knicks this week but they’re still in a race against time for the worst record ever. If they win three more games, will the 1972-’73 Philadelphia 76ers pop the champagne and celebrate like the ’72 Miami Dolphins? The worst record in Nets franchise history is 17-65, by the way. The 1989-’90 team, coached by Bill Fitch, set that mark. Dennis Hopson was their leading scorer (15.8), while Sam Bowie was their top rebounder (10.1 per game). That pretty much says it all. Other players on that team: Chris Morris, Mookie Blaylock, Roy Hinson, Purvis Short, Lester Conner, Charles Shackleford, Chris Dudley, Derrick Gervin, and even Anthony Mason and Rick Carlisle. Looking to the future, though, there was a groundbreaking ceremony yesterday in Brooklyn for the team’s new arena, with Jay-Z and other luminaries grabbing a shovel. But there was no sign of Joe Barry Carroll.

Not Much Better: The woeful Knicks lost to the Nets, and missed all of their three pointers along the way. They did beat Atlanta by one point, though, to try and regain some dignity. But their loss on Wednesday to San Antonio clinched their ninth straight losing season, setting a franchise record (they had eight consecutive losing seasons from 1959-’60 to ’66-’67). Thanks James Dolan. Now please just go away.

Momentum Changer: So, an aging, balding drunk who’s kind of a jerk walks into a bar (this sounds like the beginning of a joke, doesn’t it? But it’s just what I did on Sunday night), and at that same moment Brandon Dubinsky scores the tying goal against Buffalo. But before I even had a bottle of beer in my hand, the Sabres scored in overtime to beat the Rangers. And just like that, another point gets away from them. Even the usually reliable Henrik Lundqvist/Martin Brodeur matchup let them down, when the Devils crushed the Blueshirts in a sloppily played game by both teams. Points are quickly slipping away. Is this the beginning of the end for the Rangers (or did that happen on opening day?) and the beginning of a turnaround for New Jersey, who hadn’t been winning consistently in a few months? It’s getting late fast for the Rangers. And it’s all over for the Islanders, as they lost all three of their games this week.

I’ve come here to laugh with the Mets, not at them. Or to laugh with them and not angst over them. Or just to laugh. Please God, let me laugh. The season hasn’t even started yet and I pretty much want to kill myself already. After all of last year’s injuries, this spring the Mets have given us the Great Carlos Beltran Knee Fiasco, Frankie Rodriguez’s pink eye, Kelvim Escobar’s sore shoulder and now Jose Reyes’ overactive thyroid, which we’ve just learned will take two to eight weeks (years?) to stabilize before he can resume baseball activities, which means he’ll most likely miss opening day. There have also been the usual miscommunications and misdiagnoses. And Reyes and Beltran are linked to a doctor in Canada who’s doling out HGH. How frustrated and angry can one fan base get? Don’t you have to laugh? Maybe I’m being desperate here and ignoring reality, but isn’t it easier that way (ignoring reality is how I usually deal with things in my life anyway).

So let’s enjoy the Mets’ shenanigans instead of being enraged by them. We have enough to be angry with as it is, what with unemployment, cab drivers trying to run us over while crossing the streets of New York, the cost of my monthly New Jersey Transit train pass going up 25% while their service gets continuously worse, and the tragic and untimely death of Corey Haim. So what’s an overactive thyroid here or a case of pink eye there? Besides all the injuries, there are some other amusing aspects to the Mets that can keep us occupied. Luis Castillo’s still on the team. That’s kind of funny. Jerry Manuel’s always laughing (and I mean always) so something must be humorous somewhere around Queens and Port St. Lucie (and look how much fun he’s having in the picture above). Omar Minaya still runs the team? We can all laugh at his Abbott and Costello−like press conferences. The Wilpons are going to own the team until they stop making Wilpons? You have to cackle at that, don’t you? Front office buffoonery? A shaky starting rotation? No setup man? So what? It’s more entertaining this way.

There’s one thing you can say about the Mets. They’re not dull. And at least they have the best announcers in baseball, so their broadcasts are always watchable. Do you really want boring old competency? On-the-ball owners and a sane general manager? A manager who always makes the right moves? What kind of fun is that? Players who know how to touch all the bases? And know how to slide and catch pop-ups? How does that build character? How is that any fun?

So let’s just kick back and enjoy the entertaining world that the New York Mets provide for us. “It can only happen to the Mets” should be trademarked by the franchise. Hey, maybe they’ll surprise us all and even win a few games. But if I wanted baseball to be a source of enjoyment and relaxation, while feeling like a winner, and not one of anger, bitterness and betrayal, I wouldn’t be a Mets fan, would I?

We all know about the great athletes in New York sports history – Babe Ruth, Tom Seaver, Lawrence Taylor, Joe Namath, Mark Messier, Walt Frazier – and even the busts – Ed Whitson, Mo Vaughn, Roberto Alomar, Stephon Marbury, Scott Gomez. But what about the slightly-to-highly-above-average athlete? The kind-of-great but not all-timer? They may not have been Hall-of-Famers, but they were All-Stars, fan favorites, cogs on a championship team or maybe even just pretty darn good. They’re the little brother that didn’t hog all the attention. But they’re certainly worth talking about and remembering. So when do they get their due? Well, now they will. Here is a series of the not-quite-legendary in New York sports history.

In the late 1960s and early ’70s, the Mets were in the habit of trading away their young talent for, well, basically nothing. Amos Otis for Joe Foy. Nolan Ryan (and a few others) for Jim Fregosi. And they did it again when they sent Ken Singleton to Montreal (with Mike Jorgensen and Tim Foli). But this time, they got something of value in return. They got Daniel Joseph “Rusty” Staub. Already a five-time All-Star with Houston and the Expos, and a legend in his three years in Montreal (he learned to speak French and in return was given the nickname Le Grand Orange by the natives), Staub became an instant fan favorite in Queens. Younger fans may only remember him as a portly pinch hitter (or real young fans may not remember him at all), but in his first go-round with the Mets (1972-’75), he was the team’s best position player.

The New Orleans native’s first season with the Mets was derailed when he was hit by a pitch thrown by future teammate George Stone, which broke his hand. But the next season, 1973, was a magical one for both Staub and the Mets. They Ya Gotta Believed their way to first place, and then upset the Big Red Machine in the playoffs. The Mets right fielder only had three hits in the series but he sure made his presence felt. Those three hits all happened to be home runs (and he had five RBI’s). In game four, in the 11^th inning, he made one of the great catches in Mets history (which is actually saying a lot), when he made a running catch, robbing Dan Driessen of an extra-base hit, crashed into the wall and separated his shoulder. That didn’t stop him from playing in the World Series against Oakland, though. He starred at the plate, hitting .423, with 11 hits, a home run and six RBI’s. He won game four for the Mets, when he homered off Ken Holtzman. And he did it all while having to throw underhand while out in the field because he couldn’t lift his arm over his head. If the Mets would have won game seven, he most likely would have been named the Series MVP.

In 1975, Le Grand Orange became the first Met to drive in 100 runs in a season (105). And unfortunately, it was his last year with the team (until his return six years later), because the Mets did it again. Another bad trade. Whether it was because the team felt he was getting old and wanted to pave the way for rookie sensation (and ultimate bust) Mike Vail, or whether they didn’t want to pay him, or if it was payback for Staub’s refusal to go on a trip to Japan the previous winter, the team sent him packing to Detroit (with Bill Laxton) for over-the-hill, husky pitcher Mickey Lolich (and Billy Baldwin). Mickey Lolich? Are you kidding me? The Mets already had Tom Seaver, Jerry Koosman and Jon Matlack in their rotation, so they traded their best player for a 35-year-old fourth starter (who hated New York so much, he retired after one season with the Mets to open a doughnut shop back in Michigan, only to come back a year later with San Diego). Staub went on to drive in 100 runs in two of his next three seasons.

After starring in the American League (Detroit and Texas) and a brief return to Montreal, Staub came back to New York in 1981, signing as a free agent. In his last five seasons, he mainly played the role of pinch hitter (if he would have stayed in the AL as a DH, it was certainly possible he could have reached 3,000 hits). But what a pinch hitter he was. 1983 was a historic season for him. He tied the NL record with eight consecutive pinch hits. He tied the major league record with 25 pinch-hit RBI’s. And he established the major league record of 81 pinch-hit appearances. In his heyday, Staub was an excellent fielder and had a rifle for an arm. But by the mid ’80s, he rarely saw time on the field. In one memorable game in April of ’85 against the Pirates, the game dragged into extra innings and, with the Mets running out of players, Staub had to play the outfield. Manager Davey Johnson had the 41-year-old switch between left and right field, depending on whether a lefty or righty was at the plate. The years and pounds had taken their toll on Rusty, so he ran between the two positions in order to avoid fielding the ball. In the 18^th inning, with righty-hitting pitcher Rick Rhoden batting, the ball sliced into right field, but Staub ran in to make a shoestring catch. And the Mets went on to win the game, 5-4. He retired after the 1985 season, just missing out on winning the World Series by one year (1973 was the only time he reached the postseason).

Rusty Staub is the answer to a few trivia questions: Who are the only three players to hit home runs when they were teenagers and in their forties (Staub, Ty Cobb and Gary Sheffield); who is the only player to have 500 hits with four different teams; and who is the first player to play 162 games exclusively at DH. Staub played for 23 seasons, and he finished his career with 2,716 hits, 292 home runs, 1,466 RBI’s, a .279 batting average, .362 OBP and .431 slugging percentage. In nine seasons with the Mets, he posted a .276 average, .358 OBP, .419 slugging percentage, belted 709 hits, hit 75 homers and drove in 399 runs. He was a six-time All-Star (but never with the Mets). His #10 was retired by the Expos, and he’s been enshrined in the Mets and Texas Baseball Hall of Fames.

Preparation, practice and dedication were the hallmarks of Rusty Staub’s career. He had a short, compact swing and was called a pure hitter by the likes of Duke Snider and Ted Williams. He was a true student of the game, and was a master at stealing signs and knowing the opposition pitchers inside and out. But he was more than a baseball player. He, of course, had in interest in gourmet cooking, and owned his own restaurant, Rusty’s, on the Upper East Side, in the ’70s and ’80s. And since his retirement he’s been a true humanitarian. He started the Rusty Staub Foundation and the New York Police and Fire Widows’ and Children’s Benefit Fund, and has raised millions of dollars for both. Rusty Staub was a professional, he was classy, he was an outstanding baseball player and he was big enough of a person to have two nicknames.

(Click on the names to read the other bios in the series: Steve Vickers, John Olerud, Al Toon, Brad Van Pelt, Dick Barnett, Mickey Rivers and Butch Goring/Ron Duguay/Ken Daneyko.)

The Knicks recently celebrated the 40^th anniversary of their first championship, which got me to thinking – and yes, this is what I think about while cracking open my ninth beer of the night: New York-area teams have a seven-decade championship streak on the line this year. For the last seven decades (and eight out of nine) a New York team has played in a championship game when the year ends in a zero. Sometimes they lost, sometimes they won, but they reached the final game or series. Coincidence? Yeah, but so what? Let’s look back anyway.

The year 2000 was a bonanza. The Yankees and Mets squared off in the World Series, the Devils won the Stanley Cup and the Giants made it to the Super Bowl but lost to Baltimore (the game was played in 2001 but it was the 2000 season). In 1990, the Giants beat Buffalo in the Super Bowl (wide right!). The Islanders won the first of four consecutive Stanley Cups in 1980. The Knicks, of course, won their first championship in 1970. The Yankees lost a heartbreaker to Bill Mazeroski and the Pirates in 1960. 1950 saw the Yanks defeat the Whiz Kid Phillies for their second of five Series wins in a row, and the Rangers were defeated by Detroit in the Stanley Cup. 1940? The Rangers won, of course, beating Toronto for their third Stanley Cup victory. The streak’s broken link is 1930. Native New Yorkers the Marx Brothers released Animal Crackers that year – does that count? The Brooklyn Dodgers (or Robins, as they were sometimes known as back then, when they temporarily changed their name in honor of their manager, Wilbert Robinson) lost to Cleveland in 1920. I don’t know what happened in 1910. None of the three local baseball teams reached the World Series, and the football, basketball and hockey teams didn’t exist yet. Maybe Theodore Roosevelt won a bear wrestling championship or Christy Mathewson was victorious in a design-the-most-creative-straw-hat-and-win-a-Victrola contest.

So who will keep the streak alive this year? I think we can count out the Nets, Knicks and Islanders, and the Rangers would be a real, real long shot (ok, a real, real, real long shot). The Yankees, of course, have to be the favorite. David Wright thinks the Mets can make it to the World Series. The Devils always have a shot (but maybe Martin Brodeur is too depressed after being benched in the Olympics). And the Jets and Giants may get there if things break right for them. But it’s almost a guarantee that one of our teams will make it, right? Well, after you drink nine beers, it will seem like a lock.

Here are the top stories in the world of New York sports this past week:

Close But No Cigar: The Friday snow storm and shovel-fest worked out so I could watch the U.S.-Finland game instead of going to work (after getting a foot and a half of snow, it was sunny out at my house on Friday afternoon – go figure), and the US of A gave those Finnish bastards a 6-1 stomping (they’re not really bastards but I don’t know enough about Finland to come up with a more fitting derogatory term). Canada won a thriller against Slovakia, setting up the gold medal game. I never thought I would root for Zach Parise, but when he scored that goal with 24 seconds left, there I was rooting for a Devil. It was shades of his father, Islander J.P. Parise, scoring the overtime goal that beat the Rangers in the first round of the 1975 playoffs. Why did Sidney Crosby of all people have to be the one to score the winning goal? Right after he put the puck in the net, he took a dive for old time’s sake and complained to the ref before celebrating with his teammates. It was fun while it lasted. And I guess it was all worth it just to listen to the sagacious ramblings of the always-insane William Shatner later that night. But why couldn’t he have sung “Rocket Man”? Now that would have been the perfect ending to the Winter Olympics.

Good News/Bad News: The good news: The Knicks destroyed Detroit on Wednesday, with four players scoring over 20 points (that hasn’t happened since the 1971 Baltimore Orioles – no wait, that was four 20-game winners on the same team; four 20-point scorers on the same team probably happened last week some time); the bad news: They were humiliated and embarrassed by Cleveland in the previous game. The good news: The Knicks beat Washington in overtime on Friday; the bad news: They followed that up with a loss to Memphis. The bad news: Tracy McGrady’s knees have been bothering him all week; the good news: The Knicks traded for his expiring contract, not his knees (and now he’s the point guard du jour). The good news: The Knicks won two out of four games this week; the bad news: Those are the only two games they’ve won in their last 12. The bad news: Eddy Curry is coming back; the good news: He can stand in the lane and distract the other team by having them stop and say, “Hey, I though you retired about 15 years ago.” The good news: Both Mike D’Antoni and Donnie Walsh manned up and took the blame for the Knicks defenseless, pathetic play of late; the bad news: The Knicks stink.

Do You Believe in Miracles?! No, I’m not talking about Olympic hockey, but the Nets beating the Celtics in Boston on Saturday. That’s pretty much as miraculous as it gets. Kevin Garnett wasn’t feeling so good about the loss: “I got nothing to say. I feel disgusted.” But the Nets still couldn’t manage to come up with their first winning streak of the year, when they blew a lead to Washington on Sunday. But they’ve won games two weeks in a row, now. That’s a miracle for them. In their last game of the week, they were blown out by Cleveland. So the Cavs beat the two local teams by a combined 50 points.

Dr. HGH: It’s probably much ado about nothing (though we shouldn’t believe anything players say these days, should we?), but the FBI recently questioned Jose Reyes and Carlos Beltran and want to speak to Alex Rodriguez. They all have tenuous ties to Dr. Tony Galea, who is under investigation for conspiring to smuggle HGH into the U.S. from Canada. Reyes used the doctor’s shaken-not-stirred blood-spinning procedure last year, when he was trying to put his hamstring back together. At least Beltran answered all their questions without pulling a Sammy Sosa – “No inglés, señor.” No word on A-Rod’s link to the good doctor, but he’s already a steroid cheat as it is, so the damage is already done for him. Every day a new name comes out. Who’s next? Horace Clarke? Bill Sudakis? On the field, Reyes took the first pitch he saw this spring in game action and hammered it down the line for a two-run triple. And Jon Niese threw two innings without falling down while writhing in pain, so that’s some good news for the Mets so far this spring. Of course, the Mets were just playing against themselves. But the next day, they beat a real live actual team (the Braves), for their first win of the grapefruit league season, with talk-of-the-camp Ike Davis belting two doubles. Yesterday he smashed a grand slam in the Mets’ win over the Cards, and the team picked up reliever Kiki Calero to help with the bullpen depth. As for the Yankees, Joe Girardi took his players on an arcade outing to do some team bonding, loosen the guys up and take a break from those grueling three-hour days spent lounging around in perfectly ideal sunny weather. Two months of negotiations preceded the trip, as the Players’ Union haggled with the Yankees over who would supply the quarters. A.J. Burnett won the Indy Car racing competition, Andrew Brackman was the Skee-Ball champion and Royce Ring won the Pop-A-Shot event. Andy Pettitte and A-Rod were barred from taking part in the games because they failed a drug test. The Yankees won their first spring training game, too, but they win every game, don’t they? And oh yeah, Nick Johnson’s already injured.

They’re Back: Well, most of the Rangers are. Marian Gaborik came down with a lower body injury that somehow involved back bacon in Vancouver and is out indefinitely. I kind of enjoyed the break. How many times can you write that the Rangers don’t have a lot of talent, can’t score, don’t consistently play hard and their GM stinks? But they did come storming out of the gate with a 4-1 win over Ottawa, which was their third victory in a row. But on Friday, they lost to Pittsburgh in overtime despite Henrik Lundqvist’s heroic performance. Though he let in five goals, he made 50 saves (50!) and was the best player on the ice. The Islanders put poor Rick DiPietro back on the all-too-familiar injured reserve list, soundly beat Chicago, 5-3, and then got hammered last night by Atlanta, 6-3. And the Devils also won their first game back, beating San Jose, 4-3, but Brodeur let in three quick goals as fast as you can say the words “Roberto Luongo.”

Trade Deadline: The Rangers picked up peripatetic backup goalie Alex Auld off waivers last week, and the local teams only made minor trades leading up to the deadline: The Islanders sent Greg Moore to Columbus for Dylan Reese, and Andy Sutton was shipped off to Ottawa for a second-round draft pick; the Devils picked up Martin Skoula from Toronto for a fifth-round pick; and the Rangers traded minor leaguer Jordan Owens to Detroit for Kris Newbury and sent Miika Wiikman (and a 2011 seventh-round pick) to Phoenix for Anders Eriksson. The big deals were made a few weeks ago – for Ilya Kovalchuk and Olli Jokinen. The Blueshirts probably should have been sellers, but at least they didn’t do anything stupid.

What Have You Done For Us Lately (A Lot, Actually): The Jets are all set to release Thomas Jones today. He rushed for a career-high 1,402 yards and scored a personal best 14 touchdowns last season. The team is taking a gamble by dispatching the veteran leader. He may have been injured at the end of the season, but so were Shonn Greene and Leon Washington (his future is up in the air, too). “It’s not you, it’s us,” stated the Jets to Jones. But now they may be having second thoughts, as they’re contemplating releasing and then re-signing the popular running back. Lito Sheppard is gone, though. “It’s you, not us,” they told him. And in late-breaking news, the Jets traded a 2011 draft pick for Antonio Cromartie.

We all know about the great athletes in New York sports history – Babe Ruth, Tom Seaver, Lawrence Taylor, Joe Namath, Mark Messier, Walt Frazier – and even the busts – Ed Whitson, Mo Vaughn, Roberto Alomar, Stephon Marbury, Scott Gomez. But what about the slightly-to-highly-above-average athlete? The kind-of-great but not all-timer? They may not have been Hall-of-Famers, but they were All-Stars, fan favorites, cogs on a championship team or maybe even just pretty darn good. They’re the little brother that didn’t hog all the attention. But they’re certainly worth talking about and remembering. So when do they get their due? Well, now they will. Here is a series of the not-quite-legendary in New York sports history.

The analysts on MSG’s Hockey Night Live, Butch Goring, Ron Duguay and Ken Daneyko, are three disparate personalities and were three completely different players, playing for different teams and playing different positions, but they all made their mark in New York sports history (ok, and New Jersey). From the gritty, down-to-earth Goring, to the flashy male-model-like Duguay, to tough-guy, toothless Daneyko, they won seven Stanley Cups between them (sorry Ron), and each had a long, successful career.

Butch Goring

Butch Goring was the “final piece of the puzzle” for the Islanders dynasty when he was acquired from Los Angeles in 1980 for Billy Harris and Dave Lewis. After a decade with the Kings, where he scored over 20 goals in nine straight seasons (with a career-high 37 in 1977-’78), Goring came to Long Island and was the veteran the club needed to push them over the top, and led them to four consecutive Stanley Cups. That first spring with the Islanders, he recorded 19 points in the playoffs, and then followed that up in 1981 with 20 points (10 goals, 10 assists) and won the Conn Smythe Trophy. His reputation as a clutch player was already cemented, though, back in 1976, when he scored overtime goals in two separate playoff games for the Kings in their series vs. the Bruins.

He was a relentless hard worker, who was known for killing penalties, winning face-offs and being defensive minded, but most of all (or maybe least of all), he was known for his unique, crazy homemade helmet that he wore going all the way back to his childhood. The St. Boniface, Manitoba, native amazingly only totaled 102 career penalty minutes in 1,107 games – it’s the fewest in history for players who played over 1,000 games. He took one minor penalty four different seasons in his career. Besides being the MVP of the playoffs, he also won the Lady Byng and Bill Masterson awards (both in 1978) and played in the 1980 All-Star game. After spending parts of six seasons on Long Island, and finishing his career with half a season in Boston, he called it quits, with a total of 375 goals, 513 assists, for 888 points. He briefly coached the Bruins and the Islanders. And like Dave DeBusschere and Gary Carter, he’ll forever be known as that last important component to a championship team.

Ron Duguay

The hair. You say the words “Ron Duguay” and the first thing you think of is long, curly hair. Duguay was Jon Bon Jovi before Jon Bon Jovi. He was hanging out at Studio 54 with Andy Warhol (who put him on the cover of Interview magazine). He was in Sasson Jeans commercials (with teammates Phil Esposito, Anders Hedberg and Dave Maloney). He was a sex symbol. He was a swingin’ Manhattan disco cool cat. But he was also a hockey player.

The Sudbury, Ontario, native was the 13^th overall pick in the 1977 draft, and made his debut as a 20 year old for the Rangers that year. He scored 20 goals that season, and then improved to 27 and 28 goals the next two years. He had his best year with the club in 1981-’82, when he tallied 40 goals and 36 assists, and made the All-Star team. He was, of course, part of the underdog team that beat the Islanders and made it all the way to the 1979 Stanley Cup finals, losing to Montreal in five games. After six season with the Blueshirts, Duguay was traded to Detroit, where he racked up a career-high 89 points in 1984-’85. He then went to Pittsburgh, back to the Rangers and finished his career with the LA Kings. In 12 NHL seasons, he scored 274 goals, assisted on 346, for a total of 620 points. He made the playoffs every year but one (with his best performance coming in 1981, with 17 points in 14 games). After leaving the NHL, he played in Germany and even tried professional roller hockey. His golden-boy looks and signature hair overshadowed the fact that he was an old-fashioned hard worker on the ice. But if he would have been forced to wear a helmet, the Ron Duguay mystique wouldn’t have been the same.

Ken Daneyko

Goring had his helmet, Duguay had his hair and Ken Daneyko had his teeth. Or rather lack thereof. His toothless grin is one of the great images in NHL history. Known as Mr. Devil, Daneyko was tough as a handful of rusty nails and as fierce a competitor as there ever was. And he was a winner. The burly defenseman was a part of all three Devils Stanley Cup champion teams, going out on top, when he retired after the 2003 Cup victory.

A Windsor, Ontario, native, Daneyko was a first-round pick of New Jersey in the 1982 draft. He made his NHL debut in 1983, and played parts of 20 seasons, all with New Jersey, and was on 14 playoff teams. He didn’t contribute much on offense – his best scoring year was in 1989-’90 with six goals and 15 assists (for his career he scored 36 goals with 142 assists) – but that wasn’t his job after all; his was to keep the other team from scoring. He once went 255 consecutive regular season games without scoring. What he could do, though, was rack up the penalty minutes. Five times he collected over 200 penalty minutes and totaled 2,519 for his career. He was tough in front of the net and was often used as a shadow. He won one major award in his career – the Bill Masterson Trophy, in 2000, after persevering over a little glug-glug-glug problem (he missed much of the ’97-’98 season when he voluntarily entered the NHL/NHLPA substance abuse program). He was a selfless, team-first player, and New Jersey rewarded him by retiring his #3 in 2006. If you don’t like Ken Daneyko, you don’t like hockey.

(Click here, here, here, here, here and here to read the other bios in the series.)

The Mets are coming into spring training refreshed, confident and basking in the glow of the warm Florida sun. In fact they’re so confident they’re talking about playing in the World Series. They haven’t declared themselves the team to beat yet, though, but there’s still plenty of time left for that. Having confidence and setting high goals are great – no team, no matter how bad, is going to announce that they think they’ll finish in fourth place for the coming season – but you have to learn to walk before you can run. We’ve heard all the grand pronouncements and proclamations before, but it’s gotten them nowhere.

Jerry Manuel and the Mets have been talking about fundamentals here and there, and turning over a new leaf and wiping the slate clean, but mainly what we’ve heard so far in Port St. Lucie is: “We have enough talent to go the World Series.” Or “I’m the best pitcher in the division.” Or “We have the same core that won the division in 2006” (wasn’t that four years and three disasters ago?).

What we haven’t heard is this: “We’re going to start hustling and playing harder. We can’t just throw our gloves onto the field and expect to win, no matter how much talent we may have on paper. We have to start playing fundamental baseball, do all the little things that need to be done to win games. We need to play harder, bowl over catchers, break up double plays. We embarrassed ourselves, the franchise and our fans the last three years, so we before we talk about expectations and guarantees, we need to concentrate on what’s going on between the lines in order to play winning baseball. There’s no need to talk about winning the division or going to the World Series until we learn how to play the game the right way. Sure, we had a lot of injuries, but our lack of hustle, fundamentals and focus has been a big issue the last three years, so we need to fix those areas first before we worry about predictions, goofy handshakes, smiling more and other needless distractions.”

Over the last few years, the Mets refuse to hustle. They refuse to play a tough brand of baseball – they don’t knock over catchers, they don’t throw at batters when the situation calls for it and they consistently get pushed around. Their lack of fundamentals has now moved into the category of legend. But they still seem to be in denial. Do they even know that they don’t run hard to first? That they don’t hustle? That they consistently make the minimal effort on the field? That they lack mental toughness?

Maybe Jason Bay and a full year of Jeff Francoeur, along with bench veterans Alex Cora and Frank Catalanotto and the absence of Carlos Delgado, will help end the Mets malaise. An overhaul of the franchise was called for after last season, but for whatever reason – money? an unwillingness to make tough decisions? – that didn’t happen. But the same old, same old isn’t going to work again. The Mets have a laundry list of issues that needs to be confronted honestly by each player and coach. They need to take the sunglasses off, stop with the business as usual, “we look good on paper” nonsense and change their mindset and realize where they’ve gone wrong and how to fix it. In other words, the Mets need to stop being the same old Mets while hoping that all their problems will magically disappear because Oliver Perez had a good bullpen session. It may be sunny now in Port St. Lucie, but come April, there always seems to be a dark cloud hovering over Queens. If they want the sun to shine on them all season long, the Mets will need to change their attitude and approach to the game.

Ok, so I’m at Penn Station in the men’s room the other day (and no, I wasn’t “loitering” or “hanging out” or “experimenting” – I was just “freshening up” before my train ride home), and this guy is holding a fancy Victoria’s Secret gift bag with a wrapped present sticking out of it, when he drops it on the floor as he’s zipping up. Now, of course, the floor in there is, shall we say, wet. In fact, it’s sort of like a pond. A pond filled with scum. And other things that you don’t even want to be stepping in, let alone dropping a fancy present in. The guy picks up his bag, gives it a wipe or two with his hand, splashing the run-off on himself now, and then goes on his merry way. Oh, that poor, poor girlfriend or wife. Little does she know the journey that her thoughtful gift has traveled. The only way she could find out, is if that schlemiel boyfriend of hers came home and announced, “Happy birthday, Honey! Your gift is drenched in authentic Penn Station men’s room urine! Enjoy!” Or maybe he did it on purpose: “Happy birthday, Honey! Your gift is drenched in authentic Penn Station men’s room urine – just the way you like it! Enjoy!” That story has nothing to do with the week in New York sports; I just thought it was a nice, little slice of life story that I found amusing and wanted to share.

Now on to sports (sort of). Olympic fever is finally spreading through my house. My daughter watched some of the speed skating, and she decided that she needed to win a Gold medal in that event. So she pulled on her Rollerblades, and proceeded to slowly skate around our basement a few times, and then declared herself the Gold medalist. What she was really interested in, though, was the pomp and circumstance of the medal-winning ceremony. She stood on the couch, which acted as the podium the winner stands on, with her stuffed Winnie the Pooh being the Silver medal winner sitting (he can’t really stand) a level below her, and SpongeBob winning the Bronze. I formally presented my daughter with her Gold medal (ok, a toy necklace), and, yes, she then made me sing the National Anthem. The whole thing. And if you’ve never sung it, it’s a tough song to sing, spanning a range of octaves and all. But, fortunately, I didn’t have to sing the Hundred Acre Wood or Bikini Bottom anthems. Of course, my daughter inherited that kind of monkey-see-monkey-do behavior from her father and her uncles. After watching the James Caan classic Rollerball on TV once when we were kids, the next day, my brothers and I plus a group of friends tried to play our own version of the game. There were some bicycles, roller skates, hockey gloves and a softball involved, but it just didn’t quite work out for some reason. It’s too bad my daughter didn’t get caught up in curling the last two weeks. Maybe that would have led to her sweeping or vacuuming the house.

Now on to sports (really). Here are the biggest stories in the world of New York sports this week:

Dawning of a New Era: It was a newsworthy week for the Knicks, but unfortunately, they didn’t win any games. The Tracy McGrady era (as short as it may be) began on Saturday (along with the Sergio Rodriguez era, as he’s now the team’s new point guard). McGrady starred, pouring in 26 points, but he and the team ran out of steam and lost in OT to Oklahoma City. On Monday, the Knicks honored their first-ever world champion team from 1970. The ongoing interviews during the game were a good distraction from what went on out on the court. The 2010 Knicks are not in the same universe as their 1970 forefathers. Chemistry and teamwork were the buzz words of that champion team, and those aspects of the game were nowhere to found during the Knicks-Bucks game. Of course, their recent trades had a lot to do with that, and they lost a lot of defense and size. McGrady had to leave the game with an injured knee. That didn’t take long. He looked rusty, tentative and out of game shape in their loss to Nate Robinson and Boston on Wednesday. It looks like he may have peaked on Saturday.

Down in FLA: The Mets signed Rod Barajas to a reasonably cheap one-year contract. One year for him is better than Bengie Molina for two or three years at $12 million or whatever it would have been. They both play defense, they both hit home runs, and that’s about it. I feel bad for Omir Santos. He went from major league starter to Triple A backup in one stroke of the pen. It looks like Jerry Manuel may bat Jose Reyes third to start the season. If it’s only until Carlos Beltran comes back, why bother? Reyes is sensitive enough as it is, so shouldn’t Manuel make him as comfortable as possible coming back from his injury? Jenrry Mejia has impressed Manuel in camp so far. And Sandy Koufax is the next in line to take a stab at fixing the mysterious Oliver Perez. Over in Tampa, the Yankees signed Chan Ho Park – throw another reliever on the pile. Jorge Posada and A.J. Burnett began working together after last year’s disastrous partnership. Shouldn’t Posada be a DH at this point in his career? In last year’s playoffs he couldn’t catch the ball no matter who was pitching. Johnny Damon officially became a Tiger, and Derek Jeter declared he wants to be a Yankee forever. Where else is he going to go?

Do You Believe in Slight Upsets?! It wasn’t exactly a miracle, but it was an upset nonetheless. The U.S. beat Canada in a great game, almost 30 years to the day of the Miracle on Ice. Hey, even Chris Drury scored – he’s obviously been pacing himself with the Rangers, saving his offensive output for the Olympics. Jamie Langenbrunner scored (and assisted on another), and ex-Devil Brian Rafalski netted two goals. Whenever I think of a Devil or ex-Devil’s name, in my mind it’s always said in Mike Emrick’s excitable voice. He’s so ubiquitous, he’s now doing the play-by-play of my everyday life in my head, which isn’t so bad really. Maybe it’s a new undiagnosed disease – Emrick Syndrome. It could be worse – it could be Suzyn Waldman’s voice I’m hearing. Ryan Miller saved the day for the USA, while poor Martin Brodeur looked like he just lost to the Rangers again, and then he was benched for Canada’s game against Germany. He now has to slink back to New Jersey, as he has all of Canada wanting to come after him with torches and pitchforks. Canada recovered to beat Germany and steamroll over Russia, though. And the USA kept their dream alive with a win over Switzerland, with Zach Parise providing all the offense they would need. Debate time: With the Miracle on Ice on everybody’s mind, who was the better Herb Brooks – Kurt Russell or Karl Malden?

We all know about the great athletes in New York sports history – Babe Ruth, Tom Seaver, Lawrence Taylor, Joe Namath, Mark Messier, Walt Frazier – and even the busts – Ed Whitson, Mo Vaughn, Roberto Alomar, Stephon Marbury, Scott Gomez. But what about the slightly-to-highly-above-average athlete? The kind-of-great but not all-timer? They may not have been Hall-of-Famers, but they were All-Stars, fan favorites, cogs on a championship team or maybe even just pretty darn good. They’re the little brother that didn’t hog all the attention. But they’re certainly worth talking about and remembering. So when do they get their due? Well, now they will. Here is a series of the not-quite-legendary in New York sports history.

When Mickey Rivers walked up to home plate, he hobbled to the batter’s box looking like an old man shuffling out to the mailbox to retrieve his monthly AARP Magazine. The flakey center fielder came to the Bronx in a trade with the Angels (along with pitcher Ed Figueroa) in exchange for outfielder Bobby Bonds before the 1976 season. He spent three full seasons in New York as the Yankees’ leadoff hitter, and he was the sparkplug that led the team to three consecutive World Series appearances in those years.

Mick the Quick made his mark with the Bombers in his first season with the team when he finished third in the MVP voting, behind winner Thurman Munson and George Brett. He played in the All-Star game that season and was named to the Sporting News AL All-Star team. For the year, he batted .312 (but with a low .327 OBP – he only walked 13 times all season), scored 95 runs, swatted 184 hits, had 31 doubles and eight triples, hit eight homers and drove in an impressive 67 runs from the leadoff spot, and he swiped 43 bases. He may have walked like a senior citizen but he could run like a jackrabbit. He followed up his debut season in the Bronx with one just as good in 1977 (and finished 11^th in the MVP voting). While his numbers were impressive – .326 average, .350 OBP, 79 runs scored, 184 hits (again), 18 doubles, five triples, 12 home runs, 69 RBI’s, 22 stolen bases – the outcome for the Yankees was better that season. After being swept in the World Series by the Big Red Machine in ’76, the Yankees beat the Dodgers in the Fall Classic to win their first championship in 15 years.

In 1978, he had another quality season (.265 avg., 78 runs scored, 148 hits, 25 doubles, eight triples, 11 homers, 48 RBI’s, 25 stolen bases), and the Yankees beat the Dodgers again for another championship. But it was in the three League Championship Series where he excelled. The Yankees faced the Kansas City Royals three years in a row, and Rivers starred in each one. In 14 total games, he batted .386, with an un-Rivers-like OBP of .417, belted 22 hits and scored 10 runs. His average in the 1978 series was a whopping .455. He didn’t fare as well in World Series play, though, only hitting .238 in 15 games. His Yankee career ended when he was traded to Texas (with a few other unmemorable players) for Oscar Gamble’s Afro (and a few throw-ins, including Gamble himself) on July 30, 1979. In 1980 he set a Texas franchise record with 210 hits.

Rivers was almost known more for his zany personality and infamous quotes than for what he accomplished on the field. Here is a sampling of some of the memorable things he’s said:

“My goals are to hit .300, score 100 runs and stay injury-prone.”

“He’s so ugly, when you walk by him, your pants wrinkle. He made fly balls curve foul.”

“I might have to commute. You know, left field, DH, wherever.”

“I don’t get upset over things I can’t control, because if I can’t control them there’s no use getting upset. And I don’t get upset over the things I can control, because if I can control them there’s no use in getting upset.”

“Me and George and Billy are two of a kind.”

Rivers finished his career with a .295 lifetime average and 267 stolen bases. For what it’s worth, Bill James ranks him the 59^th best center fielder of all-time. He called everyone around him Gozzlehead or Warplehead (and was also known to respond to those strange nicknames himself). No one knows why he did that, but being a fun, wacky mystery was what Mickey Rivers was all about.

(Click here, here, here, here and here to read the other bios in the series.)

Daniel Murphy was once a third baseman. Apparently he wasn’t particularly good at that position, but that was his natural spot out on the field. When he was first called up to the majors in August 2008, the Mets threw him out in left field, as obviously they already had a third baseman (where was Murphy in 1970 when they needed him?). He learned the position on the fly. He wasn’t great, he wasn’t even good, but he wasn’t Todd Hundley-like bad either. After the season, instead of working on his outfield defense, the Mets had him play second base in winter ball. He wasn’t good; he didn’t have the footwork and quickness needed at that position, and that was the end of that experiment. He was given the left-field job in 2009, dropped a fly ball against Florida, and it was all bad (ok, really, really bad) from that point on. And finally, he was moved to first base, where he wasn’t really, really bad. He made physical errors. He made errors in judgment. He dropped balls. But he showed promise. He was better than Mike Piazza.

And now the debate is on. Can Murphy field and hit enough to warrant being the starter at first base? He may not necessarily be handed the position with Fernando Tatis, Mike Jacobs and even Ike Davis around, but he’ll most likely be the starter, with some type of platoon with Tatis (Jerry Manuel recently said that Murphy’s his guy, though). Left field has been a black hole for the Mets the last few years, with guys like Tatis, Murphy, Moises Alou, Angel Pagan, Gary Sheffield, Jeremy Reed, Cory Sullivan, Endy Chavez, Trot Nixon, David Newhan and Ricky Ledee all taking a turn. Now Jason Bay will solidify that position, and essentially replace Carlos Delgado in the lineup. So first base will take over as the mystery spot in the offense.

One camp’s theory about Murphy goes something like this: He’s a DH, and he may not even hit enough to warrant being a starter at that position. And even though he hasn’t turned 25 yet and only has one full season under his belt, he is what he is – a low on-base-percentage guy who won’t hit home runs. And he can’t field no matter what position he plays. A group sitting in another Murphy camp holds another opinion: He’s only 24. He only has one full season in the majors. His worst stretch of hitting came when he was failing and falling down out in left field. Once he settled into first base, he made adjustments at the plate, and hit at a .282 clip, with a .485 slugging percentage after the All-Star break, and ended up with a total of 38 doubles for the season and even led the team in home runs with 12. He’s still developing, so maybe he’ll blossom into a .300 hitter who’ll learn patience at the plate, and hit 25 home runs a year. And then there’s a third camp’s theory about Murphy: Who knows?

As for Murphy’s defense, he sure looks a lot more comfortable at first than he did in the outfield. Being a third baseman makes for a smoother transition. You’re already standing on dirt, after all. He’s been working with one of the all-time greats in Keith Hernandez, which can only help. Murphy apparently didn’t get much help from Luis Castillo last season, though. Hernandez asked Murphy if Castillo was signaling to him what pitches were on the way to help with his positioning, and Murphy replied, “No.” Thanks for the help, Luis. Murphy wasn’t always sure when to go for the grounder in the hole, and occasionally lost track of the ball while trying to find the bag, but those are fixable mistakes. He was aggressive on the 3-6-3 double play and made a few highlight-reel plays, including the behind-the-back, spectacular flip, which was the play of the year. But let’s put it this way: He can’t be any worse than Delgado was.

The Mets are going to need David Wright, Carlos Beltran (if he ever comes back), Jason Bay and Jeff Francoeur all to hit 25–35 home runs this year if they’re going to be successful, so the offensive power shouldn’t hinge on whether Murphy can hit 25 dingers this season. If the Mets fail because Murphy could only hit 14 or 15 long balls, a lot more must have gone wrong for the team than their first baseman’s lack of power. The Mets once won a World Championship with their first baseman hitting 13 home runs, swatting 34 doubles and slugging .446, so a team can win if they don’t have a masher at first (ok, Keith Hernandez also batted .310 with a .413 OBP and won a Gold Glove, I’m just saying).

Is there no room for improvement for Murphy? That seems hard to believe. Can he play a more-than-adequate first base? I think so. Can he improve on his batting average and power numbers? I think so. It’s his lack of ability to draw a walk, and wait for better pitches to hit that will be the hardest to improve on. But he’s only had one season of work so far. If he is what he already is, then it’s Ike Davis’ turn. With all the other question marks for the team – starting rotation, set-up guy, health, fundamentals, Wright’s rebound, Bay’s debut season as a Met – Murphy at first is the least of their problems.

This is the 40^th anniversary of the 1970 World Champion New York Knicks, and the franchise will honor that outstanding team tomorrow night at the Garden. By now we all know about the May 8, 1970, heroics of Knick captain Willis Reed, who hobbled onto the court, scored the team’s first four points while basically playing with one leg and led his team to its first championship. Just the sight of him on the floor intimidated the Lakers and inspired the Knicks to victory.

Reed’s performance in the series was good enough to earn him the Finals MVP (and by the way, he had to guard three Hall-of-Fame centers during the playoff run: Wes Unseld, the artist formerly known as Lew Alcindor and Wilt Chamberlain). That season Reed also won the regular season MVP, the All-Star game MVP (he was the first player to win all three awards in the same season), was on the All-NBA first team, the Defensive first team, was the Sporting News MVP and was voted ABC’s Wide World of Sports Athlete of the Year. I’m pretty sure he was also named Father of the Year, Husband of the Year, Sears’ Customer of the Year, he was McDonald’s one millionth person served, he was voted most likely to succeed by the Knicks, he was elected prom king at the team’s dance, he was captain of his neighborhood watch group, but oddly he lost out as employee of the year to Mike Riordan. Needless to say, 1970 was Willis’ year.

Lost in all the Willis hoopla of game seven of the 1970 NBA Finals was the performance of Walt “Clyde” Frazier. He swished and dished for 36 points, 19 assists and added five steals for good measure. Not only was he outstanding on the court, but he also clutched it up sartorially, by only donning his special playoff duds, and getting behind the wheel of his championship Rolls-Royce as opposed to his regular season Rolls.

Those performances are the stuff of legend, and throw in fellow Hall-of-Famers Dave DeBusschere and Bill Bradley, along with a fits-like-a-glove supporting cast and you have one of the great teams of all time. They were known for teamwork, unselfishness and defense. They epitomized the word ‘team.’ But how were they built? It all starts with two men: Red Holzman, who joined the Knicks as their chief scout in 1958, and Eddie Donovan, who was hired as the team’s coach in 1961. After years of bad luck and bad decisions in the draft – a few of their number-one picks suffered illnesses or injuries and only played a handful of games for the franchise, and the team bypassed players like Nate Thurmond, Gus Johnson, John Havlicek and even players who they would eventually trade for (Walt Bellamy and DeBusschere).

But everything changed in 1964. Donovan was relieved of his coaching duties, but was kept on as general manger. The Knicks had the first pick in the draft that year, and Holzman (who was still working as a scout) and Donovan narrowed their list down to three players: Lucious Jackson, Jim Barnes and Willis Reed. They settled on Barnes and figured the other two would soon be selected. But much to their astonishment, Reed lasted into the second round and they quickly scooped him up. It was to be the greatest (and luckiest) draft decision in franchise history, and the center was the first piece of the championship puzzle. Reed was an instant star, winning the Rookie of the Year award and making the All-Star team. Next on the list was Dick Barnett. In October of 1965, Donovan gambled and traded the younger Bob Boozer to the Lakers for Barnett, who had his worst year the previous season. But Barnett had a resurgent season, and led the Knicks in scoring his first year with the club. Only weeks after that trade, the Knicks sent three players to Baltimore for Bellamy. This trade only worked out later when Bellamy was sent packing, because he pushed Reed to the power forward position, where he was less effective than at center.

That year, they drafted Mr. Princeton, Bill Bradley and vital cog Dave Stallworth. Bradley put the Knicks in a bit of a sticky wicket, though, when he went off to jolly old England to eat bangers ’n’ mash, don a Beatles wig and hang out with the likes of Michael Caine and Lulu (oh yeah, and he was a Rhodes Scholar, too). In 1966-’67 the Knicks finally made the playoffs again after a seven year drought, and they added guard/forward Cazzie Russell that season as their number-one draft pick. The next season, four key members of the championship squad would make their debut, along with their legendary coach. They gambled again in the draft by selecting Frazier, who had one more year of eligibility left in college, but the Knicks threw some big bucks at him (which he needed for his sartorial expenses), and that enticed him to turn pro. Hippie and future coaching legend Phil Jackson was their second-round selection, center Nate Bowman was purchased from Chicago and Bradley joined the Knicks that season, returning from England. The team got off to a bad start, though, and coach Dick McGuire was fired, and replaced by Holzman halfway through the season.

Three more bench players were added to start the 1968-’69 season – Mike Riordan, Bill Hosket and Don May. Every piece seemed to be in place for a championship run. Only one thing was missing: Winning. The Knicks started out the season 6-13. The team did start to win, though (12 out of their next 16), but one more transaction put them over the top. Bellamy and Howard Komives were shipped off to Detroit for DeBusschere. Reed moved back to center where he belonged, Frazier was put into the starting lineup for good and DeBusschere was the legendary “final piece to the puzzle.”

They made it all the way to the Eastern Division Finals, losing to the champion Celtics. But the next season, with that roster together for a full year (along with first-round draft pick John Warren, but without Donovan as he moved on to Buffalo), they steamrolled through the season, winning a franchise-best 60 games (including a then-league-record 18-game winning streak), beat Baltimore, Milwaukee and LA in the playoffs, and the rest is history.