Knicks Keep 'em Coming

Back in August, a friend of my brother's bought himself Knicks' season tickets. This would have been out of the question five years ago, back when the waiting list for those things went on forever. But the Knicks haven't posted a winning record in four seasons, and people aren't so eager to shell out a few thousand dollars just to see a team lose all the time, so now these tickets are going unclaimed.

My brother's friend looked at it as a long-term investment. He'd buy these tickets when no one else wanted them and keep selling them at face value, game by game, until the Knicks got good again or signed a marquee free agent like LeBron James. Once that happened, once people had a reason to go to Madison Square Garden again, then he'd stand to make some real money.

Those reasons and that money don't look like they'll be any soon coming. The Knicks' record currently stands at 16-43, losing 22 of their last 25 games to pull neck and neck with the Memphis Bobcats for last place in the entire league. They're accomplishing this with a payroll past $120 million, far and away the highest in the NBA.

Trivia geeks are tripping over themselves trying to figure out the last time a team so expensive played so atrociously. Meanwhile, the Knicks keep picking up irresponsible, overpriced players, cutting off any hope for this season, or the next, or any time in the foreseeable future.

Still, people keep going. Despite the every-other-day calamity the Knicks have become, the Garden continues to sell out. Season tickets may be available, but any chance of those $300 floor seats getting any cheaper is ruined by the 19,763 fans who inexplicably show up to every game. My brother's friend has only been to two games this year. Every other one of his $50 nosebleeds, he's sold for $60. "I just sold my tickets to the last [home] game of the year, against the Bobcats," he says. "I sold tickets to a game on Super Bowl Sunday." That game was against the Houston Rockets, which the Knicks lost, 89-93. The situation on eBay's the same, tickets selling for $10 over face; prices as high as they've ever been. It's not enough to be subjected to the Knicks' dismal hijinks on the court. They have to mug you at the gate, too.

It's better to go straight to the professed criminals-at least they're up front about their business.

Last Friday, the Knicks were in New York to host the Chicago Bulls, and the scalpers were back outside the Garden in full force. They're easy to find. Out in the cold and the heavy wind, the scalpers are the only people not running somewhere indoors.

They weave around the short stairs out front in knit caps and oversized jackets, repeating their favorite two words, "Selling? Buying?"

They're among the few black faces in what is usually a mostly white crowd. An hour before game time, and it looks like the scalpers outnumber their potential clientele. That doesn't mean there are any deals coming. No one is looking to negotiate, no matter how bad the Knicks are.

The big man who stalks the two front entrances sets the straight line: "Cheapest you can buy is $50. That's upstairs. Downstairs, you pay about a buck fifty, 200 each." There's no doubt he'll move those $200 seats, either. "Sold out show," he says. "Stevie Francis is in the house tonight."

Those prices are steep, but they're not unprecedented. That's the going rate for tickets to a Knicks game, at the box office or on the street. The scalpers are legitimate businessmen, as far as that goes. New York State law permits ticket resale for as much as 10 percent over its original value. But the law also prohibits anyone from selling those tickets within 1,500 feet of the venue. That doesn't slow anybody down. The scalpers congregate, swap tickets between each other, split off to chase down customers, all beneath the marquee of the World's Most Famous Arena. When they run out of their own tickets, they sell their partner's tickets on commission. It's like any other trading floor, and the police patrol it accordingly.

Ten minutes to tip-off, and the crowd starts flooding in. Big Man shouts over the heads of his customers: "Close, man, close to game time, always gets busy like this." He throws his arms up. "And I told you, ain't no tickets." Nothing stops these tickets from being sold. Not the cost, or the weather, or the law, or common sense. The cancellation line is 150-people deep. "Cancellation line means the player's family's not going to the game," Big Man says. "These are million-dollar people. They're not sitting all the way upstairs, they're sitting downstairs. If you're not spending a $100 or better..." He shrugs his shoulders.

The guy at the end of the line shakes his head. I ask him if he's going to spend $100 to see these clowns. "Hell no," he says. But he doesn't get off the line.

You can't bargain when you've got no leverage. Whether it's 1994, and the Knicks are going to the Finals, or it's 2006, and the Knicks are going on a paid vacation, tickets are expensive as ever, and people are still swarming the Garden. The game itself seems to be an afterthought. No one's wearing a Knicks jersey, or a Knicks hat. What there's a lot of are girls in short-shorts and Eskimo boots, racing through the cold arm in arm and giggling. Professional couples with company tickets. Families. People with too much money and not enough imagination. The few die-hards who do show up looked dazed, like they couldn't think of anywhere else to be, and aren't quite sure of what's going on.

Which is probably for the best. The Knicks' future is tied up in long-term, expensive contracts with underachieving players. There's no room to sign any new players, and no hope to rebuild through the draft, because the Knicks don't have any draft. The Knicks traded their first-round pick to these Bulls for Eddy Curry. And if the Knicks get a higher pick than the Bulls in 2007, the Bulls get to take their place on the board. Like owner Jim Dolan said, quoted in the New York Times, "It's unfortunate that we're not winning... but it's not integral to the strategy right now."

An MSG employee comes out with a megaphone. He blares into the built-in siren, and belts out a few lines about it being illegal to buy or sell tickets on company property. The scalpers ignore the warnings, but they know the clock is ticking. It's 20 minutes into the game, and now $50 tickets are going for $40, $100 for $60.

Soon enough, those tickets will just be pieces of paper.

Another two minutes pass, then the guy with the megaphone turns to the cancellation line and announces that the game is sold out. About 150 people turn around and leave, disappointed that they wouldn't get to see what turned out to be another Knicks disaster, blowing a 16-point lead to lose 108-101. Big Man comes up to me to see me off. "Eighteen years I've been selling tickets," he says. "They sell out, you don't get in. They do it every time." The Knicks lose, but the game sells out. At the Garden, there's no reason to change.