The Ewing theory, relitigated

There’s nothing worse in sports than being called a loser. Once you’re flagged as someone who can’t win, it follows you like a pungent smell. The stench of purported failure permeates throughout a career. You’re no longer a star, a player, a person; you’re a punchline. The label can linger even after championship success—Peyton Manning, anyone?

The label of “loser” is unfair, often lacking nuance or context. And in all of sports, there is no better example of a label misrepresenting a player than the Ewing theory. The Ewing theory, popularized by former ESPN columnist Bill Simmons, is simple: A star athlete that receives a large amount of media attention and fan interest—but, crucially, never leads his teams to any meaningful success—leaves their team. The team then exceeds expectations without the player. The theory, he explains, “was created in the mid-’90s by Dave Cirilli, a friend of mine who was convinced that Patrick Ewing’s teams (both at Georgetown and with New York) inexplicably played better when Ewing was either injured or missing extended stretches because of foul trouble.” Simmons currently hosts a podcast that is top-five in the country in the sports category and has turned the phrase “Ewing theory” into a regular part of the modern sports lexicon. It has forever altered Ewing’s legacy. This is why people think of that 1999 Knicks team as a team that reached the Finals and was better without him.

It was Game 5 of the first-round playoff series between the top-seeded Miami Heat and the eighth-seeded New York Knicks. The series was tied at two games apiece, and because this is 1999, the series was best-of-five. That means an elimination game in Miami. The game is best remembered for shooting guard Allan Houston’s rim-bouncing buzzer-beater to win the series for New York, but Knicks center Ewing’s effort cannot be forgotten.

Ewing entered the 1998-99 season still recovering from surgery to repair a right wrist injury that he suffered the year prior after getting fouled while attempting a dunk. He had landed awkwardly with all of his weight on his shooting hand, suffering torn ligaments, a dislocated

BY NICHOLAS RICCIO

on basketball Twitter is the latest stat about Georgetown’s continued misadventures on the court, whether it’s some new record-long losing streak or a clip of the ball being batted around like a fourth-grade pickup game at recess against

During a recent game against St. John’s, Ewing’s mic’d up address in the huddle to players reflected the disparity between his playing experience and coaching skills. He lit into the players for their effort, saying, “Do y’all wanna play? We’re acting like we don’t. Everything they’re doing—everything tougher than us, more aggressive than us. You’re acting like y’all are still asleep. Wake up!” Ewing, who played through countless injuries and battled in every game, can now only watch from the sidelines and plead for his players to turn up the effort. He knows what it feels like to play through injury. He knows about playing hard when tired. He expects the same from his players, but they aren’t performing the

In his final game as a Knick, the series-ending Game 6 loss to the Pacers in the 2000 Eastern Conference finals, Ewing had a new injury that aimed to sideline the superstar: tendinitis in his right foot. He had gutted through the first two rounds of the playoffs, which included another brutal matchup with the Miami Heat—a slog of a series that stretched out to seven games as the ailing Ewing defeated the younger Mourning once again. Against the Pacers—in front of a raucous home crowd in Madison Square Garden that was buoyed by Ewing’s guarantee of victory the day before in the papers—Ewing labored through 37 minutes on the court, managing one last double-double with 18 points and 12 rebounds. It wasn’t enough. The Pacers ran the Knicks off their home court, winning 93-80 in a game that was further apart than the final scoreline suggests. Walking off the court, a team

“You’re still the man,” he shouted at Ewing. Ewing responded in the negative, but the

“You’ll still get your ring,” the man said.

“I hope so,” Ewing said with a smile. He never did get his championship ring in New York, or anywhere else in the NBA. He didn’t get the storybook ending that would’ve saved him from all the “whatifs” and relitigations of his NBA career, that would’ve saved him from the labels of “loser.” Even so, that shouldn’t make him a punching bag. He was a giant in an era of giants, an ironman back when players didn’t take games off. He is still arguably the greatest player in Knicks history, and a piece of jewelry shouldn’t be required for his greatness on the court to be recognized instead of ridiculed. He was a winner but not a champion. And just because he never won a championship doesn’t mean he’s