Category: Basketball

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Lessons from Lisbon, Madrid and Madison Square Garden

What Makes a Civilization Great?

What the Knicks and the Iberian Peninsula Teach About Greatness

As I watched the New York Knicks march toward a championship, I found myself thinking less about basketball and more about history.
Championships are often explained through the mythology of the superstar. We celebrate the dominant scorer, the transcendent athlete, the singular genius who carries everyone else to glory.
Yet the Knicks offered a different lesson.
Jalen Brunson was unquestionably their leader, but this was not a one-man team. Their success depended on relationships forged years earlier at Villanova. These were players who trusted one another instinctively, who understood where teammates would be before they arrived, and who were willing to sacrifice statistics, shots, and even money for a larger goal.
Brunson famously left substantial money on the table to help the organization assemble a deeper roster. In a professional sports world often defined by maximizing individual gain, he chose collective success.
The result was not merely a winning team. It was a cooperative enterprise. And history suggests that great civilizations are built the exact same way.

The Chemistry of Convivencia

During our recent trip through Spain and Portugal, I was struck by how often the story of Iberian greatness was actually a story of collaboration among very different peoples.
Long before the Inquisition, the Iberian Peninsula became the world’s vibrant center of learning. This didn’t happen because one culture triumphed over another, but because multiple cultures interacted in a unique ecosystem of coexistence, or Convivencia.

  • Romans contributed law, infrastructure, and language.
  • Muslim scholars brought radical advances in mathematics, navigation, and agriculture while preserving Greek philosophy.
  • Christian kingdoms eventually provided the political framework that inherited this vast reservoir of knowledge.
    But it was the region’s Jewish scholars and statesmen who often served as the vital connective tissue—the ultimate “glue guys” of the Mediterranean world—functioning as the translators, diplomats, scientists, and financial administrators who made the system run.

Hasdai ibn Shaprut (c. 915–970): The Ultimate Catalyst In the Golden Age of Córdoba, Ibn Shaprut served as a physician, translator, and foreign minister to the Caliph. He utilized his multi-linguistic mastery to translate the famous medical texts of Dioscorides into Arabic, establishing Iberia as Europe’s medical capital. As a diplomat, he negotiated complex alliances between Muslim rulers and Christian monarchs, proving that intellectual and political synthesis was the true engine of Iberian prosperity.

The Knowledge Enablers

When we look closer at the Golden Age of Spain and Portugal, the intellectual peaks were achieved not through isolation, but through an intentional exchange of ideas.
Consider Moses Maimonides (1138–1204), born in Córdoba. While globally revered as a towering rabbi and philosopher, Maimonides was also a brilliant physician who wrote extensively on hygiene, pharmacology, and psychology. His philosophical masterpiece, The Guide for the Perplexed, sought to harmonize Aristotelian science with divine revelation. His works were eagerly read not just by Jews, but by Christian thinkers like Thomas Aquinas and Muslim scholars alike, fueling the intellectual fire of the entire continent.
This collaboration yielded practical, world-changing technology. The famous translation schools of Toledo transformed Europe by turning ancient Greek and Arabic texts into Latin. Suddenly, Aristotle, Galen, and Ptolemy were available to a continent hungry for knowledge.
When it came to the Age of Exploration, Portugal’s maritime empire was literally guided by Jewish science:

[Jewish & Islamic Astronomical Data] 
               │
               ▼
   [The Perpetual Almanac] (Abraham Zacuto)
               │
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[Advanced Cartography & Astrolabes]
               │
               ▼
  [Global Maritime Exploration]

The legendary astronomer and mathematician Abraham Zacuto (1452–1515) revolutionized navigation. His life’s work, The Perpetual Almanac, alongside his improvements to the copper astrolabe, allowed sailors to determine their latitude at sea using the sun rather than the stars.
Without Zacuto’s calculations and personal consultations, there might have been no Vasco da Gama reaching India, no Pedro Álvares Cabral reaching Brazil, and no Portuguese trading empire stretching from Africa to Asia.
The remarkable achievements of Spain and Portugal were not products of isolation. They were products of connection.

The Cost of Exclusion

Yet history also reveals how fragile such success can be. Beginning in the late fifteenth century, Spain and Portugal gradually abandoned the very conditions that had fueled their rise.
The expulsion of the Jews in 1492 systematically removed the most educated, skilled, and commercially connected citizens from the peninsula. Abraham Zacuto himself was forced to flee to Lisbon, and later Tunis, taking his brilliant mind away from the Iberian sphere.
This purge of human capital soon stretched from the cities to the fields. In the 1520s, the Spanish Crown banned Islam entirely, forcing the remaining Moorish population to convert or flee. These Morisco communities comprised the foundational backbone of Spain’s agricultural sector. For generations, they had engineered and maintained highly sophisticated, intricate systems of irrigation, terracing, and water management that kept the arid landscapes of Valencia and Andalusia incredibly fertile.
When this specialized expertise was systematically uprooted and driven out, the consequences were immediate and devastating. The complex canal networks fell into disrepair, agricultural productivity plummeted, and once-abundant yields dropped dramatically. Spain quickly found that you cannot exile your primary food producers without paying a severe price; as the agricultural infrastructure collapsed, localized famines began to creep across the countryside.

[Forced Conversion/Exile of Moorish Peasantry (1520s)]
                         │
                         ▼
      [Collapse of Sophisticated Irrigation Networks]
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           [Severe Drop in Agricultural Yields]
                         │
                         ▼
             [Creeping Famine and Depopulation]

At the exact same time, enormous quantities of silver were flowing into Spain and Portugal from the Americas. Instead of stimulating innovation, this easy wealth reduced incentives to develop domestic industry or rebuild the shattered farming sector. The broad lesson remains: easy wealth can quickly become a substitute for creativity.
Meanwhile, nations such as the Netherlands and Great Britain adopted the exact playbook that had once made Iberia successful. They welcomed displaced Jewish merchants and skilled laborers, encouraged innovation, expanded scientific inquiry, and developed institutions that rewarded enterprise.
Leadership shifted. The world’s center of gravity moved northward.

The Contemporary Question

History does not repeat itself exactly, but it often rhymes.
Today, the United States remains the most innovative nation on earth. Our universities attract talented students from every continent. Our laboratories lead scientific discovery. Our entrepreneurs continue to create technologies that reshape the world.
But these strengths depend on openness.
Scientific progress thrives on collaboration. Medical breakthroughs emerge from international networks of researchers. Innovation accelerates when people with different experiences, perspectives, and skills work together toward common goals.
When nations become fearful of outsiders, suspicious of rigorous inquiry, or hostile to global intellectual exchange, they risk weakening the very forces that created their success.
The lesson of the Knicks is surprisingly similar to the lesson of pre-Inquisition Iberia. Greatness is rarely the product of a single star, or a single insular culture.
Whether in basketball, science, business, or civilization itself, success emerges from cooperation. The most successful teams are not always the ones with the highest raw talent; they are the ones that best combine talent, trust, shared purpose, and a willingness to sacrifice individual advantage for collective achievement.
Civilizations are no different.
The question facing every great nation is whether it will continue attracting talent, embracing knowledge, and building institutions that encourage cooperation—or whether it will retreat into exclusion and self-congratulation.
The Knicks answered that question on the basketball court. History answered it centuries ago.
The question now is whether we are paying attention.

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Miracles on 34th Street


New York City has endured its share of sporting futility, but basketball failure feels particularly unnatural.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The game was invented by James Naismith only a few states away. From the late nineteenth century onward, New York blanketed its boroughs with playgrounds, blacktops, school gyms, and settlement houses where basketball became part of the city’s DNA. College basketball once revolved around New York. Madison Square Garden was its cathedral. In 1950, CCNY accomplished something that will never be repeated: winning both the NIT and NCAA championships in the same season.

Then something happened.

The point-shaving scandals of the early 1950s cast a long shadow over New York basketball. One of the CCNY players caught up in the scandal later became my neighbor in Queens. Growing up, I would occasionally see him and knew little of his history. Only years later did I understand that he had been part of a team that represented the pinnacle of New York basketball and the scandal that helped bring that era to an abrupt end. 

New York basketball has spent much of the ensuing seventy-five years trying to recapture what was lost. The city’s college dominance evaporated. The original Pennsylvania Station, perhaps the most magnificent railroad terminal America ever built, was demolished and Madison Square Garden rose over its ashes.

The Garden would become “The World’s Most Famous Arena,” but not because of basketball. A few stories below the court, travelers could catch a train out of town. The building hosted political conventions, rallies, concerts, and iconic boxing matches. For basketball, its enduring image remains Willis Reed limping from the tunnel before Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals.

The Knicks’ history has largely been a study in longing.

They lost to the Rochester Royals before I was old enough to understand disappointment. They spent decades staring up at the Celtics. Patrick Ewing’s finger roll rolled off the rim. John Starks misfired fifteen times in a decisive Finals game. The years that followed brought a parade of bad decisions, overpaid rosters, lottery disappointments, and steadily rising ticket prices to watch increasingly mediocre basketball.

Yet basketball runs deep in native New Yorkers.

We played before school, during recess, after dinner, and until the streetlights came on. Every neighborhood had a court and every court had legends. I remember hearing about a kid in seventh grade who stood only five-foot-nine and could dunk a basketball. Endless debates followed: what would you rather accomplish, dunking a basketball or winning a Nobel Prize?

The answer was always dunking.

So when the Knicks fell behind by twenty-nine points in the second half yesterday, the familiar feeling returned. Futility was back in town.

I shut off the television in disgust and went to bed.

Around 11:40 p.m., I could hear noise drifting up Third Avenue from the direction of the Garden. I ignored it. A text arrived from an old colleague in California. I didn’t open it. I assumed it was another taunt.

The Knicks had broken my heart too many times to earn the benefit of the doubt.

The next morning I glanced at the score.

Knicks 107.

Spurs 106.

I looked again.

Surely I was reading the wrong game.

But there it was. A one-point victory. A comeback from twenty-nine down. One of the greatest playoff rallies in franchise history. Miracles, it turns out, still happen on 34th Street.

Walking through Manhattan later that morning, I noticed Knicks jerseys everywhere. Construction workers patching potholes on Lexington Avenue were talking basketball. Strangers exchanged thumbs-up. The city seemed lighter.

For one morning at least, New York wasn’t carrying fifty-three years of basketball disappointment.

Could this finally be the end of the wandering?

The rational side of me remains cautious. Knicks fans have learned caution the hard way. Decades of disappointment create a futility blockade in the mind that even the most spectacular victory struggles to penetrate.

But perhaps something is changing.

Perhaps this team is writing a different ending.

And if they are, I will be there in spirit with Clyde Frazier, Earl Monroe, Willis Reed, Bill Bradley, and Dave DeBusschere, standing at the gates of deliverance, waiting to see whether the long exile is finally coming to an end.

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Organized Minds, Glorious Nerds

My grandson is at it again. He’s ticking off African nations — all 54 of them — with the focused serenity of a monk counting prayer beads.

Yesterday it was the counties of Texas. Before that, American presidents in reverse chronological order, which he performed at dinner with the calm confidence of a kid who has seen things. He lives in Washington, D.C., which I suspect is less a geographic choice than a spiritual one: he wants to be near the material.

I recognize him completely. I am him, sixty years earlier, haunting the mailbox in October waiting for the Information Please Almanac to arrive. When it did, I did not read it so much as inhale it — population densities, Olympic records, the gross national products of countries most Americans couldn’t locate on a globe.

Meanwhile, the World Book Encyclopedia sat on the shelf like a cathedral, and I was its most devoted worshipper. Volume P alone — Population, Planets, Presidents, Portugal — could sustain me through a dull February weekend.

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who make lists… and those who pretend they don’t.

I come from a proud lineage of list-makers. Not casual, jot-it-on-a-napkin types—but the kind who would alphabetize their anxieties if given a quiet afternoon and a sharpened pencil.

My grandson, at the ripe old age of four, has already joined the guild. He ticks off countries in Africa like a seasoned diplomat, names U.S. states with the confidence of a campaign manager, and is working his way through presidents as if he has a clearance badge to the White House.

The List Gene

I blame genetics. Or perhaps nostalgia.

In my day—back when hair was longer and attention spans were shorter—we didn’t have YouTube serenading us with “Top 50 Rivers of Europe” set to a catchy beat.

We had the annual unveiling of the Information Please Almanac, which arrived with all the fanfare of a new iPhone launch, minus the line outside. And then there was the majestic World Book Encyclopedia—a 26-volume monument to curiosity and back strain.

You didn’t “Google” things. You hunted them. You earned them. You cross-referenced Mongolia like it owed you money—and if you wanted an update, you waited a year and hoped Mongolia hadn’t moved.

Surgical Precision, Trivial Pursuits

There is nothing quite like standing in an operating room, where a vascular surgeon is calmly repairing an aortic aneurysm while casually listing the ten tallest buildings in the world. (“Burj Khalifa, Shanghai Tower… suction please…”)

Meanwhile, a family practice colleague—clearly underutilized—recites the La Marseillaise backwards. Not clinically useful, but impressive enough to make you question your own hobbies.

We were supposed to be saving lives. Instead, we were mentally indexing them.

The Ken Jennings Ideal

And then there is the patron saint of us all: Ken Jennings. Seventy-four consecutive Jeopardy! victories. A human being who appeared to have simply agreed to remember everything, on the off chance someone would someday ask. When Ken Jennings walked onto that stage, he wasn’t showing off. He was reporting for duty.

Every one of us who ever memorized the order of the planets, the presidents, the periodic table, or the airports of Europe by IATA code contains a small Ken Jennings. A tiny, extremely well-organized Ken, sitting in the library of our hippocampus, cross-referencing, updating, waiting for his moment. We are all, in our hearts, training for Jeopardy!.

I suspect this is, at its core, a love of order in a disordered world. The universe tends toward entropy; the list-maker pushes back. You cannot control geopolitics, but you can, by God, know all the landlocked countries of Africa in alphabetical order.

You cannot cure mortality, but you can tell me the ten longest rivers on every continent, and for a moment — just a moment — the world is knowable, mappable, tamed.

The Sports Lists (Where It Gets Serious)

This is where list-making graduates from hobby to religion.

The Mickey Mantle File

Every self-respecting sports fan of a certain vintage has this memorized:

  • 536 home runs
  • 3 MVP awards
  • Triple Crown (1956)
  • Switch-hitter with tape-measure power from both sides
  • Knees held together by willpower and clubhouse tape

We didn’t just admire Mantle—we archived him.

The Los Angeles Lakers Pantheon

You can start an argument at any dinner table with this one:

  • Magic Johnson – ran Showtime like a jazz conductor who never missed a beat
  • Kareem Abdul-Jabbar – the skyhook: medicine’s answer to the unstoppable procedure
  • Kobe Bryant – relentless, surgical, occasionally terrifying
  • Shaquille O’Neal – less a player, more a controlled demolition
  • Jerry West – the logo, before branding departments existed

Ranking them is like choosing your favorite child—except everyone is louder about it.

The Tiger Woods Ledger

This one borders on scripture:

  • 15 major championships
  • The “Tiger Slam” (holding all four majors at once, 2000–2001)
  • Masters wins: 1997, 2001, 2002, 2005, 2019
  • U.S. Opens: 2000, 2002, 2008
  • The Open Championship: 2000, 2005, 2006
  • PGA Championships: 1999, 2000, 2006, 2007

If you play golf, you don’t just watch Tiger—you audit him.

The Modern Evolution: Musical Lists

Today’s children have upgraded tools.

My grandson doesn’t flip through encyclopedias—he watches YouTube videos where animated characters sing the capitals of Europe in a rhythm that gets stuck in your head for three days. I now know more about Slovenia than I ever intended, entirely due to a chorus line of cartoon goats.

It’s hard to compete with that. My generation had mnemonics. His has choreography—and better production values.

Why Lists Matter (or at Least Why We Think They Do)

There’s something deeply satisfying about a list:

  • It imposes order on chaos
  • It gives the illusion of mastery
  • It turns the infinite into something you can check off before dinner

Lists are how we convince ourselves we understand the world. If we can name all 50 states, surely we’ve conquered geography. If we know the presidents in order, history must be under control.

The Family Tradition Continues

And so I watch the next generation.

My grandson, sitting on the floor, confidently announcing: “I know all the countries in Africa.”

I don’t correct him—not because I’m generous, but because he’s usually right. Sudan and South Sudan? That update didn’t make it into my edition of the encyclopedia.

It’s a humbling experience to be outmatched in geopolitical awareness by someone who still needs help tying his shoes.

Final Entry

Somewhere along the way, I traded my encyclopedias for Google and my almanacs for apps. But the instinct remains.

To categorize. To rank. To recall.

And occasionally, to wonder—usually late at night—whether I could still name the ten tallest buildings in the world if someone handed me a scalpel.

Probably not.

But give me a list… and I’ll give it a shot.

A PARTIAL TAXONOMY OF LIST ENTHUSIASTS
1. The Completionist — Cannot rest until every African country, every Texas county, every U.S. president is accounted for. Sleep is optional. Gaps are not.
2. The Performance Lister — Deploys their lists at precisely the right moment. Dinner parties. Operating rooms. Elevators.
3. The Almanac Archaeologist — Keeps a 1965 World Almanac specifically because the 1965 data is still technically accurate for historical purposes.
4. The Trivia Athlete — Trains daily. Has a vision board. Watches Jeopardy! in the way most people watch playoff games.
5. The Backwards Reciter — A rare and specialized subspecies. Requires no further explanation.
6. The YouTube Mnemonist — Has learned 195 countries through earworm. Is unstoppable at parties.

WHAT WE KNOW FOR CERTAIN
1. Lists are not a quirk. They are a calling.
2. The almanac was the internet before the internet, and it had better binding.
3. YouTube trivia songs are a legitimate branch of classical education.
4. Any surgeon who can name the world’s tallest skyscrapers while operating has simply found an efficient use of bandwidth.
5. The Marseillaise backwards is probably not useful. It is nonetheless impressive.
6. A grandson who ticks off countries is not wasting time. He is building a mind.
7. Ken Jennings is proof that there is a God, and that God rewards those who pay attention.

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Timing, Tempo and Rhythm

As I sit in front of the piano with its 88 keys, I feel challenged to produce a musical tune with my novice fingers. My online instructor keeps repeating: “Timing, tempo and rhythm.” How did Mozart and Stevie Wonder manage to master these skills? As I hear the NBA playoffs on TV, I realize that timing, tempo and rhythm are essential for many aspects of life, not just music. 

Timing, tempo, and rhythm – three little words that can mean the difference between life and death. In the twisted game of existence, they’re the cogs that turn the wheels, propelling us forward or leaving us behind in a trail of dust.

In sports, timing can be the difference between winning and losing, between victory and defeat. But it’s not just about being in the right place at the right time. As basketball coach John Wooden once said, “Be quick, but don’t hurry.” It’s about knowing when to make your move, when to strike, and when to hold back. Elvin Hayes, who played for the Houston Rockets in the 1970s, was known for listening to Smokey Robinson’s “Second That Emotion” before games. Hayes believed that the song’s upbeat tempo helped him get into the right mindset for the game. The late, great Kobe Bryant listened to Jay-Z, Beethoven and Journey to syncopate his court skills. 

Timing is a key ingredient that makes the jokes of Seinfeld, Chris Rock and George Carlin hilarious and transform a sigh into a belly laugh.

Tempo, on the other hand, is the heart of music. It’s the pulse that drives the beat, the speed at which we move through life. And just like a well-crafted melody, the tempo can evoke emotions we never knew existed. The faster the beat, the more frenzied we become. The slower the tempo, the more melancholic we feel. It’s a delicate balance, and one that can be manipulated to great effect.

But rhythm is the true master of our fate. It’s the pattern that underpins everything we do, the driving force that gives us purpose and direction. Whether it’s the rhythm of our breathing or the rhythm of our footsteps, it’s the metronome that keeps us moving forward. As writer Maya Angelou once said, “Everything in the universe has a rhythm, everything dances.”

Timing, tempo and rhythm are the foundations of our existence, the elements that shape the mysterious maze of life. Whether we’re making jokes or scoring points, playing music or dealing with our feelings, it’s these three little words that can lift us up or drag us down. So let’s harness the power of timing, the core of tempo and the master of rhythm. For by doing so, we’ll find the groove that leads us to success and keep us forever young!