Inside the arena, two hours before tipoff, every seat was already filled.
It had not filled gradually; people had poured in like a tide. Long lines stretched from every entrance, every ticket was scanned and verified, and every seat was occupied.
The courtside seats boasted a lineup worthy of the Hall of Fame.
NBA Commissioner David Stern sat in the front row, flanked by the mayor of New York and several Wall Street tycoons who declined to give their names.
Not far away, the Knicks owner sat there, his expression both tense and excited, like a lottery ticket holder waiting for the winning numbers.
The entertainment stars were even more dazzling.
Spike Lee wore his signature orange Knicks jacket and a cap bearing Li Fei's number, seated in the most conspicuous spot courtside.
He was the Knicks' most devoted fan, attending every home game, rain or shine.
Beyoncé and Jay-Z sat beside him. Beyoncé wore a custom Knicks jersey, while Jay-Z was dressed in a black suit with a thick gold chain around his neck.
The two spoke quietly, their expressions relaxed but their eyes full of anticipation.
The sports stars were no less impressive.
Michael Jordan sat in the second row, wearing a dark gray suit and a white shirt without a tie. His expression was calm, but there was something indescribable in his eyes—not nostalgia, but something more complex, more difficult to name.
He had played many playoff games here, hit many clutch shots here, witnessed his own glory here, and witnessed his own curtain call here.
Charles Barkley sat beside him in a loose-fitting suit, holding a beer, his expression as if he were attending his own birthday party.
Magic Johnson sat on the other side, wearing a purple Lakers suit, a white shirt, and a gold