27 years. We all we got; we all we need. We all we are; we all we ever, ever were.
27 years. Roll the tape. And then let's go behind the scenes.
It's 1997. I'm 12 years old. My mother, the sports fan in the family, is dragging me to MSG for the New York Liberty's first ever home game. The place is almost sold out. The energy is through the roof. Michele Timms's platinum hair shines so bright under the lights. The Liberty win.
It's 2024. I'm 40 years old. Barclays Center is sold out to the rafters. The energy is through the roof. The lights are so bright. The Liberty win.
It's 1998. My mom and I are bringing friends to games to have something in common with them. G goes to one; T goes to another.
It's 2024, and T and I are both season subscribers, connecting after close to twenty years out of contact. She meets my husband; I meet her wife.
It's 1999. Rebecca Lobo plants, twists, crashes. The Garden shakes and goes quiet, unable to process.
It's 2024. Rebecca Lobo is courtside at the broadcast table, quiet, unable to process. Barclays is shaking and roaring.
It's 1999. A pass-first, defensive-minded point guard has just hit the most iconic shot the franchise has ever seen.
It's 2024. A shoot-first, offensive-minded point guard is making the right pass at the right time and playing one of the best defensive games of her life.
It's 2001. Our front office is expecting us to believe that the only lesbian associated with the New York Liberty is Carol Blazejowski.
It's 2024. The Finals MVP is at center court kissing the adorably tiny woman she's going to marry one of these days, and two of her teammates have their wives on court to celebrate with them.
It's 2002. Sue Wicks is hitting a corner three, anything to keep her team alive in this game. It's not enough, and two days later Nikki Teasley drives home the dagger to send the Liberty home as bridesmaids again.
It's 2024. Sue Wicks is sitting, and mostly standing, courtside, to see the Liberty no longer be left as bridesmaids.
It's 2003. The game against the Comets hasn't started yet and we're hanging out at the Garden, fans just talking and telling stories as the players arrive for shootaround. I'm collecting autographs; he's trying to pick up a girl.
It's 2024. He's asleep in our bed, wrapped in my favorite quilt. The other girl has moved from another country to another state, but she flies out for every Finals game in New York, and after Game 5 we meet her girlfriend.
It's 2003. Liberty fans are irrationally superstitious about the new blue jerseys.
It's 2024. Liberty fans are irrationally superstitious about the new white jerseys.
It's 2004. A'riel is seven days old, the tiniest speck of a human slung in a papoose on her mother's broad back as they ride the escalator to the club seats.
It's 2024. A'riel is a junior in college. She wears her mother's number, she has her mother's eyes, and thanks to conference realignment, she'll visit her mother's alma mater in 2025.
It's 2004. The Liberty and the Shock are playing the first game at Radio City. Detroit's Swin Cash chases a loose ball upstage right and upstages herself straight into the orchestra pit.
It's 2024. Former Liberty player and front office exec Swin Cash pulls Teresa Weatherspoon into the spotlight, choosing to be upstaged.
It's 2004. Bethany Donaphin hits a little jumper and sends the Garden into ecstatic chaos.
It's 2024. Bethany Donaphin works for the league office, and there's a woman in a pink suit who looks an awful lot like her trying to bring order to the ecstatic post-game chaos.
It's 2005. We're hanging out down by the rail, getting autographs and wishing our players good luck. Cards are still at the fringe of being cheap, and I bring extras for the kids.
It's 2024. One of those kids has, for reasons I still don't understand, moved to Kentucky. He's hosting a viewing party for Game 5 at his house. There's 40 people there. He's not one of them. He flew home to be with his people, in that place, at that time, for that moment.
It's 2006. The official Liberty website is telling us to push our Robinson and Baranova jerseys to the back of the closet because the players have moved on.
It's 2024. Crystal Robinson is wearing her jersey on a championship float coming down the Canyon of Heroes, reunited with her teammates. There isn't a closet in sight.
It's 2007. The kids are trying. They love each other, but it's not enough.
It's 2024. They're not kids, but they're trying. They love each other. It's finally enough.
It's 2008. Essence Carson, growing into a fan favorite, brings the trademark Rutgers lock-down defense.
It's 2024. Betnijah Laney-Hamilton, long grown into a fan favorite, brings the trademark Rutgers lock-down defense.
It's 2009. The Liberty earn the #1 pick in the 2010 WNBA draft. Except that they don't hold the pick. They traded it months ago, traded it to Los Angeles for Sidney Spencer. LA doesn't hold it either; they've already sent it elsewhere to bring home Noelle Quinn. It's 2009 and the #1 pick for 2010 is in the hands of the Minnesota Lynx.
(It's 2010. Minnesota doesn't hold the pick anymore either. They're bringing home Lindsay Whalen with it, sending the #1 and Renee Montgomery to Connecticut for the favorite daughter of the Gopher State.)
It's 2009. The Sacramento Monarchs fold, and we still miss them. The Liberty take Nicole Powell first overall in the dispersal draft. The Lynx take Rebekkah Brunson with the next pick.
It's 2009. This team is going to kill me one of these days. I just hope I die happy.
It's 2024. this team is trying to kill me but what else is new
It's 2010. I'm combing stray newspapers on the train, looking for anything more than an AP blurb or a half-hearted mini-article about my team.
It's 2024. Kayla Thornton is screaming in joy on the front cover of the New York Post, the city's most right-wing newspaper.
It's 2011. The WNBA is pushed aside to make way for "offseason" renovations at MSG.
It's 2024. The NBA moves aside to make room for the WNBA.
It's 2012. It's 2013. We're slogging to New Jersey, through New Jersey. It's a blur, a dull march on a treadmill to nowhere.
It's 2024. We're on a train in Brooklyn, a fast-moving blur. It's New York or nowhere.
It's 2014. We're trading with Connecticut for a former MVP, proud daughter of Caribbean heritage, who says she wants to be in New York. We gamble three years of first-round picks on her. It doesn't work.
It's 2024. We've traded with Connecticut for a former MVP, proud daughter of the Caribbean, who says she wants to be in New York. We've sent away three players for her. It works.
It's 2015. We're choking away a 15-point lead to the Fever. We can't put them away that night. We don't put them away. One of the best seasons in Liberty history ends in the semifinals.
It's 2024. We're choking away an 18-point lead to the Lynx. We can't put them away that night. But we put them away. It ends with a trophy.
It's 2016. One of the best seasons in Liberty history comes down to a winner-take-all game at home. Phoenix springs the second-round upset and it's over.
It's 2017. One of the best seasons in Liberty history comes down to a winner-take all game at home. Washington springs the second-round upset and it's over.
It's 2024. One of the best seasons in Liberty history comes down to a winner-take-all game at home. Minnesota digs deep. New York digs deeper and it's over.
It's 2018. We're playing in Westchester County Center. There isn't a good seat in the house. The concession stands are occasionally on fire. The lighting is dim and the acoustics are terrible. The train back to the city runs once an hour and leaves five minutes before the end of a typical regulation game. Bee-Line buses back to the subway are cheaper, but make getting home a multi-hour ordeal.
It's 2024. We're playing at the Barclays Center. The seats are good. The concession stands are fire. The lights are bright and the sounds are loud. Half the trains in the city connect to bring everyone here, to bring everyone home.
It's 2019. No one wants to be in the shitty church basement. The fans don't or can't; the seats are half empty. The players don't; they're going through the motions on the floor.
It's 2024. There isn't an empty seat in the house. This is the place everyone wants to be.
It's 2020. We're all scared and alone and confused and worried. And also Sabrina Ionescu is lying on the court holding her ankle, in case Liberty fans needed a more concrete metaphor for the loss of hope.
It's 2024. Sabrina's lying on the court holding her face. In the stands, we're together and relieved and overjoyed.
It's 2021. The arenas are refilling, slowly, carefully. We're still collectively feeling our way through a changed world.
It's 2024. The arenas are full. We're collectively feeling our way through a changed world.
It's 2023. Role players step up for the best team in the league, and the Las Vegas Aces celebrate a title on the floor of Barclays Center.
It's 2024. Role players step up for the best team in the league, and the New York Liberty celebrate a title on the floor of Barclays Center.
It's 2024. I am a relieved 40-year-old woman, and I love this team.
It's 2024. I am an overjoyed 12-year-old girl, and I love this team.
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