SAN ANTONIO — Long before that shot in Detroit last postseason, prior to scoring 13 points in about seven minutes in Game 1 of the NBA Finals and just earlier than the college national championships, Jalen Brunson — suppressor of pressure, maestro of chaos — was a nervous wreck before a high school state championship game.
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Yes, Jalen Brunson has been anxious. The man whose superpower is his ability to make the impossible look easy has the same feelings you and I have. The player whose NBA career has been defined by how he rises above moments when most melt — he sometimes can’t lift the weight of the world off his chest either.
Brunson, then a senior at Stevenson High School, in Lincolnshire, Ill., had one last chance to conquer the ghosts of Jabari Parker and Jahlil Okafor, both of whom led teams that ended Brunson’s run previously. As a sophomore, Brunson’s team had lost in the state semifinals to powerhouse Simeon Career Academy. As a junior, the star guard, despite a 56-point performance, and his squad had fallen short in the state semifinals to Whitney Young High School. Senior year was it, the last opportunity to back up the Illinois Gatorade Player of the Year award, the scholarship offers from every corner of the country and, most importantly, the expectations he put on himself to leave high school as a winner.
He got it done. Stevenson became state champion. After the win, Brunson told local reporters this: “I feel like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. The past three years was tough for me. I feel great.”
It’s hard to believe that Brunson has those feelings. The ones that keep some of us up all night. The ones that make us eat a lot, or not at all. The ones that lead to even more thoughts and, therefore, even more worries, creating a casserole of doom. The way Brunson plays basketball appears as if he’s hollow inside. People run from the moments that Brunson not only welcomes but excels in. We’ve seen it game after game. We’ve seen it shot after shot. He’s known as “Captain Clutch,” and you don’t get that nickname unless you can backhand pressure like a fly over a cookout plate.
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And if you zoom out more, on a professional level, Brunson’s existence is immersed in tension. He’s the face of the New York Knicks, one of the world’s biggest sports brands. It’s a franchise that hasn’t won an NBA championship in 53 years and yet has a fan base that colonizes rival arenas in bulk. Brunson is now looked at as their savior, the unassuming hero who has snatched the Knicks by the collar and lifted them out of the furrows. He has them two wins away from grabbing that elusive trophy after Friday’s nail-biter win in San Antonio. That’s pressure.
Everywhere he turns, especially right now, there should be a strong sense of angst. But he says there really isn’t. How can that be? I wanted to learn about Brunson’s relationship with pressure and anxiety because, well, I’m in the process of learning about my own relationship with pressure and anxiety. So after a stress-packed Game 2, I asked him.
“I view pressure … my dad, he was in the league on 10-day contracts and non-guaranteed deals,” Brunson said of his father and Knicks assistant coach Rick Brunson, who played nine NBA seasons for eight different teams. “Being able to see that, and getting older and seeing what he had to do (for his family to live), I have it easy.”
It’s that thought process that, on Friday night, in the Knicks’ 105-104 win, allowed Brunson to hit what would become the game-winning free throw. It didn’t matter that he missed the other one, or that he was 7 for 25 from the field on the night. New York won the game. That’s the goal. Brunson can sleep well at night. He’s banked enough credit.
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“You call it a rough shooting night, I see the free throw to win the game, to give (Mitchell Robinson) a chance to get the stop to win the game,” teammate Karl-Anthony Towns said. “Last game, (Brunson) hit some of the craziest shots I’ve seen to give us a chance to win the game. I don’t see a rough shooting night, I see Captain Clutch doing what he’s always done since I got here. When it comes down to the game, to winning the game, No. 11 can’t be messed with.”
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Anxiety recently hit me like a Brunson jumper in the clutch hits opponents; emphatic and crippling. I’ve dealt with minimal anxiety my entire life, like I’m sure most of you have. Since becoming an adult and joining the work force, though, anxiety has twice put me in a chokehold that has forced me get to know myself better.
The first time was the summer of 2021, when I was covering the Detroit Pistons. I was inside the team’s practice facility with other media watching the NBA Draft Lottery. Detroit had the best odds at landing the No. 1 pick and what many considered a generational talent in Cade Cunningham. When it was revealed on television that the Pistons won the lottery, the cheers from the employees inside the building who thought their livelihood just improved seeped through the insulated room. My stomach dropped. My heart started racing. I drove to the facility but needed to take an Uber home because my body was too jittery to operate a vehicle. I spent the next two weeks getting three hours of sleep a night. I could only eat pudding or a banana on a good day. My mind was playing tricks on me, telling me, “All eyes are going to be on you.” This went on for about a month, with a little relief here and there, as the draft and summer league passed by.
My next bout with crippling anxiety was about a month ago, just before the Knicks started a second-round series against Philadelphia. It was clear to me that New York was going to, at the very least, contend for an NBA championship. My mind’s fascination with telling me “all eyes are going to be on you” popped back up. At the same time, I’m understanding my anxiety is both goofy and somewhat egocentric. I didn’t have these worries last year as New York was en route to the Eastern Conference finals. However, anxiety doesn’t always make sense.
This time I woke up in the middle of the night sweating, my leg unable to stop shaking. The analytical part of my brain was trying to figure out what was going, even though my subconscious knew exactly what was happening. My wandering mind forced me to think of a dozen other reasons this might be happening. In turn, many other anxieties were created on top of the root. It led to an overwhelming feeling that couldn’t be shut down. Off and on for three weeks, I slept two hours here, three hours there. I’d check the time every time my eyes popped open, hoping I was really asleep for six hours. I only grew more anxious and frustrated to learn sometimes I was only sleeping for 90 minutes. I’d be up for good at 2 a.m. after going to bed at midnight, stuck in my thoughts and crawling skin. I barely ate. I walked over 15,000 steps each day not because I was trying to exercise, but because sitting still made me uncomfortable. I had two separate trips to the emergency room.
Anxiety and pressure impact every person differently. For me, a couple of times, it has put me in a state of panic that is physically debilitating.
As of today, I’m back to myself. I feel good. Sleeping and eating well. Tomorrow, though, might be different. A week from now might be different. And, you know what? That’s OK. It’s OK to feel anxious. It’s OK to embrace those feelings. Brunson wouldn’t be the player he is today if he didn’t care as much as he did as a high schooler. He wouldn’t be as composed going into the biggest stage of his professional career — heading back to Madison Square Garden with an entire city praying for a sweep — if he didn’t have an understanding that people go through way more in their lives than he does dribbling a basketball on someone else’s dime.
Through therapy, I’ve had to learn about the root of my anxiety and why I feel pressure as a nerd who writes papers for a living. I’ve learned that thoughts are fickle, and that the worst-case scenario almost never happens. I’ve learned to breathe. I’ve learned to lean on loved ones. I’ve learned that bosses and co-workers can be understanding. I’ve learned that tackling the anxiety head on tends to make it disappear — even if that bouncing leg, tingling arm, racing mind and collapsed chest all tell you to turn back around and go home.
Watching Brunson and the Knicks go through this dominant run has allowed me to draw parallels to my growing relationship with anxiety and better cope with it. The Knicks were down 2-1 to the Atlanta Hawks in the first round, and the entire basketball world was eager to write them off. New York just decided it wasn’t going to lose again and rallied a village of players and coaches that, together, have brought out the best version of one another. I needed the support of my village to not miss any games, to not miss any flights. Watching Brunson relentlessly try to will New York back into games in fourth quarters, not caring if one shot doesn’t go in because he trusts his work has been a reminder to me to believe in myself and my track record. I’ve been doing this a long time with a lot to show for it. Watching Mike Brown tinker with lineups, strategies and philosophies from one game to the next has made think, “Don’t be afraid to fail.” I’ve always been afraid to fail.
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“It’s all about being able to say you gave it everything you got,” said Brunson, who told me the most nervous he’s ever been was his wedding day and on draft day because of the unknown of where’d be living and playing, about his thoughts on failure. “Knowing that sometimes you might not get the end result you want, but you know you gave it everything you got. Just control what you can control. If you go out there, put all the preparation and the work in, do everything you can, and you live with the results.”
Brunson and the Knicks are on the doorstep of doing what 52 Knicks teams before them couldn’t do. On Monday, Madison Square Garden and its congregators are going to greet this special team with a level of enthusiasm even the world’s most famous arena hasn’t seen in half a century. There’s going to be extreme pressure to perform. There’s going to be a rollercoaster of emotions. Minds are going to race. Bodies are going to need to be recalibrated.
This, though, is the beauty of the sport we all love. It’s the NBA Finals. This is fun.
I’ve had to constantly remind myself of the same in order to write for you.