’Zing it on!
knicks’ 7-foot-3 rookie ready to Be the next Big thing in NYC
OUTSIDE Madison Square Garden, a rush-hour crowd is forming around a towering, amiable, gentle giant who embraces the mushrooming hubbub as if he is some Latvian Pied Piper. Kristaps Porzingis, days before his f irst Knicks training camp, reveals himself to be a living, breathing, classy model of how a professional organization should want to be represented.
Gawkers young and old, male and female, want a picture with him. A selfie here, a selfie there. Not a problem. A 5-year-old boy named Raymie and his 3-year-old sister Raymilee. Taylor Trim, a teenage girl. These are his fans now, and maybe one day this will be his town.
“Since I’ve been like 15, I can’t really hide, you know?” Porzingis says. “I always stand out. At one point, you’re just like, ‘I can’t be hiding my whole life. I got to get used to this.’ Now I’m enjoying it.”
He is wise beyond his 20 years and a 7-foot-3 cutup. As he stares straight ahead and smiles for a photo with a short young man named Adam Eliassof, he startles him by saying, “I’m gonna be 8-feet by the end of the season.”
Before more stargazers and curiosity seekers can flood the Seventh Avenue entrance to his next basketball home, Porzingis, with his older brother Martin and Knicks staffer Gregg Schwartz and several security men in tow, begins walking through the 33rd Street Plaza, where a man shouts out: “Kristaps, I need you to put on some weight.”
Truth be told, Porzingis already has bulked up, to 240 pounds, likely on his way to 250. He sneers at the stereotypical perception of European players as soft and uses it to fuel the fire that burns within him to be great. He doesn’t intend to let stronger, meaner opponents bully him.
“I’m playing in New York, I can’t l et nobody bully me,” Porzingis says, and laughs.
He has done his homework.
“That’s how people in New York are,” Porzingis says. “They’re tough, their mentality, and you got to be the same way if you want to play here and you want to survive here. So that’s how I have to be if I want to play here.”
He can eat whatever he chooses, and now he leads the posse to NY Pizza Suprema, 31st Street and Eighth. Dinner is usually around 9 p.m. followed by a snack — a yogurt and a protein shake — right before bed. It is 6 p.m. and he hasn’t eaten since leaving his White Plains apartment building at 2:30 for a Garden of Dreams function at which he gleefully lifted little boys up to one of the baskets for layups and handed out school supplies.
On the ride to Brooklyn, Porzingis reveals he and his brother have never been to an NFL game.
“I might go this weekend actually,” he says. “Jets play, right?”
Right. Jets-Eagles.
“I always stand out. At one point, you’re just like, ‘I can’t be hiding my whole life. I got to get used to this.’ Now I’m enjoying it.”
“Do you think I should be a Jets fan or Giants?” Porzingis asks. “Are you a Giants fan?” He is an Odell Beckham Jr. fan. “He’s all over the Internet, he’s on Instagram catching these crazy passes, and he’s pretty good,” Porzingis says. “I like him.”
He won’t be at Giants-Redskins Thursday night.
“I want to see both teams, and then I want to decide on my own,” Porzingis says. “I don’t want one person to be like, ‘Oh, you’re gonna be a Jets fan,’ you know? I want to devise on my own.”
He watched the Seahawks dominate Peyton Manning in Super Bowl XLVIII, and he knows who Tom Brady is.
“Everybody knows Tom Brady,” Porzingis says, before smiling impishly and asking, “What happened with the balls?” and then chuckling.
He doesn’t have a bed that keeps his feet from hanging over — it arrives Saturday — but he does have a new black MercedesBenz.
“The main thing was for me to be able to fit in the car and be comfortable,” Porzingis says.
One of these days, perhaps a girlfriend will feel comfortable in the passenger seat.
“She’s got to understand how this works. If the girl doesn’t understand how much work I got to put in, how [many] hours I got to be in the gym, then she’ll be mad always,” Porzingis says. “So that’s the first thing. You want a good-looking girlfriend. Tall, I need a tall girl.” How tall? “At least 7-foot,” he says, and he and his brother crack up. “Maybe somewhere in the woods I can find like a 7-2 girl.” He laughs. “She doesn’t have to be supertall, either. She can be just normal height,” Porzingis says. “If that’s the right girl, then the height doesn’t matter that much. Hair doesn’t matter. Most important is good sense of humor, understanding, and knows how to cook.”
I hand him my cell and have him talk to my 14-year-old nephew, Jake Weingarten.
“You think you can beat me in NBA 2K?” Porzingis asks. “Yeah, I can,” Jake says. Porzingis laughs and says, “You got some confidence! We should play someday. I think ... I will kick your ass.” “I don’t think so,” Jake says. “When does NBA 2K come out?” Porzingis asks. “I think Friday,” Jake says. “You better work on your game. Friday it’s on, OK?” Porzingis says. “I think I can beat you,” Jake says. “OK, we’ll see, we’ll see. I’ll beat you by 20, man. I’ll block every shot,” Porzingis says, and laughs. “All right, Jake, work on your game, man, and I’ll see you at the Garden.”
Porzingis stands at the counter and orders a Suprema slice. There are gasps at the entrance to the pizza place.
“That’s Porzingis, right?” 16-yearold Valentina Rios says. “Oh my God, I’m a huge Knick fan.”
Her mother, Natalie Serrett, is no less mesmerized as she stares up at Porzingis from a distance:
“Her stepdad — my husband — looks a lot like you, just he’s not that tall. So the joke is, ‘Oh my God, Cliff is on the team!’”
Finally, Porzingis sits down and posts up a slice. His rating? “8.5,” he says. Tough critic. “Because I’m a pizza specialist, you know?” he jokes.
Before he leaves for his ride back to White Plains, Porzingis poses for photos with the workers, as well as a young male Knicks fan. He crosses Eighth Avenue carrying two pizza boxes filled with slices he will devour on the way that alter his rating to 9.5. Martin, who is 6-3 but not any shorter on humor than his big little brother, wolfs down four slices and offers two to driver Alex.
“For me it’s the same in Latvia, ’cause I’m crazy famous in Latvia,” Martin says with a straight face. “Like girls are throwing panties at me and stuff like that. I don’t even try to catch them anymore, too many of ’em.”
Kris, of course, laughs. He already understands the price of fame mandates that you learn how to say no sometimes.
“Out of nowhere l i ke cousins and best friends show up — where were you?” Porzingis says. “‘I’ve been following you since you were a kid.’ You know how many people ask me for tickets? ‘I’m coming to New York.’ They think I get the tickets like that.”
He studies how Carmelo Anthony works on his craft, on the court and off.
“You got to, got to learn from the greats,” Porzingis says. He talks repeatedly about bringing a championship to New York.
“The fans are dying for that,” he said.
Not a single New York city boobird in sight.
“They were quick to judge somebody, but a lot of fans now that have seen me play a little bit in summer league, they’ve seen some of my highlights and stuff, they’re like, ‘Oh, sorry I booed you on draft night,’” Porzingis says.
He wanted this biggest, brightest stage of ours.
“There’s got to be more pressure obviously than in other places,” Porzingis says, “but if you can handle it and play good and hopefully bring a championship, they’re going to love you forever here.”