newjerseynewsroom.com

BY SAM HITCHCOCK

NEWJERSEYNEWSROOM.COM

COMMENTARY

At my young age, I realize there’s a lot I’ve missed. I effectively missed Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, and Joe Montana. The two greatest athletes of my two favorite sports, Michael Jordan and Wayne Gretzky, retired when I was nine and ten. (I like to pretend Jordan never played for the Wizards, and you can’t convince me otherwise.)

During the time I actually spent studying in college, I acquired a side dish of history to complement my journalism degree, but I can’t claim to survey a sports scene and understand completely how it fits into an historical context. Still, I am happy to be around to savor the historical cultural phenomenon that is Linsanity.

My idea was to go to a Jeremy Lin “hotspot” in Chinatown and observe the support for the resurrected New York Knicks as they played their biggest game of the season yet in a matchup against the Miami Heat Thursday night.

So here I was, sitting by myself in Nom Wah Tea Parlor, a half an hour before game time, with signed autographs of Joseph Gordon Levitt, Kirsten Dunst, Andrew Zimmerman, and the credulous Michael Rappaport, hanging above my head. Not sure what to expect, it ended up being a fascinating experience, and reminded me of a moment from my childhood.

When I was younger, my mother used to read to me, and one of the books we read together was “Wait Till Next Year,” by Doris Kearns Goodwin. Through the eyes of a child, Goodwin describes the anticipation and exultation of being a Brooklyn Dodgers fan in the 1940’s/50’s, mired with the disappointment. She experienced this collective adulation of the Dodgers with her neighborhood, and their bonding came through radio.

By 7 p.m., the TV hanging in the right corner of Nom Wah had the channel showcasing the Knicks-Heat contest on at full volume. Earlier, the restaurant had contained multiple families with young children as well as young New York yuppies with no interest in the game tonight. On cue with the TNT music humming, they began to drift out of the restaurant.

The first to enter Nom Wah who clearly was here to view the game was a middle-aged Chinese man wearing an Iman Shumpert jersey by the name of Chris Tan. He quickly took a seat, his eyes glued to the screen as announcers moved through the pre-game hype. I ordered some taro steamed dumplings (a delicious combo of pork, shrimp, mushroom, and dried sausage in a tapioca starch wrapper) and asked my waiter for a beer recommendation.

“Get a Tsingtao,” the waiter insisted. “Lin is from CHINA, not Taiwan. Most people don’t know that.” I asked him if he knew Lin, and he said sources had informed him.

The atmosphere and setting of Nom Wah is curious, reminding me of a New Jersey diner in a lot of ways. The tablecloths are red and white checked, although tea leaves are interspersed into the design.

At tip-off, I started to feel the buzz. A young Asian woman in her early 20s entered and sat down, asking to be at the front table closest to the television. Tan’s table began to fill up when his friends Peter Ackerman and Joven Buano grabbed seats, all three ordering beers while the momentum built.