We who do this sort of thing for gainful employment (or in my case, just employment) are taught from the moment we step out of our own neighborhood to be unbiased.

I lay myself bare here in telling you that, were I to have any kind of bias it would be against New York sports teams.

I was born and raised in San Francisco and as such, always believed that regardless of the outcome of a Giants, 49ers, or Warriors game, there was a reasonably good chance that the sun would still rise the following morning.

When I worked at WNBC in New York, I realized that those innocent thoughts of my youth were bogus. If the Knicks, Rangers, NY Giants, or Jets lost a big game, not only would the sun not rise in the morning, armageddon would surely be upon us before lunch. And, I quickly learned that any feeble attempt at humor on my part over a loss would immediately be met with a squadron of goons (and goonettes) demanding my return to a life with the flower children.

Amongst the hardened New York sports fans, there remains a firm belief that nothing exists west of the Hudson River with the exception of a few scattered mosh pits, cornfields, wine-sipping elitists, and a gaggle of peaceniks in the corner of a coffee house singing Kumbaya.

And then along comes this group of guys who are the antithesis of the type of New York teams that have become the standard of excellence in Gotham, and (my hands shake as I type this), I like them!

Heroes in New York historically — like the city itself — seem to be bigger than life. Walt (Clyde) Frazier was probably as well known for his outlandish suits, shirts and ties as he was for being a Hall of Fame player for the Knicks. Reggie Jackson, is still beloved. His contribution: a three-home-run game in the World Series and a braggadocious personality. Joe Namath remains a darling in New York for making good on an outlandish prediction to win Super Bowl III and maybe just as much for his fur coats, playboy lifestyle and man-about-town reputation.

And now, along comes a guy who, were it not for a distinctive hair style, could probably jump on a subway and ride from downtown to uptown without being recognized.

Jalen Brunson was a backup guard who had been the second-round draft choice of the Dallas Mavericks the same year Luka Doncic arrived. When the Knicks lured him away from Dallas after four years, he still was at best a part-time starter. But somebody in New York saw something. And suddenly Jalen Brunson went from Casper Milquetoast to Godzilla.

He is not cut from the cloth of what makes a great NBA player. Being 6’2” tall in the NBA is like playing offensive tackle at about 185 pounds in the NFL. He’s also not the fastest guard you’ll ever see. In fact, offensively he reminds me of Chris Mullin, the former Warrior guard who, while a couple inches taller than Brunson, seemed to be able cut through traffic to the basket almost magically in a sea of players with quicker feet, quicker hands, and quicker instincts. I’m still not sure how he did it and I feel the same about Brunson.

What he does understand is angles, positioning, quickness, and the right shot at the right time. In Wednesday night’s opener, he was the difference in the game. Don’t ask me how — he just was. And that’s what I like about the guy,

Over and above the on court presence, he’s not a flashy dresser, not a braggadocios guy, and doesn’t own a fur coat. Yet, if the Knicks manage to somehow beat a team that I admit I didn’t think they had a chance to, he’ll be on New York’s mythical Mt. Rushmore. He’d be Teddy Roosevelt to Clyde, Reggie and Joe’s Washington, Lincoln, and Jefferson.

I’ve been around teams that just seem to have destiny on their side. They aren’t always the best team. There’s is just an intangible belief that no matter the situation, something good is going to happen and they’re going to win. I get that aura from the Knicks.

This is not the ’72 Knicks. It’s not the Reggie Jackson, or the Aaron Judge Yankees. And it’s certainly not the Joe Namath Jets. This is a team that, by its character, should be playing in Cleveland or Milwaukee. It’s a blue-collar team in a white-collar town. It defies New York arrogance, and for that reason I find myself unable to root against it.

That said, there are those guys from San Antonio who I thought would win this series in five or so games. I felt that the Knicks simply could not match up with Victor Wembanyama. Nobody can.

And, to be honest, he got his against New York in Game 1. But, most of his production was from the outside where he is capable, but not nearly the problem he presents on both ends when allowed to roam the low post. The Knicks did not allow that.

So now the chess game continues Friday night in what promises to be a real showcase for the NBA’s future.

Two outstanding teams with two outstanding coaches. Two selfless teams who play what the modern game has become: Fast, good shot selection, stout defense, and well calculated game plans. Now it’s time to see if the Spurs can adjust as the Knicks did in Game 1.

And I’m happy to report that I still have no bias. I’ll be watching — and taking notes. And on the off days I’ll be in a corner with some friends singing Kumbaya.

Barry Tompkins is a 40-year network television sportscaster and a San Francisco native. Email him at barrytompkins1@gmail.com.