Patrick Ewing has forever measured his words, hid his emotions and left so much unsaid. He was the longest running passion play on Broadway, the tragic Shakespearean figure forever falling on his sword for the Knicks.

	Where does Ewing stand among the NBA's greats?

After everything, there's a part of Ewing that seems unsure, even uneasy, about the way he'll be received in Madison Square Garden on Tuesday. This matters to him. This night, this game, this legacy. Before the SuperSonics traveled to New York, in his mind, Ewing started to see the sellout, Spike and the Knicks in the Garden and it moved him to a rare state of mind: Sentiment and remembrance, and yes, genuine emotion.

Ewing started to remember destroying St. John's as a Georgetown freshman in his first game at the Garden in 1981, the rush of the Knicks drafting him No. 1 in 1985, the joy of beating the Pacers to reach the NBA Finals in 1994, and always, always, the regret that too many of his best years were wasted with the losing cast of characters surrounding him.

"Time flies," Ewing said. "I still think I'm that age. It seems like it was just yesterday. But it's not ... There were some things that I wish the Knicks organization could've done to make the team better when I was younger than when I was older.

"Hopefully, we could've gotten a ring."

For years, Ewing was slow to say those words in his defense, but it was easy to do now - even liberating for him. New York is behind him. He wanted to leave the Knicks, and maybe, he had to leave. Best for him, best for everyone. For one night Tuesday, when the Sonics meet the Knicks for the first time at the Garden since his trade to Seattle over the summer, time will stop for Ewing and all the adulation and heartache will come flooding back to him -- all the years, all the greatness, all the heartache.

"I think they respect everything I've done in my career in New York," he said. "What do I expect? I don't know. Hopefully, it'll be a warm homecoming."

	“	I still think I'm that age. It seems like it was just yesterday. But it's not ... There were some things that I wish the Knicks organization could've done to make the team better when I was younger than when I was older. Hopefully, we could've gotten a ring. ”
		— Ewing

Ewing scored 23,655 points as a Knick, had 10,759 rebounds and 11 All-Star appearances. Together, they reached the playoffs 13 times, and the NBA Finals twice. The one man with a possible stake on the title as the greatest Knick, Willis Reed, insists: "It's Patrick, not me." All this and Ewing thinks the Garden fans have "respect" for him, and will deliver a "warm homecoming." Wouldn't it be love? Wouldn't it be a long staggering, standing ovation? The Garden will stand and scream long and loud for Ewing, but he's right: It's respect -- not love.

And yet, in a lot of ways, Ewing has just himself to blame. All his Knicks career, he held the Garden, held the Knicks, held all of New York at a distance. All Ewing ever had to do was hold out his arms -- invite the city's embrace with a smile, an autograph, a kind word. Just something, anything to remind people that there is a heart pumping behind the No. 33 on his jersey.

"Am I going to cry?" Ewing said. "I hope not."

The rest of us hope so, just to bring down 15 years of concrete walls and let New York see what it always suspected what playing for the Knicks, playing in the Garden, meant to Ewing: Everything.

"It was an emotional night when I finally came back from my Achilles injury (in 1999)," Ewing said. "I'm not sure as if it's going to be as emotional as that one. I'm looking forward to the game, looking forward to playing at Madison Square Garden. The only difference is I'll coming from a different locker room."

"I miss New York. I miss my family, I miss my friends."

And then, sweeping his hands playfully to a pack of New York writers, he said: "All of this? Nah." And then, serious again, Ewing said, "But, I miss it. I miss New York, I don't miss the other stuff ... all the negativity. I don't miss all of that stuff."

More than anything, there's sadness watching Ewing these days. All his life, he generated such deep-rooted emotion -- for better and worse -- and everything's changed now. These days, he inspires pity. For the most part, he's irrelevant to the Sonics. They've professed no interest in re-signing him this summer. Ewing is forever tough and stubborn, insisting the other day that "I've still got a lot of basketball left."

"He's asked a time or two what he can do to get more minutes," Sonics coach Nate McMillan said. What can McMillian tell Ewing? Turn back the clock? For one night, anyway, Ewing will try at the Garden. He promises to drive his car down the ramp reserved for Knicks players, just like always, and should the guards try to stop him, "I'm running them over," Ewing said, with a smile.

He comes home Tuesday night, home to the Garden and someone asked Ewing: Would he always consider himself a Knick?

"Yeah, I've been there for 15 years," he said. "There's a place in my heart."

For one night, anyway, it would be something to see Patrick Ewing peel back that No. 33, that strange SuperSonics jersey and let Madison Square Garden see that heart, see it pumping always and forever a New York Knick.

Adrian Wojnarowski, a columnist for the Bergen (N.J.) Record, is a regular contributor to ESPN.com. He can be reached at NJCOL1@aol.com.