T he Knicks were clawing their way past the Celtics in Game 1 of an NBA Playoffs match so intense, my two young sons morphed into courtside commentators operating at decibel levels usually reserved for jet engines and Skittle-fueled birthday parties. We were shrieking with glee and high-fiving—me half-tracking the score, half-rummaging for my noise-canceling AirPods before their joy blew out my inner ear. Then, just after Jalen Brunson drove to the basket, a commercial cut in. Advertisement