The stats are astonishing.
The success was unprecedented.
But he was so much more than that. And now he’s gone, riding off into the sunset.
Farewell Tim: A look at Duncan’s Legacy
In a way, it was fitting, his last game in a Spurs jersey. Yes, it was hard to watch him struggle, his age almost visible as he moved slowly across the court. If we were greedy, we might have felt bad for ourselves, having this as our last memory of the man. Yet as the Oklahoma City Thunder clinched the win in Game 6 of the Western Conference semifinals, Tim Duncan quietly embraced teammates and opponents alike, to a standing ovation from the AT&T Center.
Understated. The perfect ending to the perfect career.
We’ve always examined Tim Duncan at a micro level. His career was defined by flawless fundamentals, the man every high school coach across America would point to as they taught their young, raw athletes how to play the game the right way.
The Outlier
He was an outlier in a league of big personalities, of mythological figures who seemed more immortal than human. He was one of us, albeit big and strong and unbelievably talented. But he didn’t follow the traditional path of NBA stars. His story wasn’t Hoosier heartland, shooting hoops surrounded by cornfields in the Midwest. And it certainly wasn’t an inner-city background, of pickup games at Rucker Park.
Tim Duncan grew up in the Virgin Islands, to a midwife and her mason husband. A bright pupil and an aspiring Olympic swimmer, Duncan made a name for himself at St. Dunstan’s Episcopal High School, earning himself a scholarship to Wake Forest University.
Wake Forest
That’s where the Tim Duncan that we know grew. In the “Joel”, as they call the Lawrence Joel Veteran’s Memorial Coliseum at Wake Forest, where a combined array of low-post moves, mid-range bank shots and tough defense allowed him to become one of the best players in the nation, eventually becoming the 1997 national college player of the year.
All this while working towards a degree in psychology, in addition to taking classes in anthropology and Chinese literature.
Perhaps it was appropriate when opposing fans taunted him as “Mr. Spock”. A prototypical detached, logical character.
Joining the Spurs, and Re-Defining the Franchise
The Tim Duncan in San Antonio story had many chapters. The first was the “Twin towers” era of David Robinson and Duncan, two giants of the game who created one of the greatest front courts in the history of basketball. The first of Duncan’s five rings came alongside Robinson in 1999, when New York Knicks swing man Latrell Sprewell missed a last second desperation shot in Game 5 of the Finals to give the Spurs a title and to give Duncan his first Finals MVP. The two won another championship together in 2003.
The next chapter came when Robinson retired in before the 2003-2004 season when Duncan became the franchise. Sure he had help, in Tony Parker and Manu Ginobli and Bruce Bowen, but Duncan became the quiet face of the league’s model organization of the 21st century. Although reluctant to step into the leadership role, Duncan excelled and lead the Spurs to another title in 2005, when he depleted and dissected the Detroit Pistons in the Finals.
So fundamental and so unnoticed. Tim Duncan truly was the common denominator. Teammates came and went, but the system stayed the same. And Tim Duncan was the system.
2007 brought Duncan his fourth ring, followed by six seasons of unprecedented success, and yet no championship. It looked as if Duncan’s story was wrapping up. Four rings, of course, was still amazing.
The Final Ring
Duncan won his final ring in 2014, in a rematch of the 2013 Finals with the Miami Heat. While the 2013 edition of the matchup was a tightly contested, dramatic seven game affair, Heat-Spurs II was complete domination. The Spurs dismantled the Heat in five games.
The win ended the LeBron James “talents in South Beach” experience, sending him back home to Northeast Ohio. It also signified the emergence of Kawhi Leonard as a transcendent superstar in the league, and the future of the Spurs franchise.
Yet, most importantly, it was Duncan’s lost hoorah, the final act of one of the greatest, yet most underappreciated, plays in the history of basketball.
The Numbers
Five rings. Three time Finals MVP. Two time league MVP. Fifteen time All-Star. Ten All-NBA First Team selections and eight All-Defensive First Teams. The first player in the history of the league to start on a championship team in three different decades.
He was neither hero nor villain. Maybe that’s why he was so singularly remarkable. He was the working man’s superstar. No flash, all hustle. He grabbed his figurative lunch pale, strapped on his figurative work boots, clocked in and did his time. And did it well.
So maybe we didn’t appreciate him like we should have. Maybe we didn’t appreciate that, between the rings and accolades, we were witnesses to subtle genius. He was what we all aspire to be.
And maybe this feeling we’re experiencing right now is more existential than anything. We thought he was eternal. We thought as the sun rose and set and players with much bigger egos and much less success came and went, Duncan would be with us forever. So as he fades into basketball folklore, and our children’s children know him only by the stories we tell, we too will fade into things of the past.
Yet right here, right now, one thing is true. We will miss Tim Duncan more than we ever thought.
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