Maybe he’s fine.
After all, it has been a few days now.
I’d like to imagine Tim Duncan, dressed in his overly large, late 1990s style wardrobe, sauntering into an airport and heading for a beach. He deserves it.
However, somehow, I don’t think Tim Duncan is going to enjoy the next few months of the NBA offseason. He won’t really want to do a report on what he does this summer vacation.
And a worse thing couldn’t happen to a seemingly nicer guy.
For reasons I don’t even understand, I’ve never really been a big fan of the Big Fundamental. Didn’t dislike Duncan, but didn’t root for him either. I was one of the legions of people who believe the Spurs run from 2003-07, when they won three NBA titles in five years, was some of the weirdest and least entertaining in professional basketball.
Yet, in reality, that had little to do with the best team of that era, Duncan’s San Antonio Spurs.
It quite possibly had much more to do with the influx of under-developed high school players who needed to continue to learn and grow. It might have been due to that weird three-to-five year period AJR (after Jordan’s retirement – yes, the last one) where the NBA’s superstars of the 1990s were winding down their careers and being replaced with said 18-to-20 year olds.
Regardless, Duncan never instilled any sense of rooting interest or dislike in me. Either way, I still acknowledge him as the greatest power forward in NBA history.
While Duncan never comes across as the most emotional guy, or someone who’s terribly affected or effected by the world of professional basketball, he did seem to want this. Gave a throwback performance in Game 6 of the NBA Finals, knowing full well his team did not want it to go to a Game 7 on the road – against LeBron James at the peak of his powers.
So it says a lot that when Duncan missed that bunny in the middle of the lane – against Shane Battier, of all people – I felt for him. He looked crushed. And sad. We all kind of knew it, too: it was the beginning of the end of everything, and this time, officially.
It was the beginning of the end of the game and the Finals. Shortly after Duncan’s miss, James hit a jumper that put the Heat up four and it just somehow felt insurmountable.
It was the beginning of the end of the current make-up of the Spurs. With Kwahi Leonard coming on so strong and Mau Ginobili, well, um, not, with Parker gassed, with Duncan at 37, the Spurs might not be this close again. Or even have the same core of players.
If he hits that shot, maybe the Heat crack under the pressure of a tie game. Maybe the Spurs win their fifth title. Maybe Duncan smiles.
Instead, he walked off the court with someone else’s championship confetti stuck to his face, facing the uncertainty of life and of his future. He went to the press conference and talked about being haunted by Game 7 forever.
I’ve never felt worse for an all-time great who’s already won four titles. Maybe because he took it so hard. Maybe because, for Duncan, this week holds no championship parade, only further divorce proceedings. Meanwhile, his opponents are tweeting about parties at LIV and the scene on South Beach.
All I can see when I think of Duncan is Ferris Bueller’s best friend, Cameron, sitting by the pool and falling in, looking up to see if anyone cares to come after him. I see sad Tim sitting in the middle of his empty home, eating cereal and torturing himself by watching the Heat parade today after a less than restful night’s sleep. I see his shoulders drop and his face become even more pained as he hops in his car, turns it on and hears “Cruel Summer” playing on the radio.
And it makes me sad.
Strange that it took me this long to have an emotional reaction to anything Tim Duncan did on or off the basketball floor. It took him hitting a low-point during a turbulent period of his life near the end of his career.
Now that it has, and I’ve had a reaction to Duncan and formed an opinion, well…I kind of wish it had gone differently.
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