jack0fspeed
04-01-2010, 12:20 PM
http://www.hardwoodparoxysm.com/2010/03/31/tim-duncans-free-fall/
Tim Duncan’s Free Fall
Written by Michael Pina on Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tim Duncan’s brilliant career went parallel with my formative years. My first pimple, my first shave, my junior and senior prom, the day my family brought home our Bichon Frise. I grew up with Tim, and even though he’s led a life hidden from the starlight he deserves, I feel like I knew him.
Duncan was the first, truly great player in my life whose entire career I was able to monitor. The Gillete shaving cream commercials with David Robinson, and the Inside Stuff “Twin Towers” magazine cover. He was supposed to be the savior of my Boston Celtics; the great franchise’s next dominant icon. Instead he went to a Spurs team that already boasted a hall-of-fame center. I knew, at the age of 9, that San Antonio’s acquisition of Tim Duncan was borderline unethical, but with his ceiling no stronger than a spider’s web, the situation intrigued me.
Not only was he unstoppable on the block, but he was able to directly make his teammates better as a brilliant passer from the high post. All of a sudden, San Antonio, Texas became a hotbed for serviceable, but aging players looking to set sail on their careers with a championship ring. Guys like Steve Smith, Steve Kerr, Danny Ferry, Robert Horry, Glenn Robinson and Michael Finley were coming far and wide to play with Tim Duncan.
Once Jordan retired it was his league. The NBA was just beginning to enter an era of individual importance filled with eight and nine figure contracts, attention seeking rap albums, movie deals and overwhelming body art. Duncan defied all of that while standing out as basketball’s best player, making his teammates better, banking shot after shot off the left side of the backboard.
Like most people who play the game of basketball—whether it be on a black top where a foul requires blood shed as evidence or in an old man rec league—the way they play reflects who they are inside. This in no way is a discussion involving skill level, instead it’s all about diving on the floor or blocking out a teammate’s man who managed to get loose. President Obama wasn’t allowed a second date with Michelle until he showed her brother Craig what kind of man he was. The two didn’t cavort over dinner or gab over 18 at a nearby public coarse. They played basketball. A wordless game, aside from groans, grunts, and the occasional obscenity, that can tell one all he needs to know about an opponent or teammate. Tim Duncan epitomizes this philosophy. He was quiet. He was methodical. He did what he wanted, when he wanted and his game literally talked for him. I don’t know whether this is true or not, but I’d bet a good sum that despite all the money he makes, Duncan doesn’t live a lavish lifestyle. Why have 17 cars when one or two will do the job? Why spin and fade-away when a simple shot off the glass counts for just as many points?
With 14 seconds remaining and the Spurs up by 2 in a recent contest against Oklahoma City, Duncan set a high pick for Ginobli who drove left towards the basket. Duncan simultaneously rolled to the hoop, caught a pass from Manu about four feet from the basket. Instead of taking two steps and setting himself up for a game clinching dunk, Duncan flipped a finger roll at the front of the rim. Thunder center Serge Ibaka thanked Tim for the gift, then ceremoniously slammed the basketball off the backboard. The Thunder recovered with a chance to win the game.
To watch Duncan play right now is heartbreaking. It’s (almost) like staring at an old picture of a polio stricken Roosevelt, curbed to his wheelchair. Or, for a more athletically appropriate analogy: Willie Mays batting .211 in 66 games as a 42-year-old New York Met, Michael Jordan overshooting the rim on a dunk attempt while in Washington or Pedro Martinez donning a Phillies cap for one last hurrah in Yankees Stadium.
According to the Elias Sports Bureau, “Tim Duncan made only 2 of 11 field goals, 18 percent, in the Spurs loss on March 24. It’s the third time in his last 19 games that Duncan had made less than 20 percent of his shots from the floor, something he did only six times in 947 games to that point in his career.”
Not one to overreact with a small sampling of statistics, but when those stats disparage a player who’s great claim to fame has been remarkable consistency, then it’s at the very least worth noting.
If this is the end for Tim, I just want to say thank you. Throughout your career you personified a style of play that can only be described as professional perfection and in doing so, served as a role-model for thousands of young basketball players striving for success. You’re a first-ballot hall-of-famer and could go down as the greatest power forward to ever play (even if center was always a more suitable label). Thanks to outstanding defensive play, your career, more likely than not, should last at least four more seasons barring injury. But the Tim Duncan who could throw a team on his back is gone forever, and it’s truly a sad thing to see.
Tim Duncan’s Free Fall
Written by Michael Pina on Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tim Duncan’s brilliant career went parallel with my formative years. My first pimple, my first shave, my junior and senior prom, the day my family brought home our Bichon Frise. I grew up with Tim, and even though he’s led a life hidden from the starlight he deserves, I feel like I knew him.
Duncan was the first, truly great player in my life whose entire career I was able to monitor. The Gillete shaving cream commercials with David Robinson, and the Inside Stuff “Twin Towers” magazine cover. He was supposed to be the savior of my Boston Celtics; the great franchise’s next dominant icon. Instead he went to a Spurs team that already boasted a hall-of-fame center. I knew, at the age of 9, that San Antonio’s acquisition of Tim Duncan was borderline unethical, but with his ceiling no stronger than a spider’s web, the situation intrigued me.
Not only was he unstoppable on the block, but he was able to directly make his teammates better as a brilliant passer from the high post. All of a sudden, San Antonio, Texas became a hotbed for serviceable, but aging players looking to set sail on their careers with a championship ring. Guys like Steve Smith, Steve Kerr, Danny Ferry, Robert Horry, Glenn Robinson and Michael Finley were coming far and wide to play with Tim Duncan.
Once Jordan retired it was his league. The NBA was just beginning to enter an era of individual importance filled with eight and nine figure contracts, attention seeking rap albums, movie deals and overwhelming body art. Duncan defied all of that while standing out as basketball’s best player, making his teammates better, banking shot after shot off the left side of the backboard.
Like most people who play the game of basketball—whether it be on a black top where a foul requires blood shed as evidence or in an old man rec league—the way they play reflects who they are inside. This in no way is a discussion involving skill level, instead it’s all about diving on the floor or blocking out a teammate’s man who managed to get loose. President Obama wasn’t allowed a second date with Michelle until he showed her brother Craig what kind of man he was. The two didn’t cavort over dinner or gab over 18 at a nearby public coarse. They played basketball. A wordless game, aside from groans, grunts, and the occasional obscenity, that can tell one all he needs to know about an opponent or teammate. Tim Duncan epitomizes this philosophy. He was quiet. He was methodical. He did what he wanted, when he wanted and his game literally talked for him. I don’t know whether this is true or not, but I’d bet a good sum that despite all the money he makes, Duncan doesn’t live a lavish lifestyle. Why have 17 cars when one or two will do the job? Why spin and fade-away when a simple shot off the glass counts for just as many points?
With 14 seconds remaining and the Spurs up by 2 in a recent contest against Oklahoma City, Duncan set a high pick for Ginobli who drove left towards the basket. Duncan simultaneously rolled to the hoop, caught a pass from Manu about four feet from the basket. Instead of taking two steps and setting himself up for a game clinching dunk, Duncan flipped a finger roll at the front of the rim. Thunder center Serge Ibaka thanked Tim for the gift, then ceremoniously slammed the basketball off the backboard. The Thunder recovered with a chance to win the game.
To watch Duncan play right now is heartbreaking. It’s (almost) like staring at an old picture of a polio stricken Roosevelt, curbed to his wheelchair. Or, for a more athletically appropriate analogy: Willie Mays batting .211 in 66 games as a 42-year-old New York Met, Michael Jordan overshooting the rim on a dunk attempt while in Washington or Pedro Martinez donning a Phillies cap for one last hurrah in Yankees Stadium.
According to the Elias Sports Bureau, “Tim Duncan made only 2 of 11 field goals, 18 percent, in the Spurs loss on March 24. It’s the third time in his last 19 games that Duncan had made less than 20 percent of his shots from the floor, something he did only six times in 947 games to that point in his career.”
Not one to overreact with a small sampling of statistics, but when those stats disparage a player who’s great claim to fame has been remarkable consistency, then it’s at the very least worth noting.
If this is the end for Tim, I just want to say thank you. Throughout your career you personified a style of play that can only be described as professional perfection and in doing so, served as a role-model for thousands of young basketball players striving for success. You’re a first-ballot hall-of-famer and could go down as the greatest power forward to ever play (even if center was always a more suitable label). Thanks to outstanding defensive play, your career, more likely than not, should last at least four more seasons barring injury. But the Tim Duncan who could throw a team on his back is gone forever, and it’s truly a sad thing to see.