21–22 NBA Previews: The San Antonio Spurs (#23)
In the debate over who was the best NBA player of the generation that came up in between Michael Jordan and LeBron James, I believe the answer to be Tim Duncan. I believe this to be an immutable fact, carved in stone, debated only by fools and Lakers fans.
Duncan’s case has merits both obvious and subtle. You’ve got the 5 rings, the unending consistency, the fact that the Spurs played pretty much the best defense in the league for basically two full decades while he anchored and prowled its back line. He was reliable and selfless on offense; Spurs teams played some of the ugliest bully-ball I’ve ever seen with him, but they also ended up becoming the foremost practitioners of everything beautiful about the game with him as well.
Consider the stylistic differences between the 1999 title team (84.8 points per game with an offensive rating of 98.9 points per 100 possessions) and the 2014 title team (105.6 points per game with an offensive rating of 120.8 points per 100 possessions). If that last sentence was a little too dense for you to parse, let me sum up. Duncan won titles separated by 15 years, playing completely different brands of basketball. Obviously, this belies changes in philosophy league-wide over those 15 years, but those changes find their heart in the evolution of the Spurs. And, therefore, in Duncan. One could argue that Duncan’s stylistic flexibility was the single most important force in basketball since the moment he entered the league. In fact, that’s exactly what I’m arguing.
All of that aside, there is another element of Duncan’s greatness that I’d like to consider here. Think of the one-franchise greats of the past decades in the NBA. In nearly every case, their teams were utterly wrecked when the players were finally gone. Jordan, Kobe Bryant, Dirk Nowitzki, even Paul Pierce. When the greats were gone, there was at least a year or two of misery. The year after Duncan retired, the Spurs went 61-21.
It is my opinion that this is to Duncan’s credit. That Spurs team had Kawhi Leonard and LaMarcus Aldridge. Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili were still around to provide a link to the Duncan past. Still, it is my opinion that the combination of Duncan’s stylistic flexibility and total selflessness as a teammate was what allowed players like Leonard and Aldridge to thrive with him and then carry the mantle when he was gone. Duncan was willing to bend and change as he aged. Do you have any idea how fucking rare that is? How do we measure a greatness that allows for a legacy after that greatness is gone?
I bring up this question, now, as the Spurs find themselves at a bit of a crossroads. This is a roster full of decent players, but empty of great ones. There is no central principle here, no guiding force. There are like 10 players you’d be willing to have as the fifth best player on your team, but none you’d be glad to have as the third. This team is going to be bad this season, but not bad enough to truly commit to it as a philosophy.
Dejounte Murray is the closest thing to a “star” here. He’s elite defensively, but offensively, he’s regressed somewhat. Each year, he takes fewer shots at the rim and generates fewer attempts from the free throw line. Strangely, while he still basically can’t shoot 3s, he’s turned himself into an elite shooter from the midrange, making over 45% of his shots from between 10 feet and the 3 point line over the past two seasons.
The refusal, roster-wide, to shift with the league towards a greater focus on the 3 point shot is damning. It makes me wonder about where the credit goes for the stylistic innovations of Spurs seasons past. It makes me want to give that credit to Duncan, who provided, so to speak, a backing rhythm allowing each string to sing. Whatever happens here, it will be a whole lot more successful if players like Murray, Lonnie Walker IV, Devin Vassell, Keldon Johnson, and newcomer Joshua Primo are given the creative freedom—and the clear mission—to get better.
If you’re wondering why I haven’t mentioned Gregg Popovich yet, well, I am too. I’m not sure where he fits in the history here. On the one hand, he’s possibly the greatest coach of all time. On the other hand, was it all Timmy all along? Are these possibilities mutually exclusive? Is it true that by the time Duncan retired, Pop, too, was nearing the end of his productive influence? Any pundit who has an answer to these questions is a doofus. It’s unknowable. That’s what’s so cool about it. That’s what’s so impossible to duplicate elsewhere.
I realize this isn’t much of a “Spurs Preview,” so to speak. I just think it’s worth noting that while lots of great players have existed over the years, Tim Duncan is singular. The kind of greatness that allows for greatness in its wake: it’s the dream of fandom—to have the privilege of being around for a consistent and ongoing chance at something special. For most of my life, the Spurs had a shot at winning the title, and even when Tim Duncan was gone, that shot owed much to the fact of his existence. Good luck finding that again. Really; I mean it. Good luck.