SAN ANTONIO — Tim Duncan is, and will always be, a superstar.
Don't let his defiance against NBA decadence cloud your judgment about his dominance.
He’s coach speak if it took human form. A man rooted in fundamentals blossoming around the basket on offense and defense.
The Wake Forest product was a 6-foot-11 force, clocking in to surgically dispose of opponents night in and night out.
He was not flashy nor a fashionista.
His flannel could tell you that.
Duncan did not talk smack nor dictate the Spurs on his terms. His persona was a sieve, sifting through extraneous distractions and leaving behind the only thing that mattered: Winning.
For some reason, consistency is boring. Loyalty does not lead to theatrics. Winning 50-plus games a season starts to seem too easy. Deflecting praise while mouthing platitudes comes off as disenchanting.
That is the beauty of Tim Duncan.
His resume is one of the best all-time, but instead of outlining his indisputable accolades, it's important to remember the man for how he went about his craft. A creature of habit, sturdier than a statue he would never want outside the AT&T Center.
He is the every man, yet unlike any man we have ever seen in the sport.
Duncan will enter the Hall of Fame alongside Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett. The nine-member class is arguably the greatest induction group ever.
While Duncan is a huge reason for that distinction, his dominance will not flood the headlines along the way.
He is going to finish his book the same way he wrote all the chapters.
One who refused to conform to anyone's definition of what that word means.