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In celebration of Tim Duncan’s selection to the All-Star starting team, I wanted to take the opportunity to reflect on the nature of his game.

In Eduardo Galeano’s Soccer in Sun and Shadow, he includes a chapter simply titled “the ball.” Part of the chapter includes a discussion of the ball’s evolution from an inflated ox bladder to what men and women currently use to play futbol. But the chapter’s significance expands rapidly as Galeano begins to discuss the uniquely powerful relationship individual players and teams had with it:

Pele kissed her in Maracana when he scored his thousandth goal and Di Stefano built her a monument in front of his house, a bronze ball with a plaque that says: Thanks, old girl.

She is loyal. In the final game of the 1930 World Cup, both teams insisted on playing with their own ball. Sage as Solomon, the referee decided the first half would be played with the Argentine ball and the second with the Uruguayan ball. Argentina won the first half and Uruguay the second.

Galeano goes on to discuss her personal attributes: How she prefers to be kissed, not kicked; how she is fickle. Many Americans are too steeped in the intellectual traditions of Northern European rationalism to have the eyes with which to see such wonder. But Tim Duncan, being of Carribean heritage, has always had a similar, slightly mystical relationship with the rock.

What is so striking about Tim’s unique relationship with the basketball is how often he is characterized of being devoid of an spiritual qualities: He is constantly portrayed as a robot. Joel Kimmel, who designed our banner, has produced what I believe to be the highest expression of this metaphor.

Despite how much I enjoy Kimmel’s drawing (I actually own a print of it), I find this understanding of Duncan to be deeply flawed. While others see Duncan’s calm demeanor and clean movement as symptomatic of his mechanical nature, I see his placidity as a deep-seated spiritual peacefulness. Interestingly enough, not all cultures understand Duncan to be a robot: In China he is known as “the stone Buddha.”

Tim’s favorable relationship with the ball is preserved by his staunch belief in the power of ritual: Before every game he wraps the ball in his arms in order to establish an unbreakable communion with the leather sphere. His long arms obscure the ball so thoroughly that it almost appears to have been swallowed by him. His gaze becomes piercing as he holds his lips to the ball. Is he whispering to her? Kissing her? It is unclear. But all that I know is that, despite the intensity in his eyes, he is in some way reassuring her he will be gentle. Rather than slam her through the rim he will softly touch her off the glass. Rather than rip her from the air he will position himself so that she falls gently into his waiting hands.

He reestablishes this union throughout the game. After every free throw he walks to the referee and briefly takes her. Any Spurs fan knows this little ritual doesn’t really help his free throw shooting but I don’t believe that is the point. The game is structured so that when fouled while shooting the players are allowed to briefly pause. He uses this momentary ceasefire to remind the one he loves that he is never far. Without this unique relationship how could you explain how reliably clutch Tim is? How could he possibly have made the 3-pointer in game one of the Suns-Spurs series had he not spent a decade incurring her favor? He has treated her with respect. He has always been loyal. And in return she has blessed him with her cooperation and support.