Tim Duncan and the still undanced cadence of vanishing
The title of this piece deserves an explanation. I stole it from Galway Kinnell, most of it at least. It’s from his poem Little Sleep’s-Head Sprouting Hair in the Moonlight.
Little Sleep’s-Head is a poem about growing old; it’s about learning to come to terms with death. It has me thinking about Tim Duncan. Not Tim Duncan’s death, just the death of his basketball career. Tim Duncan has begun to dance to the cadence of vanishing. For now, he’s still dancing in view. His movements haven’t drifted into the mythology of memory, but increasingly my thoughts of Tim Duncan are punctuated by the past tense. The vanishing only amplifies the still-with-us presence.
There is a series of lines in Little Sleep’s-Head that perfectly capture the slow but certain loss of skill that comes to all great athletes, Tim Duncan included:
like the adjectives in the halting speech
of old men,
which once could call up the lost nouns.
Yesterday morning, Tony Parker said the Spurs are aware of the vanishing. He invoked closing windows. Parker spoke in clichés.
Last postseason, we saw something new from Tim Duncan. We saw an old men who occasionally lost the nouns. Duncan’s deteriorating pick and roll defense was exposed against the Phoenix Suns. Adjectives in halting speech sound a lot like a slow switch. They make the same sound as a once automatic bank shot ricocheting off the backboard, catching the rim but missing net. There are night’s that still recall strong impressions of his heyday, but these nights are more akin to a momentary dazzle than an uninterrupted, soaring brilliance. These days Duncan soars and falls. And then he soars and falls some more. It’s the inevitable pattern of decay.
Tim Duncan is 34. No shame. He’s the best power forward in league history. He’s one of the winningest players in professional sports history. He is Tim Duncan, old or young. His name is his name.
I’m okay with it. Tim Duncan the supernova has become Tim Duncan, twinkle of ancient light. He’s the NBA’s most significant white dwarf.
I don’t expect Tim Duncan to turn back the clock this postseason. I expect him to look like Tim Duncan looks at 34. And I don’t think it will hurt the Spurs. They don’t need a supernova. In order for the Spurs to win a fifth championship, they’ll only need reliable direction.
Duncan averaged 17 points, 11 boards, and 2 blocks per 36 minutes this season. I suspect he’ll play 36 minutes a game in the postseason, perhaps a couple more. He’ll give the Spurs the numbers they need.
The Spurs’ best two players this season were Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili. After those two, it’s difficult to say who was more important to San Antonio’s success, Tim Duncan or the team’s bench? The Spurs’ bench played at historic levels. And if San Antonio wins another championship, it’s their bench which will power the team past the other contenders. San Antonio’s X factor isn’t a player, it’s a cluster of players.
One of the reasons Tim Duncan is still dancing in view is that he’s never been one to dance alone. Duncan knows the choreography. He steps in rhythm with a troupe. It’s just that previously everyone followed his lead. These days, it’s more of a partnership.
Put differently, a fifth championship could prove Duncan’s most impressive accomplishment. Superstars rarely age gracefully. It’s something of an impossible task to go from carrying the team to merely being part of it. Tim Duncan’s career is the story of humility taming the proud. And now that each game he plays is something of a preparation for his last game, we’ve learned that his humility was enough to tame his own pride.
