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.
A superstar.
One who refused to conform to anyone's definition of what that word means.