Not since Michael Jordan’s sixth title has a superstar had so little to gain by winning an NBA championship. Dirk Nowitzki needed his ring to cement his place among the greats. Kobe Bryant wanted so desperately to tie MJ that he managed to shoot the Lakers out of this year’s playoffs. Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook long to stake their ground as the new sheriffs in the wild, wild Western Conference. And LeBron James just needs to win, and win fast.
Tim Duncan’s legacy, though, seems complete. He is a four-time champion, the best player of his generation, a top-10 all-timer and a no-discussion, first-ballot Hall-of-Famer. Jerry Sloan, long-time coach of that Karl Malone guy, called Duncan “probably the best player to ever play the position.”
If the individual accolades weren’t enough, Duncan scored David Robinson a pair of rings and turned Manu Ginobili and Tony Parker into potential Hall-of-Famers. At this point, winning a fifth championship is almost superfluous for the Big Fundamental.
But a Fo’, Fo’, Fo’, (Fo’)? The actual realization of Moses Malone’s 1983 playoffs prediction for his dominant Sixers team (who managed just a Fo’, Fi’, Fo’)? The addition of an extra Fo’? It would be the greatest run in NBA Playoffs history. It would give small-time, dusty old San Antonio (quietly the second-highest scoring team in the league) and boring, staid Timothy Theodore Duncan something they have never had, nor asked for: sex appeal.
No one would mistake Duncan for the best player on the Spurs’ roster, not for the past few years. But he is inarguably the team’s leader, and he remains a steady force in the paint, as evidenced by the 17-10-3 he has put up in San Antonio’s 10 postseason games (all wins, of course). This is Duncan’s team and will remain so until he retires.
The Fo’, Fo’, Fo’, (Fo’) and the glory that comes with, is his for the taking.
That said, he doesn’t much seem to care about his legacy—no more so than he cares about winning his next game. Duncan, the honors psychology graduate, might even suggest that a player’s legacy is little more than an intangible, third-party construct of the media and fans, a tool used to compare legends and generations and organize them just so.
And he might say that the Fo’, Fo’, Fo’, (Fo’), whatever it’s worth, is really for us. Because even knowing what we know, maybe we still feel the need for a bright, shiny ribbon to find, compare and come back to what, on the outside, we’ve decided is the bland, bank-shot packaging of Tim Duncan’s wildly successful career.