Know your craft - player development / X & O's
Be able to establish relationships
Have a great work ethic
6.22.2012
LEBRON - CHAMPION
Fate did LeBron James the most magnificent favor, forcing failure upon him a season ago, leaving him humiliated, hurting and hurtling into despair. That championship would've been met with shrugs and so-whats, a resentment rising out of the way these Miami Heat were assembled, the clustering of stars on a smoke-filled stage promising an unprecedented dominance. Too fast. Too easy. Failure was the greatest thing to happen to his career because it changed the prism with which the world viewed James, and most of all, the way LeBron James viewed himself.
"The best thing that happened to me was us losing in the Finals [in 2011], and me playing the way I played," James said late Thursday night inside the AmericanAirlines Arena, sitting between the two most remarkable bookends of his basketball life: The Larry O'Brien NBA championship trophy and the Russell MVP award.
"It was the best thing to ever happen to me in my career because basically I got back to the basics," he said. "It humbled me. I knew I was going to have to change as a basketball player, and I was going to have to change as a person to get what I wanted."
Failure didn't humanize James; his response to it humanized him.
James provided a virtuoso Game 5 performance of 26 points, 13 assists and 11 rebounds. In turn, his psyche changed, his game grew, his ability to cope with the pressures and expectations were fully realized.
LeBron James has won his championship at 27 years old on Thursday night, just as Michael Jordan had won his first championship at 27. James didn't have three years at North Carolina under Dean Smith, nor did he have a childhood as traditional – perhaps even functional – as Jordan's. When James had a chance to frame his championship chase into the context of those before him, including M.J., James resisted.
"It was a journey for myself," he said. "I don't want to compare it to any other player. Everything that went with me being a high school prodigy when I was 16 and on the cover of Sports Illustrated to being drafted and having to be the face of a franchise; everything that came with it. I had to deal with it, and I had to learn through it.
"No one had [gone] through that journey, so I had to learn on my own. Everything that came with it, I had to basically figure it out on my own."
And then, James would say: "I'm a champion, and I did it the right way. I didn't shortcut anything."
The dam bursts now, the walls come crashing down and James is the water tumbling down a mountainside, gathering speed and power, leaving everyone to wonder: What in the world can stop it now? Winning changes everything, and champions can behave unchecked in ways that those without titles never are allowed. That's this sporting culture, and that's the double standard that forever will exist.
Talent had taken him so far, so fast, but the rapidness with which it all came cost James for so much of his life. His flaws met the digital age, and the ensuing explosion caused a supernova. All around him, there were people profiting over his inability to manage himself, his emotions, his talents, and they stunted his growth.
"It took me to go all the way to the top and then hit rock bottom to realize what I needed to do as a professional athlete and a person," James said.
"I just kind of made my own path."
"The best thing that happened to me was us losing in the Finals [in 2011], and me playing the way I played," James said late Thursday night inside the AmericanAirlines Arena, sitting between the two most remarkable bookends of his basketball life: The Larry O'Brien NBA championship trophy and the Russell MVP award.
"It was the best thing to ever happen to me in my career because basically I got back to the basics," he said. "It humbled me. I knew I was going to have to change as a basketball player, and I was going to have to change as a person to get what I wanted."
Failure didn't humanize James; his response to it humanized him.
James provided a virtuoso Game 5 performance of 26 points, 13 assists and 11 rebounds. In turn, his psyche changed, his game grew, his ability to cope with the pressures and expectations were fully realized.
LeBron James has won his championship at 27 years old on Thursday night, just as Michael Jordan had won his first championship at 27. James didn't have three years at North Carolina under Dean Smith, nor did he have a childhood as traditional – perhaps even functional – as Jordan's. When James had a chance to frame his championship chase into the context of those before him, including M.J., James resisted.
"It was a journey for myself," he said. "I don't want to compare it to any other player. Everything that went with me being a high school prodigy when I was 16 and on the cover of Sports Illustrated to being drafted and having to be the face of a franchise; everything that came with it. I had to deal with it, and I had to learn through it.
"No one had [gone] through that journey, so I had to learn on my own. Everything that came with it, I had to basically figure it out on my own."
And then, James would say: "I'm a champion, and I did it the right way. I didn't shortcut anything."
The dam bursts now, the walls come crashing down and James is the water tumbling down a mountainside, gathering speed and power, leaving everyone to wonder: What in the world can stop it now? Winning changes everything, and champions can behave unchecked in ways that those without titles never are allowed. That's this sporting culture, and that's the double standard that forever will exist.
Talent had taken him so far, so fast, but the rapidness with which it all came cost James for so much of his life. His flaws met the digital age, and the ensuing explosion caused a supernova. All around him, there were people profiting over his inability to manage himself, his emotions, his talents, and they stunted his growth.
"It took me to go all the way to the top and then hit rock bottom to realize what I needed to do as a professional athlete and a person," James said.
"I just kind of made my own path."
6.08.2012
VCU - HEAD COACHING NON-NEGOTIABLES
TIRELESS RECRUITER
INTEGRITY
PASSIONATE
PROVEN WINNER
TEACHER
LEADER
WORK ETHIC
COMMUNICATOR
ORGANIZED
INNOVATOR ON THE COURT
TIRELESS RECRUITER
INTEGRITY
PASSIONATE
PROVEN WINNER
TEACHER
LEADER
WORK ETHIC
COMMUNICATOR
ORGANIZED
INNOVATOR ON THE COURT
TIRELESS RECRUITER
5.30.2012
SPURS - SUCCESS STARTED WITH DAVID ROBINSON
If the Moneyball Oakland A's were about wise investment strategies and the New England Patriots are regarded as a sound business model, we should think of the San Antonio Spurs as an effective government.
The greatest testament to a successful political system is the peaceful transfer of power: regime change without strife or bloodshed. That's the way it has been for the Spurs, from David Robinson to Tim Duncan, from Duncan to Manu Ginobili and now Tony Parker. If you want plotting, double-crossing and high-carnage battles, catch "Game of Thrones" on Sundays. San Antonio is a long way from Westeros. With the Spurs, regimes change with neither a fight nor instructions from above.
"I'm very fortunate in that I didn't have to deal with a star's ego," Spurs coach Gregg Popovich said. "I dealt with grown-ups, who had character and prioritization already set in their lives and their values, that sort of thing.
"Timmy came along, David understood his talent and made it very easy for Tim to become the go-to guy. As Tim got older, he understood the value of Manu and Tony and was able to share that spotlight with them. I never had a talk, I never had a discussion, a meeting or anything with any of those guys about that. We just did it. The process kind of morphed along. It's because of their character we were able to do it."
Robinson doesn't get enough credit for establishing the template. He's the founding father of the team's locker-room constitution. (If someone with better Photoshop skills than mine swapped a George Washington-style white wig for Robinson's old flattop, I bet it would work.) Robinson already had a Most Valuable Player trophy on the shelf, with seven trips to the All-Star Game and two Olympic gold medals. He'd led the league in scoring and blocked shots and was the defensive player of the year by the time Duncan arrived via lottery luck in 1997. But by Duncan's second season, he was the team's top scorer and the MVP of the NBA Finals the Spurs won in 1999.
Robinson was a willing accomplice in Duncan's takeover.
"If we can win games, everybody's going to be happy," Robinson said. "For me, when Tim came, the very first thing I told him was, 'I'm going to put you in position where you can succeed. Period. That's it. If you're a better scorer than me, I'll put you down on the block, you score. I don't care. I can do other things.'
"I think [the attitude] permeates a whole franchise. It wasn't me necessarily bringing it in. Popovich is always talking about team. He leads it by saying, 'I don't want any attention, I'm not going to act like I want attention.'"
That doesn't mean the players don't have pride or don't value individual accomplishment. You don't lead the league in scoring without believing that you can put the ball through the hoop more than anyone else in the NBA.
"When you get on the floor, you've got to think you're the best player," Robinson said. "Everybody does that.
"I didn't necessarily think I wasn't the best player on the team. I still felt like I had my role to play. It's sort of like being a husband and a wife: Who's more important? Nobody's more important. You've both got your roles, you play your roles. And everything goes great as long as you play your roles. As soon as one of you guys acts like you run the show, and you're more important than the other one, everything goes haywire.
"I felt like my role was critical for this team. Even as I got older I felt like, how I come into this locker room, how I keep these guys together, keep them focused, keep the pressure off Tim until Tim's ready to become a leader … all those things I thought were real important. All the pieces, that's the only way they can come together."
Perhaps Duncan's nature would have led him to be just as selfless on his own. Or maybe the early years of a player's career are like the formative years of a child's psyche. I read a study that showed that a tumultuous household can be seared into a young person's mind to the point that it becomes the norm, and the brain will constantly seek a return to that state, disrupting healthy relationships if necessary to achieve the imbalance to which it's accustomed.
Duncan had no coaching changes, no power struggles, no core breakups to endure when he entered the league. That's all foreign to him. I remember running into Duncan during the 2004 All-Star Weekend and telling him how the Kobe-Shaq relationship was reaching its terminal stages. Duncan wasn't sympathetic to their plight. He couldn't relate. Instead, his face lit up as he considered the prospect of facing a Lakers team that was weakened within. Honestly, I'd never seen Duncan look that giddy.
The Lakers wound up beating the Spurs in the playoffs that year, when the series turned on Derek Fisher's 0.4-second shot. But the breakup of Shaq and Kobe that summer cleared the path for the Spurs to reach the NBA Finals in two of the next three seasons. And it all occurred while the Spurs were in the process of a reform.
In Duncan's MVP seasons of 2002 and 2003, he had usage rates of 29 and 28 percent, often 5 percent above the next-most featured player in the Spurs' offense. San Antonio's staple play was "four down," the call for Duncan to get the ball on the left block.
By 2005-06, Parker was the team's leading scorer, if only by a few tenths of a point, and by 2007-08, Ginobili was the team's leader in scoring and usage rate. This season, Parker averages a team-high 18 points and takes two more shots per game than Duncan, who averages 15 points. Ginobili, who missed a third of the season with injuries, averaged 13 points.
Duncan has maintained he's fine with however the shot distribution flows as long as the team is winning -- which the Spurs have been, more than any other team in the Western Conference the past two regular seasons. Their offense is more democratic than ever, and you can trace it all back to principles of locker-room governance established by Robinson.
The greatest testament to a successful political system is the peaceful transfer of power: regime change without strife or bloodshed. That's the way it has been for the Spurs, from David Robinson to Tim Duncan, from Duncan to Manu Ginobili and now Tony Parker. If you want plotting, double-crossing and high-carnage battles, catch "Game of Thrones" on Sundays. San Antonio is a long way from Westeros. With the Spurs, regimes change with neither a fight nor instructions from above.
"I'm very fortunate in that I didn't have to deal with a star's ego," Spurs coach Gregg Popovich said. "I dealt with grown-ups, who had character and prioritization already set in their lives and their values, that sort of thing.
"Timmy came along, David understood his talent and made it very easy for Tim to become the go-to guy. As Tim got older, he understood the value of Manu and Tony and was able to share that spotlight with them. I never had a talk, I never had a discussion, a meeting or anything with any of those guys about that. We just did it. The process kind of morphed along. It's because of their character we were able to do it."
Robinson doesn't get enough credit for establishing the template. He's the founding father of the team's locker-room constitution. (If someone with better Photoshop skills than mine swapped a George Washington-style white wig for Robinson's old flattop, I bet it would work.) Robinson already had a Most Valuable Player trophy on the shelf, with seven trips to the All-Star Game and two Olympic gold medals. He'd led the league in scoring and blocked shots and was the defensive player of the year by the time Duncan arrived via lottery luck in 1997. But by Duncan's second season, he was the team's top scorer and the MVP of the NBA Finals the Spurs won in 1999.
Robinson was a willing accomplice in Duncan's takeover.
"If we can win games, everybody's going to be happy," Robinson said. "For me, when Tim came, the very first thing I told him was, 'I'm going to put you in position where you can succeed. Period. That's it. If you're a better scorer than me, I'll put you down on the block, you score. I don't care. I can do other things.'
"I think [the attitude] permeates a whole franchise. It wasn't me necessarily bringing it in. Popovich is always talking about team. He leads it by saying, 'I don't want any attention, I'm not going to act like I want attention.'"
That doesn't mean the players don't have pride or don't value individual accomplishment. You don't lead the league in scoring without believing that you can put the ball through the hoop more than anyone else in the NBA.
"When you get on the floor, you've got to think you're the best player," Robinson said. "Everybody does that.
"I didn't necessarily think I wasn't the best player on the team. I still felt like I had my role to play. It's sort of like being a husband and a wife: Who's more important? Nobody's more important. You've both got your roles, you play your roles. And everything goes great as long as you play your roles. As soon as one of you guys acts like you run the show, and you're more important than the other one, everything goes haywire.
"I felt like my role was critical for this team. Even as I got older I felt like, how I come into this locker room, how I keep these guys together, keep them focused, keep the pressure off Tim until Tim's ready to become a leader … all those things I thought were real important. All the pieces, that's the only way they can come together."
Perhaps Duncan's nature would have led him to be just as selfless on his own. Or maybe the early years of a player's career are like the formative years of a child's psyche. I read a study that showed that a tumultuous household can be seared into a young person's mind to the point that it becomes the norm, and the brain will constantly seek a return to that state, disrupting healthy relationships if necessary to achieve the imbalance to which it's accustomed.
Duncan had no coaching changes, no power struggles, no core breakups to endure when he entered the league. That's all foreign to him. I remember running into Duncan during the 2004 All-Star Weekend and telling him how the Kobe-Shaq relationship was reaching its terminal stages. Duncan wasn't sympathetic to their plight. He couldn't relate. Instead, his face lit up as he considered the prospect of facing a Lakers team that was weakened within. Honestly, I'd never seen Duncan look that giddy.
The Lakers wound up beating the Spurs in the playoffs that year, when the series turned on Derek Fisher's 0.4-second shot. But the breakup of Shaq and Kobe that summer cleared the path for the Spurs to reach the NBA Finals in two of the next three seasons. And it all occurred while the Spurs were in the process of a reform.
In Duncan's MVP seasons of 2002 and 2003, he had usage rates of 29 and 28 percent, often 5 percent above the next-most featured player in the Spurs' offense. San Antonio's staple play was "four down," the call for Duncan to get the ball on the left block.
By 2005-06, Parker was the team's leading scorer, if only by a few tenths of a point, and by 2007-08, Ginobili was the team's leader in scoring and usage rate. This season, Parker averages a team-high 18 points and takes two more shots per game than Duncan, who averages 15 points. Ginobili, who missed a third of the season with injuries, averaged 13 points.
Duncan has maintained he's fine with however the shot distribution flows as long as the team is winning -- which the Spurs have been, more than any other team in the Western Conference the past two regular seasons. Their offense is more democratic than ever, and you can trace it all back to principles of locker-room governance established by Robinson.
SPURS ARE WINNERS...NOT BORING
The biggest lie in sports is that the San Antonio Spurs are boring. Winning is never boring.
Golf is boring. But when Tiger Woods was winning every third tournament he played and making a bid to obliterate all of Jack Nicklaus’ records, golf was more spellbinding than porn.
Women’s basketball is boring. But when the media pretended Connecticut women’s basketball was going to surpass John Wooden’s UCLA winning streak, women’s hoops flirted with relevancy.
Horse racing is boring. But we’re suckered into the sport every time a 3-year-old puts together a two-race win streak that includes the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes.
Winning is the ultimate aphrodisiac. It always creates excitement, draws interest.
The Spurs are far from boring. Sunday evening, in the opener of the Western Conference finals, the Spurs stretched their playoff winning streak to nine games, their overall winning streak to 19, with an impressive 101-98, come-from-behind victory over the Oklahoma City Thunder in San Antonio.
Boring? Hardly. Manu Ginobili came off the Spurs bench and unleashed a dizzying array of twisting runners at the rim, fallaway jumpers from beyond the arc and midrange floaters that eventually overwhelmed the Thunder.
Boring? Hell no. The Spurs trailed by nine after three quarters. Fellow reserves Tiago Splitter and Gary Neal got the Spurs back into the game early in the fourth, sparking a 9-2 run to open the quarter.
The Spurs aren’t remotely boring. They’re poorly marketed by a commissioner and a league that overdosed on Michael Jordan and the celebration of individual over team. They’re poorly defined by media that are gutless, politically correct and lazy.
The popular theory is that a Miami-OKC, LeBron James-Kevin Durant NBA Finals is what is best for the league. The popular theory is wrong.
San Antonio-Miami is the culture-war showdown that could build on the momentum of last year’s terrific NBA Finals. San Antonio-Miami would represent team vs. stars, diligence and patience vs. instant gratification, humility vs. hype, international basketball culture vs. American basketball culture.
Tim Duncan (Virgin Islands), Tony Parker (France) and Manu Ginobili (Argentina), the San Antonio-drafted foundation of the Spurs team, did not grow up a part of traditional American basketball culture. Duncan grew up dreaming of being an Olympic swimmer. He stayed all four years at Wake Forest. Parker and Ginobili grew up playing international basketball.
San Antonio’s “Big Three” is quite a contrast to Miami’s. James, an Akron, Ohio, native, never attended college and orchestrated his move to Miami after seven seasons with the Cavaliers. Bosh, a Dallas native, left Georgia Tech after one season and bolted to Miami after seven seasons in Toronto. Dwyane Wade, a Chicago native, played two seasons at Marquette and was drafted by the Heat.
The Spurs share the ball and the scoring load, rely on a 10-man playing rotation and run an exquisitely precise offense. James and Wade, with the exception of the last three games against the Pacers, mostly go one-on-one for their points. Duncan, Parker and Ginobili rarely dunk. James and Wade are featured on "SportsCenter" nightly.
San Antonio-Miami could be a dream matchup. The NBA hasn’t had anything like this since Magic Johnson and Larry Bird clashed. There were racial undertones to those battles and the media were not afraid to explore those undertones. We were less politically correct in the 1980s.
The Spurs and their multiple championships on the backs of Duncan, Parker, Ginobili and coach Gregg Popovich are a repudiation of American, AAU basketball culture. James, Wade and Bosh are the ultimate manifestation of American, AAU basketball culture. They learned the game while being seduced by the shoe companies that finance summer basketball. The teenage summer circuit is what has made the modern American player value friendship more than competition. The best players now dream of teaming together rather than out-dueling each other.
They want to be like Nike . . . I mean Mike.
Who can blame them?
David Stern and his television partners have convinced the world that Michael Jordan invented basketball, that the individual player is far more valuable than a team.
The Spurs should be the NBA’s version of the Green Bay Packers. Yes, the Cowboys are more glamorous and the Steelers and the 49ers have won more Super Bowls. But little old Green Bay is “Titletown.” The Packers are a huge national television draw. No one would call the Packers boring.
The Spurs are not boring. Greatness is never boring. And if these Spurs go on to win the title, there will be no denying they’re one of the greatest teams in NBA history.
Golf is boring. But when Tiger Woods was winning every third tournament he played and making a bid to obliterate all of Jack Nicklaus’ records, golf was more spellbinding than porn.
Women’s basketball is boring. But when the media pretended Connecticut women’s basketball was going to surpass John Wooden’s UCLA winning streak, women’s hoops flirted with relevancy.
Horse racing is boring. But we’re suckered into the sport every time a 3-year-old puts together a two-race win streak that includes the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness Stakes.
Winning is the ultimate aphrodisiac. It always creates excitement, draws interest.
The Spurs are far from boring. Sunday evening, in the opener of the Western Conference finals, the Spurs stretched their playoff winning streak to nine games, their overall winning streak to 19, with an impressive 101-98, come-from-behind victory over the Oklahoma City Thunder in San Antonio.
Boring? Hardly. Manu Ginobili came off the Spurs bench and unleashed a dizzying array of twisting runners at the rim, fallaway jumpers from beyond the arc and midrange floaters that eventually overwhelmed the Thunder.
Boring? Hell no. The Spurs trailed by nine after three quarters. Fellow reserves Tiago Splitter and Gary Neal got the Spurs back into the game early in the fourth, sparking a 9-2 run to open the quarter.
The Spurs aren’t remotely boring. They’re poorly marketed by a commissioner and a league that overdosed on Michael Jordan and the celebration of individual over team. They’re poorly defined by media that are gutless, politically correct and lazy.
The popular theory is that a Miami-OKC, LeBron James-Kevin Durant NBA Finals is what is best for the league. The popular theory is wrong.
San Antonio-Miami is the culture-war showdown that could build on the momentum of last year’s terrific NBA Finals. San Antonio-Miami would represent team vs. stars, diligence and patience vs. instant gratification, humility vs. hype, international basketball culture vs. American basketball culture.
Tim Duncan (Virgin Islands), Tony Parker (France) and Manu Ginobili (Argentina), the San Antonio-drafted foundation of the Spurs team, did not grow up a part of traditional American basketball culture. Duncan grew up dreaming of being an Olympic swimmer. He stayed all four years at Wake Forest. Parker and Ginobili grew up playing international basketball.
San Antonio’s “Big Three” is quite a contrast to Miami’s. James, an Akron, Ohio, native, never attended college and orchestrated his move to Miami after seven seasons with the Cavaliers. Bosh, a Dallas native, left Georgia Tech after one season and bolted to Miami after seven seasons in Toronto. Dwyane Wade, a Chicago native, played two seasons at Marquette and was drafted by the Heat.
The Spurs share the ball and the scoring load, rely on a 10-man playing rotation and run an exquisitely precise offense. James and Wade, with the exception of the last three games against the Pacers, mostly go one-on-one for their points. Duncan, Parker and Ginobili rarely dunk. James and Wade are featured on "SportsCenter" nightly.
San Antonio-Miami could be a dream matchup. The NBA hasn’t had anything like this since Magic Johnson and Larry Bird clashed. There were racial undertones to those battles and the media were not afraid to explore those undertones. We were less politically correct in the 1980s.
The Spurs and their multiple championships on the backs of Duncan, Parker, Ginobili and coach Gregg Popovich are a repudiation of American, AAU basketball culture. James, Wade and Bosh are the ultimate manifestation of American, AAU basketball culture. They learned the game while being seduced by the shoe companies that finance summer basketball. The teenage summer circuit is what has made the modern American player value friendship more than competition. The best players now dream of teaming together rather than out-dueling each other.
They want to be like Nike . . . I mean Mike.
Who can blame them?
David Stern and his television partners have convinced the world that Michael Jordan invented basketball, that the individual player is far more valuable than a team.
The Spurs should be the NBA’s version of the Green Bay Packers. Yes, the Cowboys are more glamorous and the Steelers and the 49ers have won more Super Bowls. But little old Green Bay is “Titletown.” The Packers are a huge national television draw. No one would call the Packers boring.
The Spurs are not boring. Greatness is never boring. And if these Spurs go on to win the title, there will be no denying they’re one of the greatest teams in NBA history.
SPURS - UNSHAKABLE AFTER 15 YEARS
Tim Duncan handed Stephen Jackson the ball, and suddenly it was 2003 all over again. Jackson raising up from 25 feet. Duncan's eyes growing you're-not-really-going-to-shoot-that wide. The 3-pointer sliding through the net. Duncan patting Jackson on the head, the roar of the AT&T Center falling upon all these San Antonio Spurs, another tense late-May playoff battle turning in their direction.
The Spurs rallied to take Game 1 of the Western Conference finals from the Oklahoma City Thunder, needing just three minutes to erase a nine-point deficit in the final quarter. It was their 19th straight victory, tying the NBA record for the longest winning streak extended in the postseason, and, no, Duncan didn't expect this. Truth be told, he wondered, at times, like everyone else. After all those playoff wars won and lost, wouldn't the Spurs finally dismantle themselves and try something new?
"I heard we were dead," Duncan said.
Duncan laughed. He was sitting at the Spurs' practice facility, two days before the start of these conference finals. Gregg Popovich walked past and chided him for sharing a private moment with a reporter. Across Duncan's 15 NBA seasons, the only coach he's known is Popovich. The Spurs' All-Star guards – Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili – have played with Duncan for 11 and 10 seasons, respectively. This isn't normal. Not in today's pack-for-South-Beach NBA.
So, yes, Duncan wondered. He wondered whether Ginobili would eventually want a bigger role. He wondered whether Parker, in what Duncan likes to call "his Hollywood years," wanted a bigger market. And he wondered whether his own body would allow him to keep playing at the level he needed.
"But we've all found a home here in San Antonio," Duncan said, "and we all love it here."
They've stayed for one simple reason: "It works," Duncan said. "There's no two ways about it. If something doesn't work, you break it up and you do something else. We've all accepted our roles, we've evolved over the years and we've all been happy with it because we believe."
They believe because Popovich and general manager R.C. Buford have given them reason to believe. As the league changed, Popovich adapted. The Spurs don't defend the way they did when they won four championships, but they score better. Buford gave Popovich a roster to fit, surrounding the Spurs' Big Three with young legs and sure shots. Gary Neal and Tiago Splitter arrived from Europe last season, and there they were Sunday, helping start the comeback in the fourth quarter.
Popovich has long valued toughness over talent, and the Spurs heard as much when he scolded them in a second-half huddle. "I want some nasty," Popovich barked. Jackson's ears naturally perked up. " 'Nasty' is my middle name," he said. "Stephen 'Nasty' Jackson."
Jackson won a championship with the Spurs in 2003, left a month later and Duncan and Popovich have missed him ever since. He shouldn't be here now, but the Spurs landed him at the trade deadline while cleaning up one of their few mistakes. They'd given Richard Jefferson a four-year, $39 million extension two summers ago that was regrettable the moment the ink dried on the contract. When Golden State acquired Jackson in the Andrew Bogut trade 10 weeks ago, Buford immediately called Warriors general manager Larry Riley.
"Pop," Buford told Riley, "still thinks he can coach Jack."
Jackson had already worn out the Warriors with his tempestuousness two seasons earlier. They had no use for him now. They took the Spurs' first-round pick and Jefferson and sent them Jackson, who couldn't have been happier to hear he was returning to San Antonio.
"I lost my mind," he said. "My hair fell out and grew back in like 30 minutes."
Jackson's contract is a year shorter than Jefferson's, but the trade benefited the Spurs on the court as much as it did financially. Moving Jefferson freed minutes for rookie Kawhi Leonard. Popovich could pull Jackson or leave him sitting and not worry about wrecking Jackson's confidence the way he did with Jefferson. Jackson comes back the next day, the next quarter, ready to fight again, just as he did Sunday.
Jackson took over the assignment of guarding Kevin Durant for much of the final quarter, lining up alongside Ginobili, Duncan and Parker as the Spurs surged past the Thunder. Had anything changed from all those years ago? "Me and Manu are Danny Ferry and Steve Kerr now," Jackson said, "and Kawhi and Danny Green are me and Manu when we first came."
Some of the roles are different and they continue to adjust nightly. Ginobili led on Sunday while Parker has led for much of this season. A year ago, Ginobili played with a fractured elbow as the Spurs bowed out to the Memphis Grizzlies in the first round, and it was then that franchise officials considered breaking up their core. The Spurs talked to teams about moving into the top five of the draft. Parker was the bait – with one hefty repellant: Any team that wanted him also had to take Jefferson's contract.
Through all these conversations over the years, Popovich has clung to the same belief: The Spurs shouldn't waste any of Duncan's final years. "Will this deal make us better than we are now?" Popovich would ask. "Timmy didn't sign on to wait."
The Spurs weren't sure whether this would be Duncan's final season, and neither was he. His left knee routinely ached a year ago, limiting both his minutes and his effectiveness.
"I got to the point where I was depressed and pissed off that my body wasn't doing the things that it used to do, and that I was deteriorating skill-wise," he said. "I'm a competitor. I want to be a staple on a team, I want to be a go-to guy on a team. When that changed, that obviously hurt a little bit. But I found ways to be a part of this team and be a big part of this team."
He was again on Sunday, totaling 16 points and 11 rebounds in 35 minutes, a testament to his health. While Kobe Bryant and Alex Rodriguez went to Europe to have platelet-rich plasma therapy on their arthritic knees last summer, Duncan stayed home – "I don't think I'm cool enough," he said. "You have to be an A-Rod or a Kobe to get invited to Germany" – and adjusted his offseason workouts. In truth, he weighs the same he weighed two years ago when he first slimmed down for training camp. The doctors have found a few things to help his knee and the brace he wears has been adjusted to offer more support.
Duncan now says it's realistic to expect him to play another year or two. Three or four years, he thinks, would be a stretch, even in his improved condition. This much is certain: He has little interest in testing the free-agent market when his contract ends after this season, negotiating leverage be damned.
"Though I shouldn't say that; I have to threaten them that I'll leave," he joked. "No … I'm not going anywhere. You can print that wherever you want to. I'm here and I'm a Spur for life."
Left for dead, and now Duncan, Ginobili and Parker are on the great run of their careers. Ginobili drove for one more layup late Sunday and Duncan wrapped him in a hug. After all these years, they haven't gone anywhere. They're still standing, still together.
The Spurs rallied to take Game 1 of the Western Conference finals from the Oklahoma City Thunder, needing just three minutes to erase a nine-point deficit in the final quarter. It was their 19th straight victory, tying the NBA record for the longest winning streak extended in the postseason, and, no, Duncan didn't expect this. Truth be told, he wondered, at times, like everyone else. After all those playoff wars won and lost, wouldn't the Spurs finally dismantle themselves and try something new?
"I heard we were dead," Duncan said.
Duncan laughed. He was sitting at the Spurs' practice facility, two days before the start of these conference finals. Gregg Popovich walked past and chided him for sharing a private moment with a reporter. Across Duncan's 15 NBA seasons, the only coach he's known is Popovich. The Spurs' All-Star guards – Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili – have played with Duncan for 11 and 10 seasons, respectively. This isn't normal. Not in today's pack-for-South-Beach NBA.
So, yes, Duncan wondered. He wondered whether Ginobili would eventually want a bigger role. He wondered whether Parker, in what Duncan likes to call "his Hollywood years," wanted a bigger market. And he wondered whether his own body would allow him to keep playing at the level he needed.
"But we've all found a home here in San Antonio," Duncan said, "and we all love it here."
They've stayed for one simple reason: "It works," Duncan said. "There's no two ways about it. If something doesn't work, you break it up and you do something else. We've all accepted our roles, we've evolved over the years and we've all been happy with it because we believe."
They believe because Popovich and general manager R.C. Buford have given them reason to believe. As the league changed, Popovich adapted. The Spurs don't defend the way they did when they won four championships, but they score better. Buford gave Popovich a roster to fit, surrounding the Spurs' Big Three with young legs and sure shots. Gary Neal and Tiago Splitter arrived from Europe last season, and there they were Sunday, helping start the comeback in the fourth quarter.
Popovich has long valued toughness over talent, and the Spurs heard as much when he scolded them in a second-half huddle. "I want some nasty," Popovich barked. Jackson's ears naturally perked up. " 'Nasty' is my middle name," he said. "Stephen 'Nasty' Jackson."
Jackson won a championship with the Spurs in 2003, left a month later and Duncan and Popovich have missed him ever since. He shouldn't be here now, but the Spurs landed him at the trade deadline while cleaning up one of their few mistakes. They'd given Richard Jefferson a four-year, $39 million extension two summers ago that was regrettable the moment the ink dried on the contract. When Golden State acquired Jackson in the Andrew Bogut trade 10 weeks ago, Buford immediately called Warriors general manager Larry Riley.
"Pop," Buford told Riley, "still thinks he can coach Jack."
Jackson had already worn out the Warriors with his tempestuousness two seasons earlier. They had no use for him now. They took the Spurs' first-round pick and Jefferson and sent them Jackson, who couldn't have been happier to hear he was returning to San Antonio.
"I lost my mind," he said. "My hair fell out and grew back in like 30 minutes."
Jackson's contract is a year shorter than Jefferson's, but the trade benefited the Spurs on the court as much as it did financially. Moving Jefferson freed minutes for rookie Kawhi Leonard. Popovich could pull Jackson or leave him sitting and not worry about wrecking Jackson's confidence the way he did with Jefferson. Jackson comes back the next day, the next quarter, ready to fight again, just as he did Sunday.
Jackson took over the assignment of guarding Kevin Durant for much of the final quarter, lining up alongside Ginobili, Duncan and Parker as the Spurs surged past the Thunder. Had anything changed from all those years ago? "Me and Manu are Danny Ferry and Steve Kerr now," Jackson said, "and Kawhi and Danny Green are me and Manu when we first came."
Some of the roles are different and they continue to adjust nightly. Ginobili led on Sunday while Parker has led for much of this season. A year ago, Ginobili played with a fractured elbow as the Spurs bowed out to the Memphis Grizzlies in the first round, and it was then that franchise officials considered breaking up their core. The Spurs talked to teams about moving into the top five of the draft. Parker was the bait – with one hefty repellant: Any team that wanted him also had to take Jefferson's contract.
Through all these conversations over the years, Popovich has clung to the same belief: The Spurs shouldn't waste any of Duncan's final years. "Will this deal make us better than we are now?" Popovich would ask. "Timmy didn't sign on to wait."
The Spurs weren't sure whether this would be Duncan's final season, and neither was he. His left knee routinely ached a year ago, limiting both his minutes and his effectiveness.
"I got to the point where I was depressed and pissed off that my body wasn't doing the things that it used to do, and that I was deteriorating skill-wise," he said. "I'm a competitor. I want to be a staple on a team, I want to be a go-to guy on a team. When that changed, that obviously hurt a little bit. But I found ways to be a part of this team and be a big part of this team."
He was again on Sunday, totaling 16 points and 11 rebounds in 35 minutes, a testament to his health. While Kobe Bryant and Alex Rodriguez went to Europe to have platelet-rich plasma therapy on their arthritic knees last summer, Duncan stayed home – "I don't think I'm cool enough," he said. "You have to be an A-Rod or a Kobe to get invited to Germany" – and adjusted his offseason workouts. In truth, he weighs the same he weighed two years ago when he first slimmed down for training camp. The doctors have found a few things to help his knee and the brace he wears has been adjusted to offer more support.
Duncan now says it's realistic to expect him to play another year or two. Three or four years, he thinks, would be a stretch, even in his improved condition. This much is certain: He has little interest in testing the free-agent market when his contract ends after this season, negotiating leverage be damned.
"Though I shouldn't say that; I have to threaten them that I'll leave," he joked. "No … I'm not going anywhere. You can print that wherever you want to. I'm here and I'm a Spur for life."
Left for dead, and now Duncan, Ginobili and Parker are on the great run of their careers. Ginobili drove for one more layup late Sunday and Duncan wrapped him in a hug. After all these years, they haven't gone anywhere. They're still standing, still together.
5.26.2012
SPURS - JUST WIN
People keep overlooking a critical aspect of the Spurs: they don’t care if you don’t care about them. In a strange way, the thing I respect the most about them is that they’re not concerned about whether or not I respect them.
When Tony Parker, fresh off beating the Clippers and outplaying Chris Paul, was asked if he should be ranked higher among the elite point guards he responded, “I gave up on that dream a long time ago. Since I’m in San Antonio, we’re under the radar all the time, I don’t really care about that. For me, the most important opinion is Coach Popovich. As long as Coach Pop is happy, I’m good.”
You’ll find a similar sentiment throughout the locker room. You definitely won’t hear anything like what Danny Granger of the Pacers recently had to say about how his team felt disrespected because of its lack of national TV appearances.
The goal is the Larry O’Brien trophy, not the Nielsen ratings. The Spurs recognize that better than any other franchise. That’s why they stay winning. And if their winning ways doesn’t make any national noise, their response is more silence.
Whether or not you enjoy the Spurs, we all can appreciate a little peace and quiet.
When Tony Parker, fresh off beating the Clippers and outplaying Chris Paul, was asked if he should be ranked higher among the elite point guards he responded, “I gave up on that dream a long time ago. Since I’m in San Antonio, we’re under the radar all the time, I don’t really care about that. For me, the most important opinion is Coach Popovich. As long as Coach Pop is happy, I’m good.”
You’ll find a similar sentiment throughout the locker room. You definitely won’t hear anything like what Danny Granger of the Pacers recently had to say about how his team felt disrespected because of its lack of national TV appearances.
The goal is the Larry O’Brien trophy, not the Nielsen ratings. The Spurs recognize that better than any other franchise. That’s why they stay winning. And if their winning ways doesn’t make any national noise, their response is more silence.
Whether or not you enjoy the Spurs, we all can appreciate a little peace and quiet.
5.24.2012
SPURS - SWEEP CLIPPERS
I was at the Staples Center to watch the Clippers get swept by the Spurs.
If you love basketball and (more important) love watching basketball played correctly, the 2012 San Antonio Spurs have a way of grabbing your attention. They play beautifully together. They pull for each other. They make each other better. They score so easily, and in so many different ways, that you almost can't even process all the different plays as a whole. On Saturday, they eviscerated the Clippers by scoring 24 straight points in the third quarter, bringing back memories of the '86 Celtics dropping 25 straight against the Hawks in the Eastern Conference Semifinals. The biggest difference: The Spurs did it on the road. The biggest similarity: Everything else.2
You don't score 24 straight points because a couple of your guys caught fire. It happens because you're toying with the other team. It happens because you're getting so many good shots in a series that, occasionally, they end up clustering together and forming something special. It happens because you know you're great, and because great teams have a way of smelling blood and finishing opponents off — but also, you're doing it with a little extra flair because you're competing against the ceiling of what you can achieve (not your opponents). The last NBA team that said to itself, "We're playing for something beyond just a title here" was the 2001 Lakers — the best Shaq/Kobe team, as well as the last time those two guys were fully invested in each other's success. It hasn't happened since. It's happening right now, it happened at Staples Center, and it's going to keep happening through next month's Finals (and yes, they're going to win, barring an injury).
Beyond the creative brilliance of Parker and Ginobili, Popovich's superior coaching and Duncan's undeniable rejuvenation on both ends — just three months ago, he played the Clippers on one leg, passed up the chance to post up Caron Butler in big spots and made me mutter the words, "Man, I hate seeing Duncan like this," then something shifted for him, and now, he's playing his best basketball in five years — it's the chemistry of the 2012 Spurs that leaves you breathless. I know, that's a weird thing to write. How can chemistry leave you breathless? But in person, the little things stand out — you know, teammates feeding off each other, bench guys reacting to big plays, players always making the extra pass, guys constantly talking to each other, even simple moments like Duncan gleefully congratulating Danny Green after Green stopped Chris Paul at the end of Game 4. Duncan wasn't happy that Green came through for the Spurs; he was happy for Green as a friend. Big difference.
And once you build a foundation that strong — when guys aren't just teammates but friends, when nobody looks at their numbers, when everything revolves around the question, "What's the best way to win today's game?" — everything else is cake. On Saturday, the Clippers played their best possible basketball for the first 12 minutes, nailed the Spurs with every conceivable haymaker and had their fans standing and screaming. You couldn't have scripted a better first quarter. The Spurs never flinched, chopping the lead to 15 and eliciting the first of many panicked Clippers timeouts. Watching the Spurs and their bench reacting to that moment (totally locked in, totally expecting the Clippers to cave), you could just tell where the game was going. I even tweeted about it. Great teams know they're great. They trust the process. Scores don't matter, crowds don't matter, momentum doesn't matter — eventually, the process will win out. And they know it.
The following night, they staved off another Clippers rally and took a three-point lead with 1:47 to play on Parker's pretty floater, only the 790th easy shot San Antonio had gotten in those past two games. Lob City called a 20-second timeout and Layup City skipped over to its bench to celebrate what just happened. Duncan led the way, a small grin spread across his face, doling out dorky high-fives and generally enjoying himself. That grin said the following four things:
We are better than them. I couldn't be less worried. This game shouldn't have even been this close. Let's go home.
A few minutes later, they did. And so did we. Over everything else that happened during the Playoff Eclipse, I will remember the San Antonio Spurs waltzing through town, laying the smack down and leaving with a smile.
If you love basketball and (more important) love watching basketball played correctly, the 2012 San Antonio Spurs have a way of grabbing your attention. They play beautifully together. They pull for each other. They make each other better. They score so easily, and in so many different ways, that you almost can't even process all the different plays as a whole. On Saturday, they eviscerated the Clippers by scoring 24 straight points in the third quarter, bringing back memories of the '86 Celtics dropping 25 straight against the Hawks in the Eastern Conference Semifinals. The biggest difference: The Spurs did it on the road. The biggest similarity: Everything else.2
You don't score 24 straight points because a couple of your guys caught fire. It happens because you're toying with the other team. It happens because you're getting so many good shots in a series that, occasionally, they end up clustering together and forming something special. It happens because you know you're great, and because great teams have a way of smelling blood and finishing opponents off — but also, you're doing it with a little extra flair because you're competing against the ceiling of what you can achieve (not your opponents). The last NBA team that said to itself, "We're playing for something beyond just a title here" was the 2001 Lakers — the best Shaq/Kobe team, as well as the last time those two guys were fully invested in each other's success. It hasn't happened since. It's happening right now, it happened at Staples Center, and it's going to keep happening through next month's Finals (and yes, they're going to win, barring an injury).
Beyond the creative brilliance of Parker and Ginobili, Popovich's superior coaching and Duncan's undeniable rejuvenation on both ends — just three months ago, he played the Clippers on one leg, passed up the chance to post up Caron Butler in big spots and made me mutter the words, "Man, I hate seeing Duncan like this," then something shifted for him, and now, he's playing his best basketball in five years — it's the chemistry of the 2012 Spurs that leaves you breathless. I know, that's a weird thing to write. How can chemistry leave you breathless? But in person, the little things stand out — you know, teammates feeding off each other, bench guys reacting to big plays, players always making the extra pass, guys constantly talking to each other, even simple moments like Duncan gleefully congratulating Danny Green after Green stopped Chris Paul at the end of Game 4. Duncan wasn't happy that Green came through for the Spurs; he was happy for Green as a friend. Big difference.
And once you build a foundation that strong — when guys aren't just teammates but friends, when nobody looks at their numbers, when everything revolves around the question, "What's the best way to win today's game?" — everything else is cake. On Saturday, the Clippers played their best possible basketball for the first 12 minutes, nailed the Spurs with every conceivable haymaker and had their fans standing and screaming. You couldn't have scripted a better first quarter. The Spurs never flinched, chopping the lead to 15 and eliciting the first of many panicked Clippers timeouts. Watching the Spurs and their bench reacting to that moment (totally locked in, totally expecting the Clippers to cave), you could just tell where the game was going. I even tweeted about it. Great teams know they're great. They trust the process. Scores don't matter, crowds don't matter, momentum doesn't matter — eventually, the process will win out. And they know it.
The following night, they staved off another Clippers rally and took a three-point lead with 1:47 to play on Parker's pretty floater, only the 790th easy shot San Antonio had gotten in those past two games. Lob City called a 20-second timeout and Layup City skipped over to its bench to celebrate what just happened. Duncan led the way, a small grin spread across his face, doling out dorky high-fives and generally enjoying himself. That grin said the following four things:
We are better than them. I couldn't be less worried. This game shouldn't have even been this close. Let's go home.
A few minutes later, they did. And so did we. Over everything else that happened during the Playoff Eclipse, I will remember the San Antonio Spurs waltzing through town, laying the smack down and leaving with a smile.
5.22.2012
SPURS - THEIR FORMULA
The San Antonio Spurs just absolutely bowled over the L.A Clippers, a week after absolutely bowling over the Utah Jazz. They are on an 18-game winning streak, 24-point deficits be damned, and have been thoroughly untroubled on their way to the Western Conference Finals. Over the last month of the season, they have been the best team in the league, and it’s not been especially close.
Like a fine wine, and completely unlike gum disease, the Spurs only seem to improve with age. They have won four of the last 14 championships, and made the playoffs for 15 straight years, winning no fewer than 50 games in any full length regular season during that time and only failing to get out of the first round three times. Their winning percentage in that time is about 135 percent. And they never, ever seem to fall off.
It is not a coincidence that, 15 years ago, they drafted Tim Duncan, the unquestionable best power forward of all time even if he is a center. It is too simple, however, to credit the Spurs’ two decades of continued success solely to him. Nor is it fair to credit it all to Gregg Popovich, the NBA’s longest tenured coach in his first and only NBA gig. San Antonio’s continued success is multifaceted, contingent not just upon Duncan, Tony Parker, Manu Ginobili, Gregg Popovich, R.C. Buford or the role players, but all of it. The pattern. The formula. The Spurs way of doing things. Spurs basketball. Whatever that is.
One alpha dog, two beta dogs, and a few puppies. Few bad eggs, and even the bad eggs they have will play hard. A mixture of age and youth, athleticism and guile, defense and offense, jumpshooting and paint production, transition and halfcourt. Doing so on a smaller budget than most, constantly flirting with (and sometimes paying) the luxury tax, but without ever wanting or wishing to. Finding cheapies, plugging them in, building them up, letting them leave, finding new cheapies.
Moving the ball, shooting the ball, rotating, picking and rolling, carpe dieming, with precisely one All-Star in this superteams era. It doesn’t seem that hard, but seemingly no one else can do it this well.
The Spurs continue to milk this formula, with an alpha dog whose averages are only slightly better than those than Carlos Boozer. And yet Tim Duncan never declines significantly. He plays less now, but he plays just as well. He passes just as well. He reads the defense just as well. He shoots bankers just as well. His driving righty flip-hook-layup-whatever-it-is thing is just as good. He still never, ever goaltends. He produces 90 percent of what he did when he won his first title, 14 years on. And now, rather than relying on Mario Elie, Malik Rose and Jaren Jackson for support. Duncan has a deep, deep supporting cast.
San Antonio seeks out these role players, and get them comparatively cheaply, because there is ultimately nothing special about them. Danny Green can’t do anything that hundreds of other wing players can’t do. He shoots well, but they are mostly catch-and-shoots. He plays good defense, but locks nobody down. He passes well, but merely moves the ball and runs no offense. Gary Neal handles it sufficiently, shoots it well, yet does nothing remarkable. Matt Bonner has two moves — the jumpshot, and the up-fake-to-clumsy-drive countermove. Yet on the Spurs, they have become high caliber role players, guys who do a few things right, no things wrong, and fit perfectly within a simple but clinical offense designed to fit their needs. Because that’s Spurs basketball.
The formula was created by Duncan and Popovich. It was tweaked for Parker, refined for Manu, and adhered to by the rest. They look for only about four different looks on offense, mostly stemming from the incessant pick-and-roll. The bigs can roll or pop, the guards can wriggle into the lane and finish, and the floor is dotted with shooters, with rarely (if ever) less than two quality shooters on the court at any one time. The Spurs play for the corner three, play for the driving lineup, play of the open 18-footer. It is largely mistake-free basketball that prioritizes efficiency, yet also has versatility.
There are similarly few mistakes on roster decisions, and those that are there — say, for example, Richard Jefferson — get cleared for the cost of a first round pick. That pick is then replaced by a quality free agent signing, and a couple of midseason pickups. Rinse and repeat, repeat to fade, et cetera. Everybody makes mistakes, but you don’t notice San Antonio’s, which is as glowing of an endorsement as there can be.
This is not to say that they are beyond reproach. In theory, you can beat Tony Parker off the dribble, pressure him when on the ball, and dare him to shoot. In theory, you can expose a lack of size, the lack of post defenders outside of Duncan, and a lack of post offense, as only Duncan gets it done on the interior and it’s the aspect of his game to have slipped the most. In theory, you can expose the age of a team whose stars have 3,044 games under their belt, before international or pre-NBA commitments are even accounted for. No matter how young their supporting cast.
But that’s all just theory. In practice, the Oklahoma City Thunder, next in the firing line, don’t have the pieces to attack Duncan, and Parker feeds on Russell Westbrook just as much as Westbrook feeds on Parker. Without being invincible, it is hard to know how to beat the Spurs. By keeping their minutes down over the years, Popovich has his big three, now into their second decade of implicit dominance, almost as effective as ever on a team as good as ever. And now they have far more support to pick up the slack.
At some point, a precipitous decline really will happen. But it won’t be any time soon. The Spurs might not win the title this season, but they most certainly could. That, simply, is quite remarkable.
Like a fine wine, and completely unlike gum disease, the Spurs only seem to improve with age. They have won four of the last 14 championships, and made the playoffs for 15 straight years, winning no fewer than 50 games in any full length regular season during that time and only failing to get out of the first round three times. Their winning percentage in that time is about 135 percent. And they never, ever seem to fall off.
It is not a coincidence that, 15 years ago, they drafted Tim Duncan, the unquestionable best power forward of all time even if he is a center. It is too simple, however, to credit the Spurs’ two decades of continued success solely to him. Nor is it fair to credit it all to Gregg Popovich, the NBA’s longest tenured coach in his first and only NBA gig. San Antonio’s continued success is multifaceted, contingent not just upon Duncan, Tony Parker, Manu Ginobili, Gregg Popovich, R.C. Buford or the role players, but all of it. The pattern. The formula. The Spurs way of doing things. Spurs basketball. Whatever that is.
One alpha dog, two beta dogs, and a few puppies. Few bad eggs, and even the bad eggs they have will play hard. A mixture of age and youth, athleticism and guile, defense and offense, jumpshooting and paint production, transition and halfcourt. Doing so on a smaller budget than most, constantly flirting with (and sometimes paying) the luxury tax, but without ever wanting or wishing to. Finding cheapies, plugging them in, building them up, letting them leave, finding new cheapies.
Moving the ball, shooting the ball, rotating, picking and rolling, carpe dieming, with precisely one All-Star in this superteams era. It doesn’t seem that hard, but seemingly no one else can do it this well.
The Spurs continue to milk this formula, with an alpha dog whose averages are only slightly better than those than Carlos Boozer. And yet Tim Duncan never declines significantly. He plays less now, but he plays just as well. He passes just as well. He reads the defense just as well. He shoots bankers just as well. His driving righty flip-hook-layup-whatever-it-is thing is just as good. He still never, ever goaltends. He produces 90 percent of what he did when he won his first title, 14 years on. And now, rather than relying on Mario Elie, Malik Rose and Jaren Jackson for support. Duncan has a deep, deep supporting cast.
San Antonio seeks out these role players, and get them comparatively cheaply, because there is ultimately nothing special about them. Danny Green can’t do anything that hundreds of other wing players can’t do. He shoots well, but they are mostly catch-and-shoots. He plays good defense, but locks nobody down. He passes well, but merely moves the ball and runs no offense. Gary Neal handles it sufficiently, shoots it well, yet does nothing remarkable. Matt Bonner has two moves — the jumpshot, and the up-fake-to-clumsy-drive countermove. Yet on the Spurs, they have become high caliber role players, guys who do a few things right, no things wrong, and fit perfectly within a simple but clinical offense designed to fit their needs. Because that’s Spurs basketball.
The formula was created by Duncan and Popovich. It was tweaked for Parker, refined for Manu, and adhered to by the rest. They look for only about four different looks on offense, mostly stemming from the incessant pick-and-roll. The bigs can roll or pop, the guards can wriggle into the lane and finish, and the floor is dotted with shooters, with rarely (if ever) less than two quality shooters on the court at any one time. The Spurs play for the corner three, play for the driving lineup, play of the open 18-footer. It is largely mistake-free basketball that prioritizes efficiency, yet also has versatility.
There are similarly few mistakes on roster decisions, and those that are there — say, for example, Richard Jefferson — get cleared for the cost of a first round pick. That pick is then replaced by a quality free agent signing, and a couple of midseason pickups. Rinse and repeat, repeat to fade, et cetera. Everybody makes mistakes, but you don’t notice San Antonio’s, which is as glowing of an endorsement as there can be.
This is not to say that they are beyond reproach. In theory, you can beat Tony Parker off the dribble, pressure him when on the ball, and dare him to shoot. In theory, you can expose a lack of size, the lack of post defenders outside of Duncan, and a lack of post offense, as only Duncan gets it done on the interior and it’s the aspect of his game to have slipped the most. In theory, you can expose the age of a team whose stars have 3,044 games under their belt, before international or pre-NBA commitments are even accounted for. No matter how young their supporting cast.
But that’s all just theory. In practice, the Oklahoma City Thunder, next in the firing line, don’t have the pieces to attack Duncan, and Parker feeds on Russell Westbrook just as much as Westbrook feeds on Parker. Without being invincible, it is hard to know how to beat the Spurs. By keeping their minutes down over the years, Popovich has his big three, now into their second decade of implicit dominance, almost as effective as ever on a team as good as ever. And now they have far more support to pick up the slack.
At some point, a precipitous decline really will happen. But it won’t be any time soon. The Spurs might not win the title this season, but they most certainly could. That, simply, is quite remarkable.
DAVID LEE - BLUE COLLAR
After David Lee tweaked his quadriceps in practice Oct. 4, he went home and estimates that he iced it "about 65 times." He spent the next day, an off day, at the Warriors' training facility and returned early the next morning to test his leg.
All of that, just so he wouldn't miss Wednesday's practice.
Yes, we're talking about practice!
Those are not the actions of a typical NBA All-Star.
Lee's the type of guy who puts no stock in a phrase like "All-Star status," because he has had plenty of days filled with phrases like "above average," "good enough" and "end of the bench."
"There are some guys in the league who can sit out every practice and take a couple of casual jumpers right before the game - not even go through the layup lines - and go out there and perform," the power forward said. "I can't do that. I'll have an anxiety attack.
"I have this fear of failure. I have this fear about not getting any better, about somehow starting to level off, and I can't allow that to happen."
So Lee practices.
First. Longest. And hardest.
When coach Keith Smart granted "veteran days off" to Monta Ellis, Stephen Curry and Dorell Wright during training camp, Lee declined. When Andris Biedrins joined Ellis, Curry and Wright on the sideline during the last portion of Monday's practice, Lee was still sweating away with the reserves.
He is like the tennis player who realizes he'll never be as good as the wall, so he keeps slamming forehand after backhand. It's like he's doing a day-to-day experiment to see how much further he can push his body.
"I've gone from the last guy on the bench to the captain, and my work ethic hasn't changed," said Lee, who was acquired by the Warriors in a sign-and-trade deal after five seasons in New York. "In a lot of ways, I still see myself as the last guy on the bench, and that drives me.
"I had to pinch myself (at the All-Star Game) last year in Dallas. When I came into the league, I was hoping to hang on as the last guy on the bench for eight to 10 years."
A PHILOSOPHY OF WORK:
Lee, 27, seems to be indulging in false modesty for a 6-foot-9, 250-pound man who was one of three players in the league to average 20 points and 10 rebounds a game last season. But his original goal of finding a way just to stick in the league probably was logical five seasons ago.
That's when the Knicks drafted him with the final pick of the first round. Coach Larry Brown said Lee was eighth on the depth chart on a team that didn't have eight power forwards. He averaged 5.1 points and 4.5 rebounds a game as a rookie.
"I realized that I had to outwork everyone," Lee said. "I had to go after every rebound and bring an energy that no one else could match. That's the only way I could get on the court."
He knew what to do once he got there. Lee averaged a double-double in three of the next four seasons, including 20.2 points and 11.7 rebounds last season.
Lee had pulled similar transitions in college and high school. At the University of Florida, Lee was plodding through a mediocre career until he decided to flip the switch.
"I was still trying to burn the candle at both ends," Lee said. "Basketball was secondary to being cool."
"I've got a big contract, I've been an All-Star and I've accomplished a lot of things that should make me personally happy, but I haven't been to the playoffs. I haven't won a championship," Lee said. "If I average a double-double and am an All-Star, but we win 25 games, in my opinion, my season has been a failure and I expect to be reviewed as a failure."
What if the Warriors win a championship?
"Oh, I'll always find something new to chase."
All of that, just so he wouldn't miss Wednesday's practice.
Yes, we're talking about practice!
Those are not the actions of a typical NBA All-Star.
Lee's the type of guy who puts no stock in a phrase like "All-Star status," because he has had plenty of days filled with phrases like "above average," "good enough" and "end of the bench."
"There are some guys in the league who can sit out every practice and take a couple of casual jumpers right before the game - not even go through the layup lines - and go out there and perform," the power forward said. "I can't do that. I'll have an anxiety attack.
"I have this fear of failure. I have this fear about not getting any better, about somehow starting to level off, and I can't allow that to happen."
So Lee practices.
First. Longest. And hardest.
When coach Keith Smart granted "veteran days off" to Monta Ellis, Stephen Curry and Dorell Wright during training camp, Lee declined. When Andris Biedrins joined Ellis, Curry and Wright on the sideline during the last portion of Monday's practice, Lee was still sweating away with the reserves.
He is like the tennis player who realizes he'll never be as good as the wall, so he keeps slamming forehand after backhand. It's like he's doing a day-to-day experiment to see how much further he can push his body.
"I've gone from the last guy on the bench to the captain, and my work ethic hasn't changed," said Lee, who was acquired by the Warriors in a sign-and-trade deal after five seasons in New York. "In a lot of ways, I still see myself as the last guy on the bench, and that drives me.
"I had to pinch myself (at the All-Star Game) last year in Dallas. When I came into the league, I was hoping to hang on as the last guy on the bench for eight to 10 years."
A PHILOSOPHY OF WORK:
Lee, 27, seems to be indulging in false modesty for a 6-foot-9, 250-pound man who was one of three players in the league to average 20 points and 10 rebounds a game last season. But his original goal of finding a way just to stick in the league probably was logical five seasons ago.
That's when the Knicks drafted him with the final pick of the first round. Coach Larry Brown said Lee was eighth on the depth chart on a team that didn't have eight power forwards. He averaged 5.1 points and 4.5 rebounds a game as a rookie.
"I realized that I had to outwork everyone," Lee said. "I had to go after every rebound and bring an energy that no one else could match. That's the only way I could get on the court."
He knew what to do once he got there. Lee averaged a double-double in three of the next four seasons, including 20.2 points and 11.7 rebounds last season.
Lee had pulled similar transitions in college and high school. At the University of Florida, Lee was plodding through a mediocre career until he decided to flip the switch.
"I was still trying to burn the candle at both ends," Lee said. "Basketball was secondary to being cool."
"I've got a big contract, I've been an All-Star and I've accomplished a lot of things that should make me personally happy, but I haven't been to the playoffs. I haven't won a championship," Lee said. "If I average a double-double and am an All-Star, but we win 25 games, in my opinion, my season has been a failure and I expect to be reviewed as a failure."
What if the Warriors win a championship?
"Oh, I'll always find something new to chase."
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