As sports fans we embody these traits. We bleed black and white, purple, red and blue, green and every other colour that represents our sporting teams. We would rather donate a kidney than cheer for Collingwood or Manly. We feel betrayed when players change teams, switch codes or move countries. Many of us think, often wrongly so, that these players owe the club and the game. Their decisions should be made not in their own best interests, but the best interests of the game.
But in the sporting world we now reside, longevity has taken a back seat to the commercial reality. Loyalty has been replaced by player's growing desire for success. We criticise players for chasing the dollars, maybe fairly so, but we are often guilty of a mob mentality when a player moves for no other reason than to succeed. Success, the very motivation that drives all people, not just sports people.
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| Noah Graham/NBAE/Getty Images |
On one hand: Tim Duncan and Greg Popovich. They are the epitome of loyalty, trust and friendship, in a league of commercialism and money. For 15 years they have stood side by side. The player nicknamed 'The Big Fundamental' and the coach whose press conferences are enjoyable more for the lack of words than the auto-generated, publicity minded responses we are so used to.
On the other hand: LeBron James. King James. A player the likes we have never seen. On a team that was forced not forged. In a city where loyalty, especially amongst the fans, is hard to come by.
San Antonio is a small market team. A team built from the ground up, a la Storm and Geelong. Where the coach respects the players as much as the players respect the coach. Where Tony Parker is as likely to be scorned at as Patty Mills.
Miami is a big team, in a big market. Where Justin Bieber wears leather shirts and sunglasses indoors. Where expectations are as high as the plastic surgery bills in the crowd. They are expected to win and they promised as much three years ago.
Duncan and Pop are unique in professional sport. A nostalgic, romantic idea of a bygone era that we may only see once in a generation.
LeBron James is a statistical and physical anomaly. He passes like Magic, rebounds like Bird, defends like Rodman and can score like Jordan.
So as the clock ticked passed two minutes left and the margin was two, the casual supporter, like me, was torn. As I wrote last week we all want to witness greatness. Here in game 7 were two very different types of greatness. Tim Duncan and the Spurs; the old school, the consummate professionals, the under rated; versus LeBron and the Heat; the new school, the villain/hero, the showtime.
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| Jesse D. Garrabrant/NBAE/Getty Images |
I wanted Duncan to win. I wanted him to win for the credit he deserves. For the credit his team deserves, for his team mates, and for Pop.
It was only fitting then, that as time wound down on one of the greatest finals in recent memory, that Duncan and LeBron, forever linked, would decide the outcome.
So when Duncan missed the four foot hook shot he has made thousands of times (then missed the tip in), it was only fitting that LeBron took, and made, the next shot, not only winning the game, but silencing the critics and putting an end to this story.
In was as if Duncan had foreseen this coming. A prophet, forecasting his own demise. "This is gonna be your league in a little while. I appreciate you giving us this year." Duncan said after his Spurs beat LeBron's Cavaliers in the 2007 finals.
6 years later, it is his league. LeBron James is the champion, Tim Duncan is the legend.
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