Duncan doesn't do Job; he just wants to get home. If there's one man in America who seems comfortable in his own skin, he's it. Says Amy, who has known him since their days at Wake Forest, "It's very difficult—even for me sometimes—to tell the difference between Tim's best day and Tim's worst day."
Yet Duncan does become a little defensive when asked about the paragon of virtue that preceded him. Last week he was suspended for the first time—one game, for inadvertent contact with a ref during the course of action—thereby surpassing Robinson's career total. "I feel no pressure to be like David, because I can't be," he says. "He was an incredible role model, especially off the court, and I can only aspire to be a fraction of what he's meant to the community. But I have to do it my way, affect people in the only way that I know how. And that is not by giving speeches and preaching to the masses. That's not me."
But this phlegmatic man is most assuredly the heart of the Spurs, the acknowledged leader, the man who makes magic every night but never wants to take a bow. Popovich is asked if he misses Robinson. "As a defensive force we miss him terribly," he says, "and as a human being I miss him much, much more." He smiles and points to the practice court where Duncan is quietly imparting a word of advice to Rasho Nesterovic, Robinson's successor in the pivot. "To lose somebody like David and still have another around like Tim—it just doesn't happen that way," Pop says. "There's only one way to describe it: Around San Antonio we've been twice blessed."