Ordinary Work, Extraordinary Grace

Earlier, the San Antonio Spurs delivered another workmanlike drubbing to the young Cleveland Cavaliers, and despite the enormity of that accomplishment, the very manner in which I described the victory might seem an indictment of the soon-to-be champion Spurs. Before the Finals began, Michael Rosenberg made the following observation:

Ah, the San Antonio Spurs. The more they win, the more you want them to hide under a rock.

In a week and a half — maybe two weeks, depending on LeBron James' level of brilliance — the Spurs will almost certainly win their fourth championship in nine years. It will also be their third title in the last five years.

This will place San Antonio among the elite of the elite. Since the end of the Bill Russell Celtics, only two dynasties won more than four championships: the Magic Lakers and the MJ Bulls. And the Spurs should contend for several more years. Tim Duncan is only 31, Manu Ginobili is 29 and Tony Parker is 25.

And what do the Spurs get for their hard work, no-nonsense attitude and unparalleled excellence? Yawns.

This must be the least popular great team in recent sports history. The Spurs do not even evoke the hatred of the Yankees or Notre Dame, institutions that have long had the best of everything and lord it over the masses. They make you feel the way you once felt about chemistry class — as soon as you sit down, you get a headache and can't wait for the bell to ring so you can go anywhere else in the world.

Recently, Henry Abbott of TrueHoop took Rosenberg's assessment even further, insisting that there is a cautionary tale in there somewhere, that the basketball fan has gotten exactly what he or she wants, and is just a little embarrassed at what getting that preference implies:

That's the thing about digging your heels in and howling about what you want. Sometimes the worst thing that can possibly happen is that you get it, and realize you were wrong all along.

It's not a proud moment for anyone.

Like, all us who have been upset for, oh, the last twenty years, about how the players in the NBA don't have a solid grasp on fundamentals. Or they commit too many crimes. Or they are too flashy, top hip hop, too spotlight hungry, too violent, too ... whatever it is.

World of hand-wringers, your team is here. Has been here for years. The San Antonio Spurs are exactly what you said you always wanted.

Abbott goes on, by way of citing Harvey Araton of The New York Times, that:

They put the Spurs on the cover of a magazine, and the numbers show you won't buy it. They put the Spurs on posters and DVDs and the numbers show you're more interested in Paris Hilton. They put the Spurs on national TV, and the numbers will likely show tonight that many of you prefer to watch violent mob shows on premium channels.

The New York Times' Harvey Araton (Select) is marveling at the same thing.

But where is the love for a franchise that thrives on visionary planning, progressive thinking, commitment and continuity? That over the past decade has become the furthest thing from a big-market bully that owes its success to a carnivorous payroll? That has seldom housed me-first braggarts, incorrigible trash talkers, gun toters or pit-bull players?

In San Antonio, the retired David Robinson spent millions of dollars to found and operate a private school for disadvantaged children. Duncan and others blend seamlessly into the city, where people seem to address them all on a first-name basis.

No player's personal issue is bigger than the team, as demonstrated this season when Coach Gregg Popovich made Manu Ginóbili, a player with All-Star credentials, his sixth man. On the whole, aren't the loyal and law-abiding Spurs exactly what those most critical of the N.B.A. have said the league has lacked after it embraced the shoe-company-driven agenda of selling style over substance?

"No character issues, professionalism, preparation - everything people always say they want, it's all happening right here," the Spurs' Brent Barry said.

Araton blames the trend at least a little on regionalism. If the Spurs were based in New York, he says, Tim Duncan would be hailed as the next Willis Reed. Eva and Tony would be in all the tabloids.

And no doubt, he's right, to a point. But it's not only about big market vs. small market. Even San Antonio isn't totally in on the secret -- according to the box score, Game 1 of the Western Conference Finals was almost 500 seats short of a sellout.

The conference finals! The only major league team in town! The pride of South Texas! Empty seats!

Maybe in a big market this team is a compelling narrative. Maybe if Tim Duncan would let the media in a little it would be different. Or maybe it's time to admit that, despite what we may have told the waitress when we sat down, we wanted to watch Kobe Bryant and Allen Iverson all along.

With the gauntlet thus thrown, where rooting for the Cavaliers (as my good friend Jason de Villa is inclined to doing) is tantamount to associating one's love of the game with the tradition of the epic hero (or at the very least, a larger than life figure) and rooting for the Spurs is tantamount to associating one's love of the game with a profound sense of community (such as teamwork, unselfishness, and an appreciation for the virtues of work), how shall this blogger meet this challenge?

There's nothing wrong with wanting to be inspired by larger than life figures. After all, for most casual NBA fans, basketball is primarily about rooting for (literally) larger than life figures. However, while it is almost a singular joy to witness individual superhuman feats such as LeBron's coming of age game against the Pistons, there is a particularly satisfying joy to be derived from reveling in the quiet, consistently excellent play of the Spurs. Basketball is an apt metaphor for many good things in life, as my friend Joel Parcon takes pains to illustrate in his wonderful entry on theater and basketball. I enjoy rooting for the Spurs because their dedication to selfless team play and intelligent basketball is in fact inspirational, if not quite spiritual.

There's nothing wrong with simply getting the job done. Moreover, getting the job done in such workmanlike fashion. The Spurs are more than craftsmen. The very ordinariness of their victories, and the fact that they thrive on one another's sacrifices to produce sublime basketball performances make them artisans of the highest order. Ordinary Work, Extraordinary Grace.

Photo Credits:

Picture of Tim Duncan comes courtesy of Tim Duncan Rooting For Cavaliers For Good Of NBA. Click on the link. You know you want to.