I can’t remember where I was when I first laid eyes on Duncan — I’m sure it was some mid-week ACC tilt on ESPN — but I do remember where I was when he first crushed my soul. It was the eighth grade, and I’d just shed my bowlcut for a buzzcut to beat the summer heat. The game was a late-season matchup between the Knicks and Spurs, and despite Allan Houston’s silky smooth, jumper-laden 31 points, New York got steamrolled, 95-78. San Antonio was paced by some rookie center who put up 25 points (on 10-of-16 shooting) and 10 rebounds.

It wasn’t the amount of points, however, that was so devastating. It was the manner in which Duncan surgically disposed of my team. He was ruthless, operating with an unabashed efficiency of motion. It was pragmatic brutality. The Knicks didn’t have an answer for him. They would never have an answer for him. Even though it was still a year away from Duncan flushing New York out of the 1999 Finals, it was obvious that this team — this guy — would be better than my team — my guys — for the foreseeable future. I didn’t think that would mean “until I’m 30,” but here we are, and Tim Duncan is still better than my guys.

But this is not about Tim Duncan ruining my childhood. This is about the fact that from the start of the Shaq era to the end of Kobe era, we were actually living in the Tim Duncan era.

The stats and the statues prove it. O’Neal won four championships to Kobe and Duncan’s five, but Duncan has more regular-season MVPs and more Finals MVPs then either of them. He’s also won a championship in three different decades, which has never been done before.

But one-on-one comparisons become largely irrelevant when we acknowledge that Duncan hasn’t just been better than any one of his elite contemporaries; he’s been better than all of them.

Consider Duncan’s sheer impact on the San Antonio Spurs as an organization, which was an also-ran franchise before his arrival. The detractors tell you he had David Robinson to lean on (veteran leadership!), and then Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili (draft steals!), and now Tiago Splitter and Kawhi Leonard and Boris Diaw (front office magic!). And, of course, Pop! Don’t forget Pop!

Let’s get one thing perfectly straight: the modern San Antonio Spurs don’t exist without Tim Duncan. Hell, one could make a compelling argument — sorry, Admiral and Iceman! — that the Spurs didn’t even really exist before the pride of the US Virgin Islands rolled into town. No disrespect to Robinson (just one pre-Duncan visit to the Conference Finals) or George Gervin (he’s the reason the Spurs were brought into the NBA), but come on. The B.D. Spurs (Before Duncan) were just some team in some city that no one cared about. Now, San Antonio is a team-basketball aficionado’s wet dream. A shining example of strength-in-numbers, the antithesis of that certain iso-happy Association that drives people mad.