In 1999, I was in LA with my uncle and cousins watching Allen Iverson dart and contort where he resembled both an amoeba and a cheetah and then run essentially, face first into the giant Shaq. In some ways, my amazed expressions and steadily building delight grew into sheer joy as I ingratiated myself into basketball, LA culture and the LA Lakers. Slowly, I understood what it meant to be physically imposing because the LA Times produced a life-size 4 part picture of Shaq—all 7’1” of him and in a second, considering my wonderful genetics, I knew I could never really be great at this game. Iverson was so quick. Shaq and Kobe were the best, they knew it, dominated and got the acclaim as well. And from that moment on, you just felt like nothing, no force of nature, no amount of power would ever beat the combination of those two players.

Srikar and soccer might have well been synonyms in 2001. Every story I wrote about was some great defensive play, the whopping 2 or 3 goals I’d scored, an assist here or there, and my dream shot—the banana curl around 4 defenders ala Roberto Carlos from 30 yards out. In fact, I loved football so much that when the World Cup came in 2002, I was in India with my grandparents and didn’t even know who had won the NBA finals. Instead of reading the LA Times, I had memorized Ronaldo’s goals per game, Rivaldo’s assists, and became entranced with Brazilian football for the sheer fluidity of the game. I still remember Ronaldo’s second goal in that final as Rivaldo allowed a cross to go through his legs to a wide open Ronaldo as he beat a helpless Oliver Kahn for just the second time in the entire world cup finals, I knew that was how the great game was meant to be played.

Back then, I did not know Tim Duncan, Manu Ginobili, Tony Parker, Gregg Popovich and David Robinson. The Spurs were nobody to the guy who just watched the Lakers because the Lakers are visible, in your face, and like their defense, they are plastered across every square inch of humanity. Their greatness results in instant fame. Part of that is simply “LA,” but the other truism is that their players desire such attention, money, and fame.

The funny part of the 2013 finals is simply that ad breaks are filled by just one team—the Heat. Every national ad whether it be Beats with LeBron and Dre, the Gatorade commercial with Dwayne Wade or NBA 2K13 with LeBron again. You never see about Tim Duncan dunking in a commercial, or stories about Tony Parker’s kicks. It’s just not their ethos. Sure, LeBron James is the best in the game today. Nobody doubts that, not even the Spurs. But greatness isn’t necessarily coupled with fame. It’s not good or bad, but simply different.

There are a seldom few who can say that they went mano a mano with Shaquille O’Neal on both ends of the floor—Hakeem Olajuwon and a few brave souls here and there. But for the most part, I believed the analysts— that Shaq was the last true big man and, would therefore be dominant for the rest of his career. But in 2003, the WCF, I remember watching in awe as a man just willed his way against the force of nature. Tim Duncan, the first time I’d ever even heard the name, simply made Shaq look slow as he got rebounds, weaved his way through the long reaches of Shaq and caused a shellacking to the big man. He had no hops, but had height, length and big hands. Physically, he wasn’t the most gifted, but he used his brain, the backboard, and his team mates so well that no one could stop him. For a guy who idolizes soccer for it’s intricate passing, Tim Duncan gave a Stockton like bounce pass straight into a driving tony parker and there I was, telling myself, I can make that pass. That was when I became a spurs fan. That was when I loved basketball, and that was when I thought, even for a fleeting second, that I might be able to play as long as I played the fundamentals of basketball better than my peers.

It’s been a little more than 10 years since I witnessed the spurs against the Lakers in 2003. The Ginobili from Bahía Blanca in Argentina, the Tony Parker of around 20—my current age, and Timmy. And every time I watch them, I don’t look for dunks, though they come. I don’t look for great one vs one play from any of them, even though Ginobili in his prime was as good as anyone, including DWade. I look for Popovich yelling at his team for something that doesn’t involve shooting or individual play. I look to see an aging Ginobili make a nutmeg bouncepass that maybe 3-4 other players in the history of the NBA would risk taking. And I look to see Tony Parker play even the role of Coach, leading his team in a way that few other players have been able to. I love watching the players, especially the once misfits, like Danny Green, Gary Neal, and Corey Joseph, learn to play with the system, play great defense and become better as a part of the Spurs. It’s the little things. Jalen Rose once commented that the play basketball the way it is meant to be played—not just haymakers left and right, but jab, jab, one two, then if they haymaker is open, the haymaker. That’s how the spurs play. They simply want the team to play well. And they make a consistent concerted effort to sustain their greatness– some 15 years with over 50 wins in every season with 1 coach– a feat that sounds nigh impossible considering the coaching carousel we are traditionally used to. But sustained greatness is what I’ve always dreamed of attaining– and the Spurs became my team because they embodied the meaning of the term in every way imaginable.

Today, I’m coming off the worst Spurs lost ever —a single overtime game against the Miami heat—a game when the trophy was literally brought within sight. 5 point leads blown with 28 seconds left. But once again, the Spurs play, act, and embody the way any team sport is meant to be played—as a team. Their biggest support is not some internal desire, but each other’s shoulders. And, I wish there was some way that I could tell them that it doesn’t matter to me if they win or lose this championship. I want them to play like they always do, try their best, and even if they do lose, know that this kid, the now man who is getting his first ever Tim Duncan jersey—quite possibly the only jersey I will ever want to own in my life—is a spurs fan for life not because of any one or two victories, four championships or because it may sound good but because of a hope instilled some 10 years ago— that anything is possible, even going up against Shaq, Kobe, Garnett, Wade and LeBron as long as you work as a team and play fundamentally sound basketball.

So for the last time this season, Go Spurs GO!