Shock, awe, utter disappointment. I don’t even know if I’ve gone through the five stages of grief just yet from that game last night. The Spurs mean so much to our city and it is always sad to see them lose. But this time is more poignant because it could have been the last time that we saw Tim Duncan suit up.

Duncan hasn’t had his greatest games this 2016 playoffs, and that’s easy to overshadow his contributions throughout the regular season where we put up our franchise best 67 wins. Not to mention it’s easy to forget all of his contributions to the team and city throughout his career.

But last night, even though the odds were stacked against us he didn’t give up. In fact, he played 34 minutes, scored 19 points and snagged five rebounds and made a block. I won’t go so far to say that it was vintage Tim Duncan, but there was that old spark, that refusal to lose.

You may be familiar with the poem Casey at the Bat—after the game, I had that on my mind and decided to adopt it for Timmy in the Paint. Thanks Timmy for the great memories and all you’ve done for our city. I hope that this isn’t the end.

The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the San Antonio team that day:

They were down by twenty six, with but one quarter more to play.

And then when Manu missed that three, and Anderson did the same,

A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of SA.

A few gave up to go in deep despair and mocked the Spurs in jest.

The rest clung to the hope which springs eternal in the human breast;

They thought, “If only Timmy could get going in the paint—

We’d put up even money now, with out one such complaint.”

But Timmy had a bad pass, and Scott Adams made a steal,

But even though Kanter missed a hook our Spurs couldn’t seal the deal;

So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy complaint,

For there seemed but little chance of Timmy getting it going in the paint.

But then he got a block, to the wonderment of all,

And Manu, the much maligned, ripped off a three with the ball;

And when the dust had lifted, and our fans cheered in revelry,

The Spurs looked up at the score and saw they were still down by twenty-three.

Then from San Anto and more there rose a lusty yell;

It rumbled through South Texas, it rattled in the dell;

It pounded up I-35 and to Oklahoma without restraint,

For Timmy, mighty Timmy, was getting going in the paint.

There was ease in Timmy’s manner as he went to the foul line;

There was pride in Timmy’s bearing, we thought maybe it’d all be fine.

When Timmy hit his first shot, Miller entered—oh how quaint,

Timmy then hit number two; we knew he was getting it going in the paint.

The eyes of Texas were still on Timmy even as Kawhi entered the game;

All the state’s tongues applauded when he hustled still the same;

Then while the writhing Thunder reeled as Kawhi connected on a three,

LaMarcus hit another two and the Spurs were down just nineteen.

And now the Spalding sphere came hurtling through the air,

And Miller dropped a dime in haughty grandeur there.

Timmy made a four foot bucket, oh what a dream;

The Spurs, OUR SPURS, were coming back, we were only down by just fourteen!

From social media, filled with #GoSpursGo, there went up a muffled roar,

Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.

“Oh no! It can’t be!” shouted an Oklahoma fan;

And the entire stadium knew the Spurs were making their last stand.

After a time out Durant missed a seventeen foot J;

The Spurs, OUR SPURS, had got the ball and they were well on their way.

Kawhi missed the next shot and the 2-1-0 let out a sigh;

but Miller—ANDRE MILLER—rebounded and made a shot, we were still riding high.

“This can’t be!” cried the OKC crowd, while San Antonio said “Hooray!”

And Timmy made another two, he was playing from younger days.

We were down by eleven and saw his face grow cold, we saw his muscles strain,

And we knew that Timmy—OUR TIMMY—wouldn’t let us lose again.

Later Danny Green played impressive D and made an awesome steal,

Timmy got the fast break pass and all of the world could feel,

that the game would be cut to nine! The Thunder would surely lose!

As Timmy went up for a layup all of San Antonio jumped out of its shoes.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright,

The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;

And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children play with chalk,

But there is no joy in San Antonio—for our mighty Timmy, he was blocked.

The Spurs would never make it nine the game was over soon.

Tony, Manu and Timmy said congrats and went to the locker room.

San Antonio was full of shock and awe and overflowed with dismay,

There was collective sadness that the sun had set on 21 that day.

But cheer up San Anto because whether Timmy decides to stay or go,

We were blessed as a city to have a front row seat to this great show.

He was a leader on the court though a showy super star he ain’t.

And remember, ALWAYS REMEMBER, how Timmy got it going in the paint.

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