Tim Duncan Can Dream, but Direct Experience is Smarter

Tim Dream-Can

Tim Duncan dreams in an unbroken series of competitions, sometimes ending decisively, in win and loss conditions. The loss conditions form the terrible ends of nightmares; the win conditions are more pleasant than life itself. Sometimes Tim will dream of an uncontested corner three that his guard has allowed to happen. That dream usually jars him awake and he has to hope he can get back to contested midrange jumpers and kick-outs from double-teams on Tim. Those are more like sheep, or rings. Tim counts these win conditions, jumping over the fence of time. No one can sleep more peacefully than Tim in these moments.

Tonight though, Tim Duncan has had a nightmare and violently wakes to remember where he is; much like the famous General Patton, Tim feels a solidarity with all competitors on all grand stages. For someone that dreams of competition so often, Tim feels Tim's dreams have slowly worn away nearly all his surprise in actual competitions. Tim seems to always be thinking that "I have been on this epic court in some prior life, if only in my dreams. "

As he walked up and down stairs in the bleary-eyed fluorescent light of a hotel's stairwell, Tim mentally prepared himself for a high-leverage, competitive day.Tim and his Wake Forest team were now in the ACC tournament, in Tim's junior year at Wake. His teammate Randolph Childress has been having an uncharacteristically transcendent tournament. Nothing about that is new to Tim, however, having seen relay races as a child swimming, having watched the Olympics, having read endless treatises of wars, having read vast tracts on the sport of basketball. "Sometimes your teammate just can't miss. That's just a thing that happens." Tim had dreams and nightmares and daymares that served as pleasant meditations on all of these things. "Unsurprising."

Later That Week

Wake teammates Tim Duncan and Randolph Childress are totally focused on the court. It's the ACC Championship, and Randolph has been getting anything and everything he has wanted against a good ACC team (considered the strongest conference in the country).

"Nice dribble-drobble, Randolph," Tim says, "You are playing very good today, indeed. Keep it up. Now go after the ball-handler, Randolph." Tim looks slightly past Randolph as he says this.  That mild compliment floats ethereally into the air like a mildly-potent firework shaped like a heart, then disappears in a black fog of grace and competitive focus. After all, Tim is now focusing completely on defense in the next possession. The compliment is the only thing Tim will say all game, besides conveying defensive responsibilities.

"Good game, Randolph. I truly enjoyed your dribble-drobbles," Tim will say later to his fellow ACC Champion in the privacy of the locker room, not smiling, looking slightly past Randolph as he says this. His off-beat gaze says, quite clearly to an attentive observer, that "All I can focus on is the next game. All there is and all that will be is the next game, now that this game has ended."

Randolph Childress was paying attention, and suddenly seethes in a way that surprises him. He thinks: "Had I not just played the game, no, the tournament of my life? And Tim can only see the horizon past the two of them!" With a burst of anger, Randolph kicks over an empty trash can as Tim leaves. "There's nothing more than this, Tim, you know? This is it!" Randolph screams to an open locker room.  Tim acknowledges the transgression.

"And what is this, besides a series of win and loss conditions?" Tim sincerely asks, "We have won the battle, Randolph, and I don't see why you need to create a loss condition out of nothing! I said you played a good game!"

"But I thought I.... So that doesn't mean anything to you, Tim!"

"It means everything, Randolph. To attain and accumulate. My psychology as a competitor is empowered! It's awesome!" Still looking past me, Randolph thinks.

"But where is it, exactly, if it's not here?"

"It's everywhe-"

"Look, forget I said anything, Tim," Randolph can't take any more, so he says, "You played a good game, too," and moves on, half weeping as he turns away and goes to the bus. Eventually, they make it to the Elite Eight and lose only when Tim is absolutely swarmed. Randolph moves on with his life.

Months Later

Randolph Childress is going through a rocky rookie season in the NBA. It's 3 am, and he is so tired he can barely move, as he rides the elevator up to his hotel room in Charlotte. There's no time for him to visit Wake Forest's campus, unfortunately, what with the amazingly packed schedule. Randolph certainly wasn't ready for that schedule when he got to the league, but now he's used to it and walks on, never quite healthy.

The elevator opens on his floor and he walks out blindly, smashing into what seems like a brick wall, sprawling backwards and crashing to the floor as he recognizes his former teammate, Tim, who is still at Wake as a consensus All-American in his senior year.

"Randolph. Hello. Friend. Dribble-drobble. Now. Back on defense. Pick on your left, Randolph." Tim says, as Randolph picks himself up.

"What, Tim?"

Tim shakes his head quickly. "Sorry, Randolph. I was just shaking off some rust. I sometimes forget where I am. I had a terrible dream tonight. Heh. Anyway, I'm going to need you to teach me that cross-over dribble-drobble. I want to convince coach to play me as a Point Guard. I'm going to need to you teach me this right now."

"What?"

"In the ACC Tourney, Randolph."

Randolph opens his eyes, still not sure what's going on. "I know. I mean, do you have like a ball or something?"

Tim smiles slightly. He has been holding a basketball behind his back the whole time. "It's a present. You can have it if you teach me your dribble-drobble, Randolph." Tim is looking directly at Randolph, who is still a bit incredulous at this turn of events.

"Look, Tim, it's the middle of the night. I don't know what you're doing here, but in the morning I might have time."

Tim suddenly softens up. "I always dream in wins and losses, of opportunities and missed opportunities. I wake up in a cold sweat that someone's missed his rotation. Yes, even you, even real possessions, haha. But tonight, I dreamt I'd lost a friend, and it was the worst I've ever felt. So I drove right up to Charlotte to see if I could make it right."

Randolph perks up a bit, "Aw, Tim, you don't have to make anything right. You're my friend. We had some good times at Wake, and I know it's gonna keep getting better for you,..." Randolph trails off sadly, thinking of his own difficult road, but means what he says.

"It's not alright, though. Because I didn't get it. I guess I figured something out about me that you helped me with in that ACC tourney. See I got to thinking, it's my senior year, right?" Tim pauses to let Randolph nod. "There are some injuries and basically I've had to step up. Much more of a vocal leader, and, well, you can't win unless you raise your teammates up and win with them, not just next to them. It's not something that happens to you when you win, it's something that happens to you and yours. That's the whole goddamn point, Randolph. You had the best series I'd ever seen. I didn't need to compare it to the great performances of history and stare it down like it was just another thing that was happening. Man, what was my problem? I don't know. But I used to think it was all written in some book but now I know that whether it is or not, we're the ones writing it. And we might not always get the chance to write wins in that book. So we can't take them for granted," Tim puts a hand on Randolph's shoulder, "and we can't take what those wins mean for granted, either. You gotta live in the moment. Sometimes you can win and not feel it, but you better have that feeling in the back of your mind - it's the only real win condition, and the only real dream that can ever satisfy a true competitor."

Randolph is visibly touched by this gesture. "Thanks, Tim. I really need to sleep, but you know what? I have time if you're up for it tomorrow. Hit me up and I'll teach you that cross-over dribble-drobble you're so fond of. Heck, why not just call it a crossover?"

Tim thinks for a moment, and says, "You know, Randolph, that's a lot better name!"

Randolph adds, "In my family we have something we say, You're not there until you make a here out of there. It took me a long time to get, but they kept pounding that into my head and I finally understood."

The rest, is history. Tim Duncan of course goes on to have a great career as a Point Guard, becoming known as the greatest of all time at that position, surpassing even former Wake teammate Randolph Childress with a vicious dribble-drobble and step-back cross-over dribble-drobble (for that was its name). At the end of his career, Tim Duncan falls asleep one day and wakes up and while he's just getting up, they put him in the Hall of Fame right away, as a point guard, even though they usually have some sort of waiting period.

Twist

Twist ending: This last paragraph was Tim Duncan's dream, not reality. Although the anecdotes with Randolph indeed occurred, Tim in reality is a power forward/center, and wakes up not being rushed into the Hall of Fame every day, but instead, resenting his position, but not the team for which he plays it. He is more respectful to all his little guards, though, and all their adorably unsuccessful dribble-drobbles that can never breach his clever defense. And now Tim lives carefully in the moment. He keeps a happy diary of his dreams, wins and losses. He fastidiously avoids losses in all his personal dealings, except where he expects to win more overall by pursuing such losses. Tim audibly half-chuckles by way of signature, at the end of each diary. Heh.