I still get chills thinking about the 2003 NBA playoffs. That postseason wasn't just basketball—it was theater, drama, and pure athletic poetry unfolding night after night. What many forget is how many players competed through injuries that would sideline most people, much like that recent quote about Mitchell playing through a broken nose for the Bolts. That fighter mentality defined the 2003 playoffs too, where stars regularly pushed through pain that would have hospitalized anyone else.
I remember watching Tim Duncan's Spurs facing the Dallas Mavericks in the Western Conference Finals. Duncan was playing with a knee that needed draining every other day, yet he averaged 28.4 points and 16.7 rebounds in that series. The man was practically playing on one leg, yet he delivered one of the most dominant performances I've ever witnessed. That's what separates playoff legends from regular stars—the ability to elevate when your body is screaming at you to stop. When I see modern players sitting out for minor ailments, I can't help but contrast it with Duncan's quiet determination through actual injuries.
The Nets-Lakers Finals matchup featured another incredible injury story that gets overlooked. Jason Kidd played the entire series with a fractured cheekbone after taking an elbow in Game 1. He wore this bulky protective mask that kept slipping, yet he still averaged a triple-double—21.4 points, 10.2 assists, and 9.8 rebounds. I recall one particular play where his mask slid down during a fast break, and he just ripped it off mid-dribble and kept going. That moment perfectly captured the playoff mentality—nothing, not even basic safety equipment, could interfere with the game.
What made the 2003 playoffs truly special was how these injury stories intertwined with career-defining performances. Tracy McGrady's 46-point masterpiece against the Pistons came despite him playing with a back so sore he could barely warm up properly. I spoke with his trainer years later who revealed McGrady received multiple painkilling injections just to take the court. Meanwhile, Chris Webber's knee injury in the Dallas series essentially ended Sacramento's championship hopes, showing how fragile title aspirations can be.
The Spurs' championship run featured so many of these untold warrior stories. Manu Ginobili played through a severely sprained ankle during the conference semifinals against the Lakers, while Bruce Bowen regularly defended Kobe Bryant despite battling plantar fasciitis that left him limping during timeouts. Watching those games, you'd never know half the players were dealing with significant physical limitations. That's the part that gets lost in highlight reels—the grimaces during free throws, the subtle adjustments to protect injuries, the sheer willpower overriding physical limitations.
I've always believed the 2003 playoffs represented a turning point in how we understand athletic endurance. Before advanced sports science became mainstream, players operated on pure grit. Duncan's 32-point, 20-rebound, 7-block closeout performance in Game 6 of the Finals came after he'd received treatment for what the Spurs medical staff called "the worst knee swelling they'd seen all season." That kind of sacrifice creates legends, and it's why veterans from that era still command such respect today.
Looking back, what strikes me most is how normal it seemed at the time for players to compete through serious injuries. The culture has shifted considerably since then, with load management and injury prevention taking priority. While I appreciate the wisdom in preserving players' long-term health, there's something undeniably compelling about that old-school mentality where the playoffs transformed good players into warriors. The 2003 postseason gave us countless examples of athletes pushing beyond reasonable limits, creating moments that still resonate two decades later. That championship Spurs team featured at least four players who required offseason surgery yet never missed a playoff game. That level of commitment creates bonds and legends that statistics alone can never capture.