We Hate Him Because We Love Him
KD will be booed, but not just because he left
Just when the whole “Kevin Durant returning to Oklahoma City” storyline couldn’t get any more intense, any more hyped, any more anticipated — this happened:
I obviously can’t confirm if it’s true, but if it is, it’s quite possibly the most legendary event in an already unforgettable week of anticipation.
Why would a local Oklahoma City business be willing to forfeit $40,000 in business, and the appearance of a huge celebrity in their establishment, all to spite Kevin Durant?
Because we, the people of Oklahoma, kind of hate Durant at the moment.
This restaurant owner couldn’t risk being labeled as “the guy who harbored public enemy #1” and risk having the same fate of KD’s own restaurant, which was overrun by zealous Thunder fans and eventually shut down following his departure.
But why do we hate Kevin Durant?
It’s not because he left. Sure, his exit crushed our hearts and souls. Sure, I couldn’t feel any human emotions or see any colors or hear any music for several days after the July 4th announcement. Sure, he made our favorite basketball team significantly worse.
But that’s not it.
It’s not even because he went to the Warriors. That too was crushing, and many saw it as cowardly. In the words of Reggie Miller, “He traded a sacred legacy for cheap jewelry.” But it’s not cause for hate. He’s a professional, and he can decide where he wants to work.
That’s not why we hate him. There was a way this could’ve played out which would’ve been cordial. He could’ve spoken from the heart, poured his soul out to the state that had adopted him, and explained he wanted to live somewhere else and play basketball with other guys.
Instead we got a short and impersonal letter, suspiciously professional in its wording, left on our metaphorical doorstep before he bolted like Matt Damon at the end of Good Will Hunting (completely different emotions). His fellow teammates received even less by all reports — just a short text message or two.
Then came the media tour. Like a guilty kid who can’t stop explaining to his parents all of the reasons why a cookie could disappear from the jar, Durant talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked some more.
“Who cares?”
That was the response of Kevin Durant, when asked on Bill Simmons’ most recent podcast about his possible rivalry with Russell Westbrook and the tension created by going back to Oklahoma City.
“Who gives a s***!”
That’s not the only thing he said, but it is what has stuck with me. Because it’s not the first time KD has used the word “care” to describe his relationship with Oklahoma City post-breakup.
Let’s recap the others:
“I don’t care what nobody say. I don’t care what he say or what the fans say.”
“But like I said, I don’t care what y’all say, fans in OKC, media, whoever.”
When asked on the show Any Given Wednesday with Bill Simmons about the backlash he received, he also said “it did hurt” which is odd because he doesn’t care? It’s all very confusing, but I wouldn’t understand because I’ve never played in the NBA.
On the same program, about Westbrook:
“I don’t care about you that much to try to want to hate you.”
And finally, the biggest bomb to drop:
“No one cares about what I want as a person. It was all about what I do on the basketball court. No one cares if I like going fishing on Tuesdays or like taking pictures in the street. No one cares as long as I can shoot that ball into the hoop. Why should I care what they think if they don’t care about me as a whole?”
Why do we kind of hate Kevin Durant right now? Because WE CARE.
We care about him as a basketball player. We watched him mature and develop into one of the greatest players to ever step foot on the hardwood. We watched him carry our team to hundreds of wins. He gave us some of the greatest memories of our lives watching him play.
But we also care about him as a person. We watched him give millions of dollars to our state. We watched him walk amongst the rubble after the Moore tornadoes, and help our community by building a basketball court. We cried as he thanked his mother for raising him, and cheered as he played flag football with us.
Had he stayed, Durant could have never set foot on the court again, and still be THE face of our state. And we would’ve worshiped him.
Ultimately, the Thunder organization is less about basketball to the state of Oklahoma, and more about relevance. We’ve always had a Napoleon Complex, right? It would take years of research to find the origins of it, but anyone who has spent time here knows it to be true. We’ve always felt like the little brother who didn’t quite belong at the big-kid table.
Then in 2008, the Thunder showed up. Our first professional sports franchise. And they were GOOD. Suddenly Oklahoma was being mentioned in pop-culture, in social conversations and on ESPN. A big reason for it was Mr. Durant. The stature of the state was interlocked with the status of the man, and both rose to incredible heights.
The value of that prestige would forever exceed the success of the team. Even above hanging a championship banner.
And it’s what Durant has ignored (read: repressed) since the announcement of his departure. The bond between state and star went far, far beyond sports fandom. He cared. We cared.
Which is why it’s so ridiculous, so offensive to us, for him to act like it doesn’t matter. For him to act like he left because the state wasn’t good enough, like it was irrelevant, hurts the most.
It’s why we’ll boo. Oh we’ll boo. Louder than we’ve ever booed before. Patrick Beverley’s visits will sound like heavenly praise compared to the booing we’re going to do.
We’ll boo because of our Napoleon Complex. We’ll boo because it’s cathartic. We’ll boo until he remembers how much we care. Perhaps until he remembers how much he cares.
I don’t think it will always be this way. I sincerely believe that in 10–15 years when Durant’s career has come to an end, both sides will begin to appreciate the extraordinary bond we had.
But for now, we got a problem.
And yeah, it’s personal.
