Inside My Twitter 'Beef' with Kevin Durant
Well, that escalated quickly.
There is nothing quite like a difference of opinion on Twitter.
On Tuesday morning, the Oklahoma City Thunder announced they had given forward Nick Collison a two-year, $7.5 million extension. Given his age (34), lack of production and overall declining ability, I found it curious and tweeted this:
Kevin Durant did not take kindly to it and responded thus:
His tweet caught fire. Within minutes, thousands of Twitter users were tweeting at me and flooding my mentions with phrases like "KD is not nice," "lmao" and "savage"—apparently the new buzzword for someone who's cold-hearted online. Comments were accompanied by every possible species of emoji. Most common were yellow smiley faces with crying eyes, frogs sipping tea and ominous skulls.
The tweet has been retweeted or favorited an astronomical 33,000 times, making it Durant's most popular tweet in seven months, when he sent support to Johnny Manziel in August before his first preseason game with the Cleveland Browns.
Good burn, Kev.
By the unwritten Wild West-like rules of Twitter, Durant dropped the mic and won the day. The squawking rabble approved uproariously, and the exchange provided lunchtime entertainment for more than a few. (As a matter of record: After 15 memorable years at ESPN, I parted with the company in the summer of 2013 when my contract expired. But never let the facts get in the way of a good Twitter burn.)
In my opinion, Durant's tweet, at its core, wasn't about me or even Collison. I think it was frustration from a season spiraling beyond his control. The Thunder are in a tailspin, while he's battled numerous injuries, and even when healthy, they haven't been able to completely right the ship. The Thunder have to win 71 percent of their remaining games to reach 48 wins, which by no means guarantees them a playoff spot.
Whether he simply got caught up in the moment or was just blowing off steam, tweeting insults at sportswriters is not what leaders do. You can hardly blame an athlete for his frustration. But you can hold him accountable for how he deals with it.
Given the kind of person Durant is, I'm guessing it's an aberration.
When the story gained national traction, the phrase "ongoing feud" repeatedly popped up, which, in part, compelled me to write this. Yes, I am aware that by penning this column I'm continuing the story, but the opportunity to examine larger issues shouldn't be missed.
First, a little history to put things into context.
Like Durant, I grew up in the vaunted basketball hotbed of Prince George's County, Maryland, which lies on D.C.'s eastern border. I played basketball at Central High School in Seat Pleasant, Maryland. Durant went to Walker Mill Middle School, a couple of miles away, which feeds into Central. During spring training, my teammates and I would jog up Central Avenue and hang a right on Addison Road to run pickup for hours at the Seat Pleasant Activity Center, the very gym where Durant learned to play the game.
Covering Durant since high school has always been pleasant. Honest, thoughtful and sincere, he understood early on the symbiotic relationship between players and media.
In 2011, I wrote a piece for ESPN's NBA Insider attempting to determine who was the better player, Durant or Blake Griffin. A few days later, Durant DM'd me sincerely asking why I had chosen Griffin. I explained to him that I gave Griffin a slight nod due to his advantages in rebounding, field-goal percentage and assists.
"Just curious," Durant replied. "I'll do everything I can to get better."
I was impressed that an All-Star—who was about to clinch his second scoring title—would draw motivation from such an article. His professionalism and humility were unique.
Right around this time, Twitter shifted into high gear as a must-use tool for journalists. So, I started doing top-five lists. They immediately sparked debate and elicited strong responses. People either loved them or hated them. Players would text me good-natured jabs to disapprove of their rankings. Sometimes, we'd joke about the lists in the locker room.
Durant usually landed at or near the top of these lists. In 2012, when I put Kevin Love over Durant in a top-five MVP list, Durant tweeted at me, "Ahh here u go with this again lol."
He later tweeted at Love, "for the record I agree with what Chris Palmer was saying!!"
When I tweeted a two-part list of the NBA's smartest players, I put Durant at No. 15. Hardly a dig, but he wasn't very pleased and tweeted that I was on Molly. I actually thought it was funny. When I saw him a few days later in Las Vegas, he was quick with a handshake and a few friendly words. I asked him when he was going back to PG County.
Some feud. There is nothing quite like a difference of opinion on Twitter.
Twitter can obviously be fun. Super Bowl Sunday was a perfect example—a vibrant, real-time national conversation with everyone talking at once, yet still being heard. The instant gratification from sending out a good tweet is both exhilarating and fleeting. Unfortunately, Twitter can all too easily deteriorate into a cesspool of insensitivity and hostility while becoming a breeding ground for inane arguments.
And, boy, do people love Twitter beefs. It doesn't matter who it is (Temecula, anyone?). But the idea of a player and a member of the media being at odds is gold. It's pure entertainment so long as you're not one of the participants. Thousands swamp mentions with instigating tweets, the equivalent of kids gathering on a playground screaming, "Fight! Fight!"
But if there is one immutable truth concerning Twitter battles, it's this: No one wins. Even when you win, you lose.
One doesn't easily wash his hands of the stain of pettiness and infantilism it takes to compete in one of these pointless endeavors. Sometimes you learn the hard way.
Take it from a reformed, grizzled veteran of Twitter warfare, having collected as many scars as trophies. I've battled rappers, Internet trolls, snarky bloggers and, most regrettably, a legendary journalist whom I looked up to as a cub reporter.
I lost every time. Even when I won.
Twitter's restrictive 140-character limit hardly provides either combatant with the necessary elbow room to make a compelling argument, so battles usually dissolve into regrettable name-calling and a barrage of insults or threats. Particularly when passions are high.
Websites mocked my tepid response to Durant's tweet, and that’s cool. Better that than to further embarrass the both of us.
Which brings us back to this silly mess.
Had my thoughts on Collison been framed in a detailed story examining Oklahoma City's long-term plans, it's likely Durant wouldn't have responded the way he did—if at all. People take Twitter personally. Athletes can be especially sensitive since they're bombarded with an endless stream of taunts and insults. Twitter heightens that sensitivity. Maybe because thousands of people can chime in immediately, putting you on the spot. Interpreting tone is also difficult. Plus, there is so much that goes unsaid in a single tweet.
Either way, it strikes a chord.
So, yes, this "feud." For a "feud" to be ongoing, it has to exist in the first place. And from where I stand, none exists. Whether teams make solid pickups or questionable moves, I'll continue to have an opinion on it. Surely, someone will have a difference of opinion on Twitter.
But it's all good because Durant dropped the mic and won the day.
Except he didn't.
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