Oklahoma City Thunder guard Shai Gilgeous-Alexander celebrates with fans in Oklahoma City. (Bryan Terry/Imagn Images)
Kevin Durant probably enjoys the scenic route. We know this because his circuitous trip to the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame feels more and more rambling as the years go on. After his flyby in Phoenix and nothing more, the latest detour in his career leads him to Houston. There, Durant will anchor a young and rising Rockets team on the verge of greatness — quite similar to that one he left in Oklahoma City almost a decade ago. And there, in Southeast Texas, he’ll play for a good coach and possibly contend for the NBA’s Western Conference title, if not more. He might even enjoy the rodeo and all the lemon pepper wings his heart desires.
But Houston is a mere pit stop for Durant — and not necessarily his last one, either. There, he’ll never find a home.
Durant is one of the best players in NBA history, but when he finally unties the laces of his custom KDs, he’ll be the hero who lacks a proper homecoming. And that will be a sad postscript to his Hall of Fame career. This year’s NBA Finals put me in a sentimental mood about Durant.
Maybe it was watching Reggie Miller sit courtside next to his son when the series shifted back to Indianapolis. During timeouts, the team showed Pacers “legends” on the giant scoreboard — the kind of guys who still see their jerseys worn around the Gainbridge Fieldhouse concourse but might need to pin their basketball-reference.com page to their foreheads just to be recognized outside of Indianapolis. Each one received hearty and grateful applause, all the hoorays that could squeeze into the building.
But Miller was always shown last, and that’s when the cheers amplified to roars. Then, to “REG-GIE! REG-GIE!” chants, as though fans were summoning the 2000s. Miller would humbly raise his arms in appreciation, but you should have seen the look on the face of his mini-me. The boy would be smiling and applauding, gazing up at the image of his dad (and himself) stretching across the sky. In those moments, no one could tease Miller for never winning a title during his 18 seasons in Indiana. Right then and there, Miller was a champion.
Rings and the pursuit of more, more, more have been given weighted significance in our sports culture. But there’s something priceless, and precious, about simply having a place to call home. And back in the only NBA city he ever called home, where there’s a 60-foot mural of him on a downtown Indianapolis building, Miller will forever be loved and appreciated.
Probably not in OKC, where a guy who averaged 5.9 points for his career is considered the most beloved player in franchise history. Not in the Bay Area, where he indeed won two championships but the love remains reserved for Stephen Curry, Draymond Green and Klay Thompson (even though he is gone now). And heck no to Brooklyn and Phoenix. (Can we just backspace those cities off his résumé?)
On the roster of the NBA’s 75th anniversary team, celebrating the men whose legacies shaped and elevated the league, only a handful spent the entirety of their careers in one place. For every Reggie, Dirk and Kobe, all heroes for one franchise, there are plenty more players such as Jason Kidd, Dominique Wilkins and Nate “Tiny” Archibald, who all played for at least four NBA franchises. However, Kidd is a Maverick for life. ’Nique will forever be a Hawk. And though Tiny’s best years happened in cities that no longer have NBA franchises, he lives on in the DNA of every fearless 6-foot-and-under hooper.
But where will Durant’s legacy live on?
Okay, maybe in the three high school home gyms where he logged his four-year prep career. And possibly in Austin, where he spent all of one year with the University of Texas. Or perhaps in Seattle, where he played his rookie season before the SuperSonics moved to the bustling metropolis of Oklahoma City and were rebranded as the Thunder.
The point is, Durant, the pride of Maryland’s Prince George’s County — where he’ll always find support — has been a tourist throughout his basketball career. But he’s too talented, and means too much in the story of American basketball, to just be the greatest journeyman this league has ever seen. On the outside looking in at his marvelous career, the space where he has collected all those medals, trophies and accolades still feels a tiny bit empty.
On the same day news broke of Durant’s trade to the Rockets, his former Thunder team won the first NBA title of the OKC era. By Tuesday morning, the city was ready to celebrate, but the party couldn’t start until the franchise’s favorite son received his flowers.
For the day’s festivities, Thunder center Isaiah Hartenstein wore a shirt with Nick Collison’s face plastered on the front. All-NBA guard Jalen Williams decided to honor Kobe Bryant with his attire, but Hartenstein celebrated the true GOAT of OKC. Those players sat on the stage as Thunder guard Aaron Wiggins opened up as the emcee. Wiggins was doing a fine job, revving up the faithful who packed Paycom Center. But when the arena camera shifted to the No. 4 Collison banner hanging in the rafters, even Wiggins lost it.
“Ohhhhh! Nick Collison!” Wiggins said, screaming into the microphone, because everyone else was screaming, too. “Where Nick Collison at!? Where Nick at?! C’mon, Nick!”
Those are the roars and raw emotions reserved for the hometown hero: Collison, who played his entire 14-year career with the Sonics/Thunder. He’s not the franchise’s best player. Nor the city’s first MVP. Not even one of the league’s forever greats. He’s something greater — a city’s most beloved player.
Collison never won an NBA title like Durant. While KD was named one of the top 75 players ever, Collison never even made an all-star team. While Durant ranks eighth, and climbing, among the league’s all-time scoring leaders, Collison scored just 31 points, total, in his final season wearing a Thunder jersey. He’s no Kevin Durant. Because unlike Durant, Collison has a home.