Second Pick: Durant

"With the second pick of the 2007 NBA Draft, the Seattle Supersonics select Kevin Durant."

Down on the Green Room floor, right below the stage, Durant paused a moment. There it was. He got slowly to his feet, the pace of a man who has known for months this was coming, this exact moment. To his right, his Mom. He leaned over and kissed her. He said something no one but Mom heard.

He shook some hands and turned and walked slowly to the stage, in no hurry, soaking up his moment. Under the bright lights of the Draft Stage shaking the Commissioner's hand, his shirt and tie showed brightly their colors reminscent of Longhorn Orange; intentional, he left no doubt the debt he owed his year of college. He looked boyish but you got the feeling he's tough enough to be the 2013 NBA Finals MVP. Over at a crescent desk, Steven A. Smith went nuts on ESPN. Durant can hear him over the auditorium speakers. Several drafts ago, Charlie Villanueva was skewered over the loudspeakers as he walked to the stage to get his cap and handshake. Durant isn't being skewered. Not yet.

The walk is short from the stage, behind the podium, down the steps, up another set of steps and to the seat next to ESPN's Stuart Scott. He's there. Jay Bilas is done dissecting the Sonic's choice. It's not much of a dissection. Everyone knows all there is to know about him at this point. It's more of a recap. No one is surprised. Mike Tirico mentions that now the draft really gets interesting. Who will Atlanta take with pick three now that Portland and Seattle have taken the obvious can't miss stars?

Durant sits down with Stuart Scott. Stu leans in and starts to say something reassuring, but cuts off as someone blares into his earpiece. It's so loud that even Durant can hear it. Up close, this close, he can see Stu's purple eye makeup and weird eyebrow plucking thing. Stuart Scott has interviewed Kevin Durant before, but never under this many lights. He looks like a debating Al Gore; almost clownish with all that makeup. Shadow so the eyes stand out, eyebrows shaped to fit with his $5,000 glasses, darkened cheekbones to mask those most recent five pounds.

Then, Tirico passes ESPN's coverage to Scott, for a few questions with the new draftee. This is the same drill for Durant as it was for the number one pick, and will be for the number three pick. And number four, and five. A lot of men who were boys a moment before will end up in this chair, perhaps in the biggest moment of the biggest day of their lives. Some will have just heard the loudspeakers say, as Villanueva heard, that they are a surprise, and really are being picked too high. They aren't this good. Some will have Jay Bilas or Marc Jackson list their faults, but mention upside. Upside. Steven A. Smith will light into someone. On such a big day, they always gotta bring you down a notch.

Says Scott, congratulations. Says Scott, what do you say to the people who don't think you are strong enough because you couldn't bench 185 even once. Says Scott, what of the people that are questioning your manhood. Says Durant, "You mean, people like you?"

Scott, caught of guard, says nothing. Durant continues, "I'm strong enough to lift a basketball, pass a basketball, shoot a basketball. What more strength do I need? I'm not going to rip a rebound from Shaquille O'Neal anyway."

"What about Steve Nash?" asked Scott.

"What about Steve Nash?" replied Durant.

"Could you rip a rebound away from him?"

"Look, Mr. Scott," said Durant, his small respectful voice made larger by the loudspeakers and bouncing around the theater, "why don't you just chop off my nuts right here and pass them around to the audience?"

"Kevin, I -- "

"Look, do me a favor," said Durant, his voice echoing louder as a hush falls over the theater, "if you spare the rest of these terrified kids double-barrelled questions on the biggest and scariest day of their lives, I'll not mention your sculpted eyebrows and purple eye shadow. Deal?"

"Kevin!" Scott's voice was almost pleading. Scott didn't really mean any disrespect. This is what tough interviewers do, right? They ask tough questions. Right?

Durant got up, surveyed the room of very young men grouped on the floor, the "Green Room" of this year's draft. Up in the theater seats were another dozen draft hopefuls, who flew in on their own dime, and who are not allowed on the floor. Durant was already being pulled by handlers, pulled to the interview room where the press would pepper him with questions almost the same as he'd heard for the last six months, but seasoned with a "what the heck was that tirade?" thread that wasn't there yesterday. The Seattle press, now that he was a Sonic for sure, wanted to get him first. But he wasn't done here yet.

He could hear Steven A. going off about kids and disrepect, though Durant meant none toward Scott. Quite the opposite, he only wanted Scott to skip the questions designed to make them look stupid on this night. It's like asking the bride on her wedding night, maybe the biggest moment of her life, how many guys she's been with before she met the groom. The tough questions can come later, during the season. Tonight is their night, not Scott's. And none of these other kids were as tough as him. Durant could take it. But being able to take it doesn't mean you just do.

Durant shook off the handlers pulling him to the interview room. He cut down to the Green Room Floor, slapping fives with the players destined to be 1st round picks; nearly sure-things though in most years at least one sweats it out to the late first round or early second round, setting in stone their desire to prove all those teams that passed on them wrong. High five here, pick 7, high five there, pick 11.

He crossed through the floor and up the steps to where some of the other picks would be, sitting in stadium seats with regular people. These guys weren't sure things, at least not first round sure things, so they didn't warrant Green Room floor treatment. Maybe it's better hiding in the anonymity of the stands instead of sweating it out on the floor anyway. But this was the biggest day of their lives. Durant was gonna make their day. He called out. "Who wants my table?" No one answered. "Who wants my table, I don't need it. If you want it, come with me." No one stood. "Guys, this is a big day. If you know you're gonna be picked, stand up, get down on the floor where you belong. If you aren't sure, stay here, it's cool."

With that, simultaneously, seven tall boys stood. Three white guys, probably European, four black guys. "Whoa," breathed Durant. His table seated six.

"Okay," said Durant, "we'll figure it out. Come on."

"Hey Kevin, what about my Mom?" asked one.

"Bring her. Everyone, bring your family, they deserve it, too."

What followed him out of the stands ended up numbering 27 draft picks and family. The first "usher" stopped them. Sorry. Can't do it. Can't let them on the floor unless they are picked.

Says Durant, "what's your name?" Tyrone the usher says his name's Tyrone. Kevin Durant put his big left hand on Tyrone's shoulder, in what appeared to be a friendly gesture. Then he leaned in to Tyrone's ear and said, "Tyrone, write down your name and cell, write down IOU, Big Ass Favor. Give that to me later and I'll take care of you like you ain't ever dreamed of. Now let us on the floor."

Tyrone looked around for a boss, someone in charge. No one. No one to tell him yes or no. So he stood back and 27 people walked by him. ESPN's cameras were on Tyrone. Tyrone would show his kids this clip over and over. "There, that's me," he'd tell his kids, "I weighed less then, I had hair." His kids would say, "wow!" The footage that would be shown in the Hall of Fame in 20 years was saved onto the massive ESPN-in-HD hard drives in a semi truck parked in the alley behind the theater. The footage was beamed live to over 200 countries. Tyrone would spend a couple of days fielding questions about Durant and their short conversation.

On the floor now, Durant in charge. Hey, can we fit a couple more at your table? Hey, do you mind if these guys sit here? You, you're getting picked soon, sure thing; when you do, leave your seats for these folks, huh? With nods and shuffling chairs, slaps on the back and big, big smiles behind him, Durant scans the floor for his Mom. She's standing with the guys trying to get him to the interview room. He trots over, grabs her arm under his and apologizes to the two small men who had been desperately trying to get him off the floor.

Kevin Durant gives Stuart Scott a final look and walks out the door. No questions about his strength now.

Note: this event may have happened only in windsurf17's imagination