“Hatred isn’t the opposite of love, it’s just another variation of it. They both mean you have passionate feelings for someone.”
– Robin Brande

GOD, I used to hate Russell Westbrook.

For the first 11 seasons of Westbrook’s career, Russ was possibly THE largest thorn in the Denver Nuggets side. As one of the last two meaningful players ever drafted by the Seattle Supersonics (along with Serge Ibaka), Russ made it know from the jump that he and his Oklahoma City Thunder team had plans for bigger things. Playing alongside James Harden and Kevin Durant, the young foursome was fearsome in the Western Conference, carrying the Thunder to their first Finals trip, with three of those four guys eventually claiming a league MVP title during their careers.

Russ might have been the most fearsome of any of them, as incredible as even Durant’s career has been. Ibaka was an immovable wall. Durant was (and is) one of the surest and smoothest shooters in the league. Harden was a points machine, between his gifts and his grifts. But none of them had the dedication, grit, and gumption that Westbrook brought to the floor every night.

Did I say every night? I meant ever minute of every night. When Russ came to visit the Nuggets, he didn’t just spend all 48 minutes jawing his way through the game and every second on the floor at top gear, he’d even be nettlesome during timeouts. Nuggets mascot Rocky and his famous halfcourt game attempts during timeouts were routinely blocked by Russ. Not because they mattered to the score, but because they mattered to the opposing fan. If there was a crack of daylight to get into the Nuggets players, staff, or fans heads, Westbrook would grab it by the throat and squeeze it until it gasped. Irksome? Try infuriating. When Russ won his well-deserved MVP in the 2016-17 season, he did it by completely dominating everyone he faced that season, becoming the league’s only player besides Oscar Robertson to average a triple-double for the year, with 31.6 ppg/10.7 rpg/ and 10.4 apg. It was a feat that was assumed to be near-impossible, a statistical anomaly that the Big O had somehow managed to achieve and no one ever would again.

To prove his point, Westbrook averaged a triple-double again the following season. Then again the season after that, his (thankfully) final season in OKC. Two years later, he’d accomplish the feat again in Washington. No, not the Washington he was drafted in. But four times in five seasons.

Russ’s departure from Oklahoma City was a boon to Nuggets fans who had grown tired of all the plays he dominated and wins he stole from Denver, being in our division. One of my favorite moments in Nuggets history involved a last second inbound heave from Nikola Jokic to Gary Harris who buried a three and sprinted off the floor as the crowd went insane. The fact that the shot was made over the outstretched arm of a barely-too-late-Westbrook was possibly my favorite part of the moment. I had a picture of it on my wall for years.

And when you harbor those strong emotions for a player, there were some mixed feelings about watching his struggles with the teams he played for post-OKC. For the blame he took for the flagging Lakers and Clippers franchises, which must have been particularly galling for Russ, being an L.A. homer and fan since his youth. The fact that the Lakers had ruined their Championship chances post-bubble by trading away some of their most important puzzle pieces to bring Westbrook in was both wonderful and puzzling. How did such an amazing team stumble so badly, and what gave them the right to lay every bit of the blame at Westbrook’s feet when things finally went awry?

Russ took an awful lot of blame those last seven seasons for things that don’t appear to have been much his fault, in retrospect. But boy, did the acrimony sell papers and ad clicks. The real truth should have been seen in his reception every time he was on a visiting team back in Oklahoma City, where those fans invariably stood and cheered for the one guy who had been their ride-or-die all those years.

So when reports emerged that the Denver Nuggets had an interest in bringing Westbrook in for what would end up being his penultimate season, I had a lot of mixed emotions. Russ would bring a pedigree that no one next to Nikola Jokic had ever claimed. It was Joker himself who had expressed the interest, making it even harder to slag the decision about a guy I had long loved to hate.

And… I was wrong. Abjectly, irrefutably wrong. From the moment Russ put on a Nuggets jersey, he was Denver all the way. He expressed a love for the city, for its fans, and for the team. No warmup to it, just immediately full bore. He gracefully proclaimed Joker the best in the league. He pointedly stuck up for the young player in front of him in the pecking order, Christian Braun. For every guys on the roster, he coached and cajoled and created and cackled. And when it’s suddenly YOUR GUY acting the way Russell Westbrook acts at every stop… I loved him. Without reservation. Did he make mistakes? Of course, just like every other player in the league. Did he have moments you wish he’d handled a little differently? Without question. But those rare moments were overwhelmed by his instincts and passion and a motor that was still running at a league-high RPM for every second of his 17th season in the league. Russ played the same way in a playoff win for the Nuggets as he did with the end-of-the-bench in a tough loss. What was not to love?

He wasn’t just a pick-me-up. He was a revelation. I loved every second, even the rough ones, and will never NOT love Russell Westbrook again. I was buried in a love of my team so deeply that I simply hated all the pains he had caused them. I was too old for my own danged sake when I finally realized that I should have loved Westbrook the basketball player all along. He could spread that passion to an entire arena.

But better late than never.

I was admittedly sad when the Nuggets didn’t try to bring Westbrook back last year, and also that they didn’t spend any time trying to pursue him coming into this season before it was announced that Russ wouldn’t be playing for anyone. That he was heading out on his own terms. In year 18, he yet again lifted the Sacramento Kings beyond where they should have been with his passion, intellect, and gifts, rubbing everyone who he needed to exactly the wrong way. Never change, Russ.

Westbrook goes out of the game as the all-time triple-doubles leader, surpassing yet another Robertson record that had long been assumed unassailable. And while odds are good he won’t hold that title too much longer (Jokic is now only 11 behind him, and has had 34 in each of the past two seasons), he is undoubtedly one of the finest point guards and players and muckrakers to ever step onto the floor. I may never know whether it is his game or his mouth that roars louder, but I do know I’ll always love him for both. His work in the communities he’s played in, his leadership on and off the floor, and his unbridled obstinacy are all things that I should have been admiring all along.

Godspeed and good luck with whatever is next, Russ. You are loved, even by us slow-to-get-it-haters. You’ll always be a Nugget now.