Sonic rookie-to-be Kevin Durant’s legs, like his arms, go on forever. If ever there were an argument to bring short shorts back to the NBA, it is Kevin Durant. The man is a freak, with the grace of a dancer animating the body of that really tall kid who’s still too uncoordinated to play varsity his junior year.

Henceforth, Durant’s nickname shall be “Crazy Legs” because of what precedes him, and what he’s about to do. Then there’s this excerpt, from Jeff Chang’s hip-hop history, Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop, on the original b-boy pioneer Richard “Crazy Legs” Colon: “He and his cousin Lenny had battled two leaders of the original Rock Steady Crew…and lost….they had shown much heart….He was being cheated of his chance to prove himself. He was all of thirteen years old, and he ached for the past. So Crazy Legs embarked on a mission. Like a character in one of the Times Square kung-fu flicks he loved, he traveled through the city to find and challenge every remaining b-boy.”

So shall it be with Durant. Pity the fool who must guard him now, as his boundless talents shall be infused with a renewed tenacity following his release from the U.S. National Team. The man whom Blazers General Manager Kevin Pritchard called “an assassin” and sportswriter Bill Simmons “a cold-blooded killer” just got a little more dangerous.

Sure, he’s already been dubbed the Durantula by some, but when NBA defensive stoppers toss and turn, twisted and cocooned in their high-thread-count sheets, the night before they play the SuperSonics, it will be one name they hear whispered through the open window, from the darkened bathroom, through the static on the clock radio they swear they turned off: Crazy Legs.