When Tyrese Haliburton’s dad stormed the court yelling at Giannis, waving a towel with his son’s face on it and shouting, “This is what we f—ing do,” it was peak sideline drama. The clip went viral, the crowd went wild, and even Giannis had something to say about the “disrespect.” But when Draymond Green was asked if his parents ever embarrassed him like that? He didn’t even blink. Because while John Haliburton might win on volume, Draymond’s mom wins on pure psychological damage.

Draymond didn’t tell a story about some wild courtside scuffle or a parent storming the hardwood. No, his version of sideline chaos was far more subtle—and far more scarring. You’d think having a mom in the stands would be comforting. Supportive. Maybe a few claps, a “let’s go 𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑦!” here and there. Not for Draymond. His mom? She was a menace. “Since I was a 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥,” he said, “she’s been yelling, ‘You suck!’” And the best part? She was yelling at the other team. But, she was also yelling at Draymond and all his teammates. 

And not just a little trash talk, either. Draymond called it exactly how it was: “She 𝓀𝒾𝓁𝓁s them. But she absolutely annihilates me.” That’s right — while most moms are out there cheering on their kids, Mary Babers-Green was in the bleachers running a one-woman roast session. No one was safe, not even her own son. Especially not her own son.

Draymond Green shared how, at first, other parents in the stands would be ready to clap back. They’d hear her yelling and start thinking, “Who does this woman think she is?” But then, as they kept watching, the picture became clear. “And as they continue to watch,” Draymond explained, “they realize how bad she talks about me, they just like, ‘Oh, that’s no problem, what she’s saying about my kid.’” Once they saw the way she lit up her own son, whatever she said about their kid suddenly didn’t feel that deep.

And in those smaller gyms growing up, Draymond could hear every word. He wasn’t just trying to block a shot — he was trying to block out his mom calling him trash from ten rows up. He’d occasionally turn around, frustrated, and plead, “Mom, stop.” Her response? The Good old, silent treatment. For days. “She wouldn’t talk to me,” he said, “as if I did something wrong.”

Before Mary Babers-Green was heckling from the stands, before Draymond was catching heat from his own mom mid-game, he was already used to tough love — just in a different setting. The first person to roast Draymond wasn’t a fan, a coach, or even Mary. It was his older brother, Torrian.

Before the NBA Lights, It Was Backyard Battles and Driveway Trash Talk

Long before Draymond Green was barking orders on an NBA court or racking up technicals like trophies, he was catching elbows and L’s in his grandma’s driveway. The opponent? His older brother, Torrian Harris — three years senior, stronger, faster, and fully committed to handing out tough love.

One-on-one battles between the two were less like 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥hood bonding and more like gritty playoff games with no refs. Torrian, being older and stronger, almost always came out on top — and it drove Draymond insane. But he never backed down. Every loss only made him hungrier, more determined to return and try again. That patch of backyard concrete wasn’t just a driveway anymore — it was Draymond’s first real court, and Torrian? His first real rivalry.

They weren’t just scrapping in the driveway. From AAU courts to Saginaw High, the Green-Harris duo was a package deal in Michigan’s youth hoops scene. They played together, talked trash together, and made each other better — mostly by trying to outdo each other every step of the way.

Their competitive saga even hit the college stage. In a rare family reunion with jerseys on, Draymond’s Michigan State team faced off against Torrian’s Nebraska-Omaha squad in an exhibition game. The stat sheet? Draymond dropped 16. Torrian answered with 13. The scoreboard? Michigan State blew them out. But in the stands, Mary Babers-Green wasn’t picking favorites — she was probably heckling both of them with equal fire.

That’s the thing. Draymond’s edge — the fire, the voice, the grit — didn’t just happen once he hit the NBA. It was 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧 in Saginaw, built through beatdowns from his big brother, and fueled by a mom who didn’t hand out compliments unless they were followed by an insult. The court has always been home. The trash talk? Just part of the family tradition.