God, if only Don’t Worry Darling’s plot had half the intrigue, stakes, and spitting as Don’t Worry Darling’s press tour. As promotion for the movie ramped up, it gradually became clear, to the delight of rumormongers everywhere, that there’d been some kind of trouble in Palm Springs between the movie’s director, Olivia Wilde, and star Florence Pugh. Pugh made only limited appearances to support DWD, supposedly because she was filming her (awfully small!) role in Dune: Part Two. There was also that time Shia LaBeouf leaked a screenshot of Wilde calling Pugh “Miss Flo” and making the actress out to be a diva for, apparently, not wanting to work with him (she would have had her reasons!). Rumors leaked saying that Pugh had basically stepped in to direct the movie herself after Wilde was distracted by her budding romance with fellow DWD castmate Harry Styles (Pugh did credit pretty much everyone except Wilde for getting the movie done, so maybe there’s something to that scuttlebutt). One source said Wilde and Pugh got into a “screaming match” on set. And there were reports that noted non-actor Styles had made three times as much as Pugh, an Oscar nominee and the real star of the movie. A picture came together of a star and director with dueling visions of the supposedly feminist allegory, and with pretty different ideas of how to comport yourself with your coworkers. 

Who won the beef? The crowning moment of the Wilde-Pugh beef came at the Venice Film Festival, where Miss Flo stepped off the boat in a regal (but playful!) shade of purple (with an Aperol spritz in tow), conquered the red carpet, and didn’t show up to the press conference to support the heatstroked vision of incel utopia she’d deigned to star in. She did say, however, that it’s “inspiring” to “see a woman push back and say ‘no,’ on and off camera.” She won everyone over (not that she’d ever lost us), and she kept Wilde at arm’s length the whole time. She also kept her distance from spitgate, a mercy for another one of her iconic fits, a celestial Gucci gown. —Helena Hunt

What to do when the world’s richest man and the world’s most powerful man crash out over each other on social media? Shake your head, mutter some profanities under your breath, and say to yourself, for at least the 642nd time in the past year alone, “We live in an episode of Black Mirror.” No one saw the spectacular fallout between Donald Trump and Elon Musk coming, and everyone saw the spectacular fallout between Donald Trump and Elon Musk coming. (Well, we might not have predicted that tweet about the Epstein files—WTF.) After a bromance between the two rapidly blossomed on the campaign trail leading up to the 2024 election, Musk and Trump went their separate ways less than six months later. Musk, who was appointed head of the newly formed Department of Government Efficiency, took issue with a spending bill championed by Trump, which Musk felt would greatly increase the federal deficit—the complete opposite mission of his agency—and both of them handled it like total adults. This beef ended rather quickly—just about a week after it began, Musk apologized for his very public criticism of Trump—but for about 72 hours, at least, it was a sight to behold.

Who won this beef? Please don’t make me answer this question. You don’t want me to answer this question. But if I must: Trump seems fairly busy and unbothered, while Musk, the apologizer, seems more like a sad loser tweeting through the pain. —Aric Jenkins

It’s the beef that launched a thousand Tumblr conspiracy theories (and maybe a few songs). After an era of loudly insisting they were besties, borrowing each other’s nightgowns, staring each other down on the Victoria’s Secret runway, and making much-dissected appearances together at 1975 concerts, Karlie and Taylor apparently just … stopped talking (or the contract on their PR friendship expired … who can say). The fallout seemed to happen sometime in the midst of Taylor’s retreat from the limelight after the Kanye West blowup, and Karlie just added grist to the mill when she posted photos with noted Swift nemeses Scooter Braun and Kim Kardashian. Swift’s alleged thoughts on Kloss’s betrayal? “When the words of a sister come back in whispers / That prove she was not / In fact what she seemed, not a twin from your dreams / She’s a crook who was caught.” Karlie continues to make half-assed claims that they’re still friends, but it became abundantly clear that the feeling is not mutual when she plopped down in a nosebleed seat at the Eras Tour, far from the VIP section where pretty much every other celeb in Swift’s orbit had nabbed a spot. 

Who won the beef? Swift’s songs about all her (alleged!) exes will always have the last word. She doesn’t need to make any comments about Karlie on the record; she just needs to write some lyrics that fans can quote ad nauseam in Karlie’s Instagram comments. —Hunt

In early December 2021, as the third season of Succession was drawing to a conclusion, The New Yorker’s Michael Schulman published a meaty profile of brilliant lead actor Jeremy Strong that all but stole the show. Part examination of Strong’s rigorous acting methods and part dishy, bewildered look at Strong’s many, many eccentricities, the piece was a Raskolnikov-quoting Rorschach test containing infinite multitudes. To some, it was an illuminating and vivid (if catty!) contribution to Strong’s ever-expanding lore. (You’re tellin’ me the fella almost bankrupted some Yale drama club to afford a visit by Al Pacino?! Come on, that’s the good shit.) To others—most notably Aaron Sorkin and Jessica Chastain, which, OK—it painted “a distorted picture” of Strong. To Strong himself, the article represented “a pretty profound betrayal of trust.” And to me? It all just felt like the good old days in which the Venn diagram overlap between “magazines” and “drama” formed a perfect circle, as it should.

Who won the beef? Look, there’s a reason they don’t call him Jeremy Weak. Shine on, you crazy diamond. —Katie Baker

It’s typically important to lay out a timeline of events when people have an issue with one another so that we can fully understand the ramifications of one action for the next and properly contextualize the way a breakdown in communication leads to bigger problems. Once someone’s expensive diamond chain is yanked off in the middle of a professional football game, though, all interest in chronology goes out the window to make room for laughter.

In fact, in digging into the individual histories of Talib and Crabtree, all I can determine is that Crabtree got exactly what he was asking for. He’d already tried and failed to instigate problems with Richard Sherman a few seasons prior, and years later, Talib detailed instances of how Crabtree’s trash talk had pushed into the realm of disrespect in matchups even before the two (2!) chain-snatching incidents when Talib’s Broncos played Crabtree’s Raiders in the 2016 and 2017 seasons. The sweet justice in both cases was that while Crabtree might have been the instigator, as we learned in hip-hop last spring, sometimes people make the mistake of taking it there with someone who’s willing to take it even further. 

Who won the beef? 

Not only did Talib win, but the fact that Crabtree’s attempted retaliation resulted in the chain being snatched again makes it a clean sweep. That meant that Crabtree couldn’t play the victim and couldn’t take a stance as a tough guy on the field ever again. Every time Crabtree tucks a chain inside his shirt, I imagine he still feels phantom pains. —Diante Lee

The beefs that have bubbled up between Alison Roman and Chrissy Teigen, or Wishbone Kitchen (a.k.a. Meredith Hayden) and Bon Appétit, or Ballerina Farm (a.k.a. Hannah Neeleman) and The Times of London have ushered in an era of the domestic dark arts that’s more about protecting your follower count than maintaining your household. Who better to lead this wave of foodfluencer-on-foodfluencer crime than the two grandes dames of homemaking themselves, Martha Stewart and Ina Garten? We may never know what went on behind closed (white-washed barn) doors, but a New Yorker profile of Garten shed some light on the falling-out between the two, who were once friends and colleagues; Stewart once helped Garten publish her first book and shoot her first TV show, an inspiring example of women helping women—until they decided to destroy each other instead. In the story, Garten said that they stopped talking as frequently when Stewart moved to Bedford, New York; Stewart said the contretemps was actually caused by her move to Alderson Prison (which she thought was “extremely distressing and extremely unfriendly” on Garten’s part). While Stewart’s publicist told The New Yorker that there was no feud, Martha’s kept it going (and dragged Snoop Dogg into it).

Who won the beef? Beef should be a little bloody, and Martha’s more cutthroat approach to the feud makes her the winner… until Garten finally publishes a tell-all detailing Stewart’s non-insider-trading-related crimes. —Hunt

This bizarre beef is a heavyweight fight between two titans of the film industry. It all started in October 2019, several months after Avengers: Endgame (temporarily) became the highest-grossing film of all time, when Scorsese told Empire magazine that Marvel movies were “not cinema.”

“Honestly, the closest I can think of them, as well made as they are, with actors doing the best they can under the circumstances, is theme parks,” Scorsese said. “It isn’t the cinema of human beings trying to convey emotional, psychological experiences to another human being.”

The filmmaker’s comments caused quite a stir on the internet, from outraged Marvel stans to vindicated film snobs, and led several actors and directors who had worked on MCU films to defend their work. The reactions were so strong that Scorsese felt compelled to further explain himself in a New York Times op-ed the following month. Although it might not have been surprising to learn that the old-school auteur didn’t have a taste for Marvel’s superhero flicks, Scorsese’s artistic stance against Hollywood’s biggest blockbuster factory became the perfect encapsulation of the case against Marvel’s outsized popularity and formulaic approach to filmmaking.

Who won the beef? Scorsese. As someone who writes about every MCU release as part of their job, I’d argue that Scorsese’s harsh yet fair criticism of Marvel movies isn’t true for every film that the studio has ever created. However, Scorsese waged his war against the MCU before the Multiverse Saga, Marvel’s ongoing cinematic era that—despite having produced a few gems—has seen the studio significantly increase its output across film and TV while yielding diminishing returns. Scorsese may not have explicitly predicted the downfall of the MCU, but the legendary director took shots at Marvel at the peak of its powers, and his criticisms have proved to be even more valid since then. —Daniel Chin

You know a beef is juicy when it can be defined by one single object: a red scarf. A 29-year-old Jake Gyllenhaal dated a 20-year-old Taylor Swift for a few months in the fall of 2010. They were seen roaming the streets of New York City, arm in arm, with a scarf around Taylor’s neck and a maple latte passed between them. The Jake and Taylor photos blew up; the pair fizzled out; all was well. Maybe … too well. In 2012, Taylor released “All Too Well” on her 2012 album, Red. The song was a heartbreak ballad that seemed like it could have been about Gyllenhaal—until she released the 10-minute version of “All Too Well” in 2022, featuring lyrics like “I was never good at telling jokes, but the punch line goes / I’ll get older but your lovers stay my age” and leaving no doubt about whose sister’s house she’d left that symbolic scarf at all those years ago. Gyllenhaal’s response to being called out all over the internet 12 years after allegedly abandoning a much younger girlfriend on the first birthday when she could legally drink her sorrows away? Pure capitulation. 

Who won the beef? Is there any question? Taylor Swift always gets the last laugh. Then she laughs—or more accurately, cries—for 10 more minutes. And as it turns out … the scarf was a metaphor the whole time. —Jodi Walker

Brady vs. Belichick was the debate that inspired countless hours of sports talk show fodder, but the real, lasting beef at the heart of the Patriots dynasty is the one between Belichick, the longtime head coach, and Kraft, the franchise owner. These are two incredibly powerful men with incredibly large egos, and after a decades-long partnership that resulted in six Super Bowl championships, eventually, it all blew up. Kraft essentially fired Belichick after the 2023 season, and the relationship has been icy ever since. Last year, ESPN reported that Kraft warned Falcons owner Arthur Blank not to trust Belichick when Blank was considering hiring him, and Dynasty, the Kraft-backed Apple TV+ documentary, wasn’t exactly kind to the coach, when it even remembered to mention him. Belichick, meanwhile, notably left Kraft out of his 2025 book, The Art of Winning: Lessons From My Life in Football. Eventually, he will be welcomed back to Foxborough and they’ll build a statue in his honor, but a happy reunion still feels years away.

Who won the beef? This year has been a bit of a PR disaster for Belichick, but this is an easy win for the iconic coach. And Belichick could pick up another check in the win column over his former boss if he’s elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility in early 2026, before Kraft himself gets a gold jacket. —Lindsay Jones

In May 2021, at the PGA Championship on Kiawah Island, Koepka displayed a level of disdain for another human that is all too relatable: that feeling of disliking someone so much that their mere presence is stomach churning. Answering a question about his round, Koepka paused at the sound of DeChambeau’s metal spikes, and as the juiced-up golfer passed behind him, all Koepka could muster was an eye roll and a sigh. There were years of pent-up frustration behind that bodily reaction—mostly back-and-forths over pace of play and, uh, physical fitness—but this was the moment in which the feud boiled over and went mainstream. It was the perfect face-off for golf: a Chad vs. Virgin beef in which Brooks was the cool guy with the hot wife being like, “Yeah, bro, I chew gum and win majors,” while Bryson insufferably droned on about body mass index and launch angles. Ever since DeChambeau packed on the pounds and beat the U.S. Open into submission in 2020, patting himself on the back at every turn, everyone had been waiting for someone to knock him down a peg—and with Koepka offering to buy beer for anyone who came to his cause, it was clear that we had found our hero.

Who won the beef? That level of clarity would last only a millisecond. The PGA put rules in place to punish anyone who dared yell “Brooksy” on a golf course; the 2021 Ryder Cup acted as a metaphorical Warsaw where the war between Brooks and Bryson began to thaw. And when both golfers left the PGA Tour for LIV in 2022, any illusion that these two were all that different was washed away. Since 2021, both golfers have won one major—but Bryson has seven top 10s in majors to Brooks’s two and has also turned the tide of public opinion his way with a shockingly successful YouTube channel. I feel very strongly that we should still be rolling our eyes at this dude, but not even Brooksy feels that way anymore, which means that Bryson won. —Gruttadaro

Dakota Johnson has never been one to let strong emotions overtake her carefully measured disdain (hence the dubious passions of her performance as Anastasia Steele). While her reluctance to act like she gives a shit can limit her acting, it makes her a masterful takedown artist in interviews. Because if you don’t quite care about the well-rehearsed make-niceties of the traditional press tour, you can get away with toppling empires. And in November 2019, Johnson did just that when she appeared on Ellen and called the host out for not attending her birthday party, which Ellen had, in fact, been invited to. Ellen tried to recover with her usual bluster, but the damage had been done: A cavalcade of rumors (including photos of her and George W. Bush, whom she’d apparently snubbed Johnson to hang out with) and reports of workplace abuses and general bad vibes followed the interview, culminating in the cancellation of Ellen (and, for the most part, Ellen) once and for all. Dakota punctured the aren’t-I-so-nice-even-when-I’m-kinda-mean public image that DeGeneres had based her career on, and the Ellen balloon deflated in short order.

Who won the beef? Decidedly Johnson. Ellen lost her show and her reputation—and with it went the stability of the 15-minutes-of-fame ecosystem. Johnson’s star, on the other hand, has lasted well beyond 15 minutes. Besides Ellen, she’s also taken down limes, her neighbors, Madame Web, and lie-detector tests. America has learned to quake before her soft smile and perfectly imperfect bangs. —Hunt

The idea of O’Brien taking over The Tonight Show hosting desk from Leno was a comedy nerd’s dream. Then, not long after it finally happened in the spring of 2009, it became a nightmare for O’Brien. Unhappy with declining ratings, NBC threatened to move the program to 12:05 a.m. while also pushing Leno’s new show into the 11:35 time slot. Leno didn’t seem to have any problem with this shift, choosing to go along with a change that obviously undercut O’Brien. Naturally, the American public and America’s biggest comedians lined up to support Conan—Jimmy Kimmel famously dressed up as Leno as a bit and ripped Leno on Leno’s new show—and he eventually took a $45 million buyout in early 2010 to leave the network. 

Who won the beef? Conan lost The Tonight Show, but he got the last laugh. After all, he’s always been at his best doing his own thing. Leaving network TV freed him up to do a much quirkier, funnier talk show than could’ve ever aired in Johnny Carson’s old time slot. And 15 years later, he’s as hilarious as he’s ever been. Hell, the guy who had a long-running bit about Mac and Me now hosts the Oscars. —Alan Siegel

In 2018, sparks flew when two of the biggest female rappers of the 2010s fought each other—and not just with their words, either. Nicki Minaj and Cardi B had each avoided starting a direct conflict with the other over the previous year, sneak dissing in songs, social media posts, and radio appearances instead. But the long-stewing beef reached its boiling point at New York Fashion Week in September, when a physical altercation broke out between Nicki and Cardi. A video of the confrontation revealed Cardi being held back by security as she tried to push through to fight Minaj, shouting all the while and at one point even launching a shoe. (Even Nick—whoops, I mean, Vince—Lombardi might’ve been impressed by Minaj’s poise under pressure.) Photos of Cardi in the aftermath showed a pretty substantial bump on her forehead, allegedly from taking an elbow to the dome from one of the security guards. It’s typically high drama when any famous artists are feuding in public, but this rivalry got especially chaotic.

Who won the beef? Neither. What this rap beef lacks is any actual music that encapsulates the full extent of the feud in a meaningful way; most of the dispute happened outside any recording booth. The two rappers never truly made use of their crafts to fuel the beef, which their fans and the media always seemed to want more than they did. Although there were further, less dramatic developments after the Fashion Week fight, the beef has largely just fizzled out over time. —Chin

We don’t get many long-term beefs in the NFL, especially between coaches—but any red-blooded American can spot a pissing contest between an ungovernable Gen Xer and an indefatigable baby boomer.

Their paths intersected before they became coaching foes. In 1991, Harbaugh’s best season as the Chicago Bears’ starting quarterback included a 19-13 overtime victory over the New York Jets defense, coached by Carroll—and Harbaugh was ballin’ en route to the win. But things really heated up once Harbaugh joined Carroll in the collegiate coaching ranks. In 2007, Harbaugh’s Stanford team stunned Carroll’s top-10 USC squad, and then two years later, he delivered his proof-of-concept win with a 55-21 pasting of Carroll at the Coliseum, leading Carroll to issue the iconic (and still unanswered) question “What’s your deal?” during the postgame handshake. Both coaches left for the NFL—and the NFC West—and in the early to mid-2010s, each coached legitimate contenders in some of football’s best battles. 

Who won the beef? Even though Carroll and Harbaugh have split their 12 matchups as coaches and Carroll has enjoyed more overall success in college and the pros, the winner in this is undeniably Harbaugh. This football feud reeks of a sibling rivalry, and Harbaugh is well versed in how to conduct himself as a pesky younger brother. That ass kicking in 2009 is still the only time a coach has seemed to rankle the über-chill Carroll, and forcing a respected competitor to submit is clearly one of Harbaugh’s greatest joys. Now, more than a decade later, these two will match up again in the AFC West as two geezers in football, continuing the best coaching rivalry since George Allen and Tom Landry were battling it out in the 1970s. —Lee

In the summer of 2015, we were all minding our business, blissfully and ignorantly jamming out to “Uptown Funk” by Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars, when Meek Mill dropped a bomb on Twitter. “Stop comparing drake to me too…. He don’t write his own raps!” he said. “That’s why he ain’t tweet my album because we found out!” From there, everything spiraled out of control, prompting a probe of sorts into Drake’s lyrical history, a larger examination of ghostwriting in hip-hop, and ultimately, a very catchy diss track in “Back to Back.” (Remember when Drake was good at those?) Nicki Minaj, who was dating Meek at the time, was used as a vessel to humiliate him, as Drake rapped indelible lines like “Is that a world tour or your girl's tour?” and “Shout to all my boss bitches wifin' n----- / Make sure you hit him with the prenup.” In the end, Drake and Meek patched things up, later collaborating on a truly great song in “Going Bad,” but man, what a time that was.

Who won the beef? Drake, undoubtedly. He emerged from this beef more powerful than ever, almost with an air of invincibility—you’re telling me Meek, a legitimately hard-ass rapper from the rough streets of North Philly, couldn’t topple this singing Canadian dude? In retrospect, it’s all too funny to look back on. —Jenkins

The PlayStation 2 launched in 2000, and the original Xbox debuted in 2001. The two brands have been fighting for market share ever since. The early 1990s battle between the Super Nintendo and Sega Genesis will forever be synonymous with the concept of a “console war,” but that showdown didn’t endure, whereas Microsoft and Sony have been waging their war for a full quarter century. Their conflict has raged across four fronts—the sixth through ninth console generations—and both companies have started to tease their next systems, ensuring that their struggle for supremacy will Quick Resume when the PS6 and Xbox Series Something replace their respective predecessors. Xbox Network vs. PlayStation Network; Game Pass vs. PlayStation Plus; Master Chief, Marcus Fenix, and, uh, Phil Spencer vs. Kratos, Ellie, and Aloy. These are the debates that online loyalists still start flame wars over, even though many gamers have grown out of corporate-partisan sniping.

Who won the beef? In one sense, Nintendo: While Sony and Microsoft were competing to produce the most powerful consoles, Nintendo outsold their PlayBoxes by embracing motion controls and portability with the Wii and Switch. But in another sense, Sony. Only in the PS3–Xbox 360 era did Microsoft manage to match Sony’s sales; otherwise, Sony’s hardware has built up large leads. PlayStation’s rep for superior software exclusives persists even after Microsoft swallowed ZeniMax Media and Activision Blizzard, and Sony still has a knack for fostering family-friendly mascots (Ratchet and Clank, Sackboy, Astro Bot). Sony struck first in porting its properties to TV and film, too, although Microsoft has huge hits on its hands in Fallout and A Minecraft Movie. For all intents and purposes, the pecking order has been set since Sony dunked on Microsoft in a 2013 video that boasts as many millions of views as seconds of footage. Microsoft’s multiplatform pivot has only solidified Sony’s lead; when Master Chief comes to PlayStation, it may finish the fight. —Ben Lindbergh

Before Randall Emmett, I didn’t know it was possible to lose a beef via typo. The fateful keystroke came midway through a war of words mostly carried out via Instagram caption in 2019, after the rapper 50 Cent accused his former business partner of being overdue on payment of a $1 million loan. 50 Cent was seemingly antagonized after watching a clip of Emmett’s then-fiancée, Vanderpump Rules cast member Lala Kent, talking on the show about getting a Range Rover from Emmett after they had sex for the first time. 50 Cent, presumably displeased with the allocation of funds, posted the clip with a caption that began, rather disrespectfully, “Ten seconds left in the fourth quarter hoe’s are winning.” Kent fought back immediately in the comments, but when 50 Cent started posting screenshots of old texts about the loan, plus ominous demands that he be paid in full by the following Monday, Emmett wasn’t up for the fight. And that’s when his finger slipped. “I’m sorry fofty,” he texted, according to screenshots shared by 50 Cent. The rapper also made T-shirts. Automatic L. 

Who won the beef? Unequivocally Fofty, who got his money and a new graphic tee venture. —Nora Princiotti

Grimes once let Azealia Banks crash for a weekend at her then-boyfriend Elon Musk’s house in L.A., and the rest is history. Banks would go on to accuse Grimes and Musk of a variety of offenses: committing investment fraud at Tesla, trying to jump Banks into a threesome, and ultimately ghosting her while nevertheless being in the house with her. In a legendary series of posts on Instagram, Banks compared her stay to “a real life episode of Get Out.” Musk denied ever meeting Banks, and Grimes went quiet at the time and only evasively commented on the saga years after the fact. In any case, ever since, Banks has continued to antagonize both Grimes and Musk via social media, once sharing a series of texts that she sent to Grimes telling her that she smells “like a roll of nickles.” She’s a reaper with a smartphone, Azealia Banks. Send not to know for whom the notification chimes—it chimes for thee.

Who won the beef? This one is a sort of Korean War type of stalemate, with sporadic one-way hostilities and no decisive breakthrough in sight, but because she’s hit her opponents with so many unanswerable drags over the years, I’m giving it to Banks. —Justin Charity

It was the slap heard round the world. Not since Rick James squared up to Charlie Murphy has an open-palmed strike reverberated so loudly across pop culture. The fallout from the 2022 Academy Awards was immense: Smith was banned from attending the Oscars for a decade, and his popularity took a dramatic, precipitous decline—which he still hasn’t fully recovered from. But Smith and Rock’s feud goes back years before that fateful night. As Smith defenders will say, Rock had been taking shots at Smith’s wife, Jada Pinkett-Smith, since at least 2016, when Rock, who hosted that year’s Oscars, mocked her decision to boycott the ceremony for its lack of diversity. “Jada went mad. Jada says she’s not coming. Protesting … Jada boycotting the Oscars is like me boycotting Rihanna’s panties. I wasn’t invited!” When Rock went in on Jada at the same event six years later, it was apparently too much for Smith to handle.

Who won the beef? The only way to really answer this question is by asking, “Who lost the least?” Rock got slapped on national television, and that’s embarrassing, sure, but even with all the Jada context, most people were sympathetic to him. (He almost died.) Smith tarnished his sparkling public image and sullied the night on which he finally won an Academy Award after decades of trying. That’s tough to swallow. —Jenkins

Whenever Mike Evans retires, he’ll do so with a pretty compelling case for the Pro Football Hall of Fame: 11 (and counting) consecutive seasons with at least 1,000 receiving yards, an average of 10 touchdown catches a year, and a Super Bowl ring. The Bucs have named him their nominee for the league’s Walter Payton Man of the Year award four times. He’s unquestionably been one of the best receivers of his generation. He’s also found himself engaged in one of the league’s nastiest and longest-running active on-field feuds with cornerback Marshon Lattimore, who spent most of his career with the Saints before joining the Commanders last season. This runs far deeper than longtime rivals who faced off on opposite sides of the line of scrimmage twice a season; this is true football beef, one that’s led to brawls, more than $100,000 in fines, and one suspension (for Evans). 

Who won the beef? Evans. Technically, Lattimore is the winner here because he’s been punished far less by the NFL than Evans. And historically, he’s played Evans really well, something few cornerbacks of this generation can say. But while Evans has certainly lost his cool against Lattimore, he’s looked cool doing it, and I’m giving him extra credit for mixing it up with a pestering cornerback to defend his quarterbacks. —Jones

In the late aughts and early 2010s, Taylor Swift and Katy Perry had similar taste in men (both dated John Mayer) and backup dancers, and it was a dispute about the latter that led to a long-running beef between two of the biggest pop stars of the era. The feud started when Perry reportedly poached several dancers from Swift’s tour, and for a while there around 2014-15, it seemed like they couldn’t stop exchanging barbs in interviews and on social media. Things like “Watch out for Regina George in sheep’s clothing” (Perry) and “I have my friends. I have enemies” (Swift). Most importantly, the beef inspired Swift to write “Bad Blood”—a massive commercial hit with objectively cringey lyrics like “’Cause baby now we got bad blood / You know it used to be mad love.” By 2019, the beef was quashed: The two famously revealed that they had made up when Perry appeared in Swift’s “You Need to Calm Down” music video while dressed as a cheeseburger. Beef, indeed.

Who won the beef? There is no world in which, in the year of our lord 2025, we can declare Perry to be the winner of anything. It’s only a shame that these pop stars made up because I’d love to hear what sort of sick burns Swift might have penned about Perry’s recent trip to “space.” —Jones

The peak tabloid drama of the mid-aughts, Lindsay vs. Paris played out mostly in a series of back-and-forth jabs via the press around 2006, which brought us phrases like “firecrotch,” and “Paris is a c---,” which Lohan said on camera seconds before denying she ever had. At the time, Lohan was rumored to be dating one of Hilton’s exes, the Greek shipping heir Stavros Niarchos, which served as context for their issues. But really, this was a fight over It Girl dominance, over whose bottle service came faster at Les Deux, and over who wore their Balenciaga City Bag better. 

Who won the beef? If I had to choose one of these ladies, I guess it’d be Hilton since her tabloid exposure was ultimately less fraught than Lohan’s. But the real winner is Page Six. —Princiotti

It’s the ultimate millennial time capsule: One of the biggest bands in the world learns that a demo for its new single, a track made just for John Woo’s Mission: Impossible II, has leaked on a new online file-sharing service and promptly decides to go scorched earth. Metallica’s ensuing copyright infringement lawsuit against Napster back in 2000—that yes, started with Conner O’Malley fave “I Disappear”—effectively brought down the company. But there was far more to it than that. Napster’s boom and bust revolutionized the recording industry, leading to the monetization of digital music. Napster died so that streaming could live. 

Who won the beef? Metallica, but in hindsight, it was a Pyrrhic victory. Lars Ulrich and Co. thought that they were protecting their bottom line. They had no idea that the rise of streaming would cause physical media sales, including their own, to, well, disappear. —Siegel

A few weeks ago, ABC News and Terry Moran separated after Moran called Donald Trump “a world-class hater,” a peculiar statement for the network to censure assuming that ABC News is in the business of publishing FACTS. Trump was a “world-class hater” long before he was a crusader against immigrants. For years, he was a conspicuously bitchy straight man who would spend hours at a time ranting to Entertainment Tonight about Cher, Bette Midler, Angelina Jolie, Sarah Jessica Parker, and, of course, his 2000s archnemesis, Rosie O’Donnell. O’Donnell, for her part, was an outspoken liberal who cut her teeth earlier in the 2000s by criticizing the Bush administration on The View before really settling into her ideological back-and-forth with Trump. Over the years, Trump would call her “a pig,” “a slob,” and “a loser”; O’Donnell would call him an “orange anus.” These hostilities would persist even as Trump moved on to far more important things. He’d invoke Rosie in one of his presidential debates with Hillary Clinton. And he most recently ribbed her in an Oval Office photo op with Ireland’s prime minister, in response to a recent report that O’Donnell went to Ireland to escape his second presidential term. This rivalry has spanned most of my time on earth at this point. Personally, I insist that this is the only beef that has ever mattered.

Who won the beef? Trump has eclipsed O’Donnell so badly—so bigly—that it feels a bit quaint recalling the time when this was considered a fair fight. She literally fled to Ireland! —Charity

If only Baby had paid Pharrell.

You can trace this entire feud—and the beginning of Drake’s biggest reckoning—to the fact that the Cash Money mogul never made the Neptunes whole for the “What Happened to That Boy” beat. There are other important escalating details—BAPE hoodies, autographed mics, etc.—but over the years, Baby’s beef had passed through Lil Wayne and become Drake’s, while Pusha T remained hell-bent on getting justice for the man who gave him and his brother their break. (Loyalty to Pharrell is the same reason Push went after Travis Scott on the new Clipse single.)

For more than a decade, the feud had largely been fought through subliminals and warning shots, but by May 2018, Push was ready to press the proverbial red button. On “Infrared,” the final track on his excellent Daytona, he called Drake out as directly as he ever had to that point. And after Drake made it personal on his response, “Duppy Freestyle,” Pusha unleashed “The Story of Adidon,” a surgical dissection of the “God’s Plan” rapper that (1) called Drake’s racial identity into question, (2) reminded the world that Drake’s close friend and closest collaborator had multiple sclerosis, (3) included cover art that showed the biracial Drake in blackface, and (4) revealed Drake’s to-that-point hidden child to the world. (And while Drake denies it, the timing does make it seem like he may have been preparing to, uh, debut his son as part of the “Adidas press run” mentioned in “Adidon.” Funny, then, that seven years later, Clipse would roll out their comeback album with an Adidas shoe.) 

Who won the beef? We can talk about record sales, credibility, or how this beef informed Drake vs. Kendrick, but here’s the easiest way to sum it up: If you have to respond to a diss track with a Notes app apology, you’ve lost on a historical level. —Justin Sayles

There are two things I’ve always appreciated about the purported feud between Julianna Margulies and Archie Panjabi, who played Alicia and Kalinda, respectively, on The Good Wife. First is its sense of mystery: More than a decade after rumors spread that the two couldn’t be in the same room, we still don’t really know why. Was Margulies jealous? Was Panjabi unkind? Even if the answer to either or both questions was yes, how did it get this bad? Which brings me to the other thing I admire: This beef taught me a lot about the magic of TV and film production! Turns out you can shoot an entire scene in which two characters chat side by side at a bar without the two actresses ever having to interact! (“Julianna Margulies and Archie Panjabi Did Not Shoot That Good Wife Finale Scene Together—and It’s Not OK” is the most 2015 headline imaginable.)

Who won the beef? Nobody. This is what they took from us. —Baker

There’s a pretty good chance you first became aware of 50 Cent’s existence via a beef or at least his attempts to stir one up. Sure, there was the famed Ja Rule feud, but go back a few years before that, and you’ll find “How to Rob,” a song in which he detailed precisely how he’d stick up the biggest rap and R&B figures of the late ’90s. (Going at Jay-Z or Ghostface in 1999? Understandable. But Keith Sweat? That’s just twisted.) 50 emerged from most of these battles with nary a scar on him, aside from Cam’ron forcing Curtisssss into the lexicon for a little bit. But he may have found his toughest match in the form of someone who knew how to handle himself in the ring—literally. 

They were one-time close friends, but 50 and Floyd Mayweather had a falling-out in the 2010s over money that the rapper said he was owed from helping to run the champ’s boxing promotion company while Mayweather was serving a sentence for misdemeanor domestic battery. By the time it went public, it had become cruel and highly personal. 50 said that he’d donate $750,000 to a charity of Floyd’s choice if he could read a page of a Harry Potter book. Mayweather fired back by saying that he’d give 50 $1 million if he could record a video of Curtis’s son saying he loved his dad. Forget the ice buckets—these were the most entertaining challenge videos of the decade.

Who won the beef? Mayweather never lost in the ring, but this match was firmly a draw, as ultimately no one had to prove that they could read or that their kin actually loved them. —Sayles

It’s the reality TV beef to end all reality TV beefs, one that somehow catapulted its participants to near A-list-level fame. It was a feud mired in a 2000s-era sex-tape scandal, driven by crystals, and capped by the iconic line “You know what you did!” What Heidi Pratt (then Montag) purportedly did was leak a story to TMZ about her Hills costar and best friend Lauren Conrad having a sex tape with her ex (Spencer eventually fessed up to being the culprit), though more generally, what she did was let her boyfriend get in between the friends. From there, much of the rest of The Hills became focused on the hostility between Lauren and Heidi and the fleshy-bearded boyfriend who just wouldn’t go away, a story line that would seep into and stick in real life long after the MTV show ended. To this day, the trio hasn’t come to a truce—which, I think, is exactly how fans of The Hills want it.

Who won the beef? Are we judging on the basis of morality? Because if we were, I think even Spencer and Heidi would concede that LC won. But if we’re judging on something more amorphous, like who has the upper hand, and if we’re making that judgment today, in 2025, you might have to say that reality TV’s über-villains won. Sure, Lauren parlayed reality TV stardom into a multimillion-dollar fortune, but Spencer and Heidi’s star may be brighter today than it ever has been, after they turned the tragic burning of their home in the L.A. fires into a resurrection of Heidi’s music career. If you’re unfamiliar with these people, that previous sentence is—and I mean this in the most complimentary way possible—a perfect encapsulation of them. —Gruttadaro

Nas and Hov’s scuffle may have been supplanted for the title of rap’s messiest beef by a more recent conflagration, but it is still indisputably the convergence of the two most talented artists in the history of hip-hop feuds. Never before or since have two rappers more highly regarded in the pantheon of all-time MCs battled it out, and never before or since have two opponents been better suited to piss each other off in ways that no one else in the game could. Beef ingredients included but were not limited to: juvenile insults, blatant homophobia, outright misinformation, various forms of attempted big timing, and an eventual cuckolding allegation. You’ve got two of the top five tracks in beef-rap history (“Takeover” and “Ether”) and two of the pettiest bars ever penned (“Your bodyguard’s ‘Oochie Wally’ verse better than yours” and “You 36 in a karate class”). You’ve got Nas comparing Jay’s mustache to “whiskers [on] a rat” and Jay calling Nas a has-been with a “one-hot-album-every-10-year average.” Their reconciliation, perhaps the greatest upset in the history of the genre, may have taken some of the heat out of the dustup, but the bars still sear.  

Who won the beef? Well, one guy’s mom made him apologize over the radio, not only to the other guy and the other guy’s ex-girlfriend, but also to “any females” the world over whom “I may have offended.” It hasn’t mattered in hindsight—in the end, they were both too big to kill—but if that ain’t an L, I don’t know what is. —Lex Pryor

When he was a youngster, Kevin Durant used to spend so much time practicing in the gym that he sometimes wound up spending the night there. As a grown man, Durant treats Twitter much the same way: constant reps at all hours, putting in the work whether he’s got the hot hand or is in the midst of a slump. “No relax when I’m on Twitter,” he explained in 2021 about his posting strat. “I’m on 10 until the second I close the app.” He was, as ever, just being honest. Durant’s social media history is both evolving and timeless. Back in the day, he used to tweet about drinking Scarlett Johanneson’s [sic] bathwater. Now, he prefers to engage with the more unwashed masses, both via burners and on main. From “you cornballs” to “Look at u, Emotional,” Durant has spent a lifetime perfecting the art of the dunk, and it shows.

Who won the beef? Durant (although even the greats still put up total bonehead misses from time to time). —Baker

Rumors of discord between Parker and Cattrall dogged Sex and the City throughout the series’ original run (which may have ended, in part, because Cattrall was sick of making less money than Parker). But details didn’t surface until after Cattrall scuttled plans for a third film, at which point the gloves publicly came off. Cattrall confessed that she and her former costars had “never been friends” and singled out Parker, whom she said “could’ve been nicer.” The following year, Parker expressed her Instagram-comment condolences for the death of Cattrall’s brother, which sparked Cattrall to respond in a post—which is still up!—in which she called Parker “cruel”; declared, “You are not my friend”; and demanded that Parker “stop exploiting our tragedy in order to restore your ‘nice girl’ persona.” From the outside, it’s tough to determine where the blame lies in this she-said, she-said situation, but for what it’s worth, no one in the SATC orbit seems to support Cattrall.

Who won the beef? SJP, probably, in that she kept the friends—Kristin Davis and Cynthia Nixon, and Charlotte and Miranda—in the divorce. Of course, if Cattrall’s greatest crime was advocating for more equal pay, perhaps she had a point—and she does deserve props for drawing the line at six seasons and two movies, despite the incentives to keep cashing in on her signature role. The sequel series And Just Like That … hasn’t contradicted Cattrall’s belief that the franchise’s best days are done. Not that Cattrall completely swore off Samantha: She reportedly made $1 million for a phoned-in, minute-long cameo comeback in the AJLT Season 2 finale, so financially speaking, she got the last laugh. —Lindbergh

It is the interpersonal beef of all sports beefs, yet, in hindsight and through no fault of its own, we’ve steadily defanged it. Shaq vs. Kobe had everything—the fisticuffs, the churlish browbeating, the press conference theatrics, a run of periodic recriminations, and an impact zone that covered the whole sport in dust. The quotables were A1: Kobe branding the Big Aristotle “fat and out of shape,” Shaq asking the Black Mamba how his ass tastes. Before one of their first meetings as opponents, after he’d been traded to Miami, Diesel predicted that the two’s rivalry would play out on the court like “a Corvette” hitting “a brick wall”—which makes the beef incomparable, because it’s true that it was really more like two tectonic plates crashing into each other. Two MVPs, nine rings, and 29 All-NBA appearances between the two. Shaq and Kobe were, and are, the greatest pairing in the history of basketball and the sport’s greatest what-if. They could’ve conquered the world had they not hated each other. Honestly, they still did.

Who won the beef? Kobe. Even after you strip down all the layers of hagiography that we’ve coated him with, Kobe sparked and fueled a second dynasty after Shaq, answering this for good. Add his subsequent deification by the hoop generations who followed their careers, and it's as close to a wrap as you’ll get. —Pryor

Braun had to have known that Swift wouldn’t be happy when he purchased the rights to her first six albums from her former label in 2019, but he may not have understood the lengths she’d go to to get her music back—and get revenge. Six years later, Swift has rerecorded most of those songs, completed the biggest tour in history, reached new levels of stratospheric fame, become a billionaire, and finally bought her old masters back, a career trajectory arguably entirely animated by this feud. This was global economy–boosting beef. In fairness, Braun off-loaded Swift’s masters for a profit less than a year after buying them. But he’s gone down as the mega-villain of this saga. Gesturing at all this in her interview as Time’s “Person of the Year” in 2023, Swift made one of her most accurate self-assessments: “I respond to extreme pain with defiance.”

Who won the beef? Braun made a neat profit on his deal, but Swift turned this beef into the animating force behind the biggest years of her career while altering long-standing practices in the music industry. Plus, I’m not sure that Braun goes out in public quite as much these days. —Princiotti

If we were ranking ’90s beefs, Oasis vs. Blur would be a top seed. But after Britpop’s peak and Blur’s first hiatus, the spotlight shifted fully to Oasis’s internecine squabbles. Blur’s Damon Albarn was the one who worshipped at the altar of the Kinks, but the Gallagher brothers were the heirs to Ray and Dave Davies’s band-defining (and band-destroying) drama. Noel and Liam—older brother and younger brother, writer and singer, ego and id—began bickering publicly even before their band broke out, and the threat that they’d break up hung over every Oasis studio session and tour during the group’s heyday. After a few false endings in which one brother or the other briefly left the band, the seemingly final fracture came in 2009, five minutes before the siblings were supposed to take the stage at a festival in Paris. Amid another heated argument, Liam got his guitar and, per Noel, “started wielding it like an axe.” (As Liam later told it, “The only regret I have is that our kid became a dickhead.”) Liam may have missed Noel’s head, but his antics—sometimes hilarious and sometimes downright dangerous—spelled the end for Oasis, at least for the next 15 years. 

Who won the beef? Neither? Both? Oasis had more or less run its course creatively by 2009, and both brothers have had pretty productive post-breakup careers: Noel’s music is more sophisticated and star-studded, but Liam’s is often more fun and faithful to his former sound (not to mention more scintillating live). Of course, the brotherly beefing didn’t end with Oasis, either, as the war of words continued long after the band combusted. I’m inclined to declare Noel the winner solely for saying that Liam is “like a man with a fork in a world of soup,” but it’s tough to top the devastating simplicity of Liam’s likening his brother to a potato. This much seems certain: Just as the Gallaghers’ musical talents combined to make their band better and bigger, their beef made them more interesting than either one would’ve been on his own. And their extended estrangement made their reunion this year hotly anticipated and highly lucrative—not least because there’s no telling how long the rapprochement will last. —Lindbergh

Have any four words ever been so powerful as “I don’t know her,” particularly when said about an international superstar by an international superstar? Sure, you could say that the beef between J.Lo and Mariah started when Jennifer Lopez began working with Mariah’s ex Tommy Mottola in the late ’90s and was inflamed when Mariah alleged that J.Lo’s 1999 song “I’m Real” stole a sample she had originally used on “Loverboy.” It was then cemented in history when Mariah said of Jenny’s eight-hour-a-night sleep habit, “If I had the luxury of not actually having to sing my own songs, I’d do that, too.” But the cold war between Mariah and Jennifer didn’t become an all-timer until 2008, when a 2003 German red carpet interview was uploaded to YouTube, showing Mariah responding to the alleged feud between the two with a smiling, headshaking “I don’t know her.” To be fair, Lopez agrees: “We don’t know each other.” 

Who won the beef? When two women as powerful as Mariah Carey and Jennifer Lopez keep performing and making music (and musical movies) in the face of a world constantly trying to pit them against each other, we are the true winners. But also, when a four-word diss becomes so culturally essential as to have its own Wikipedia page, the person who said it wins the beef. —Walker

This beef became such a massive mainstream spectacle, for so many months, that it’s easy at this point to underappreciate its surreal novelty and shock value. Drake and Kendrick Lamar were on a collision course for a decade before the main event, so the explosion of tensions in spring 2024 was a pay-per-view moment for hip-hop. A million people spent a strangely invigorating weekend in May listening to Drake say that Kendrick abused his wife and Kendrick accuse Drake of being a pedophile. It would have been one thing if these guys were just trading a few disses, but Kendrick really kicked the hostilities into maximum overdrive with a flurry of songs—including his fateful megahit “Not Like Us”—that transformed this otherwise conventional rap beef into something more like guerrilla warfare. This all culminated with Kendrick calling Drake a pedophile at the Super Bowl and Drake suing his record label based on QAnon-esque theories about the label’s collusion with Kendrick. 2Pac wept.

Who won the beef? K.Dot, 10 times over. Drake is currently mounting a career comeback with “Nokia” and Iceman, but he’s no longer the invincible winner that he seemed to be before he got swarmed with thousands of people chanting “A minor.” —Charity

If you ask me, Fast & Furious peaked when Dominic Toretto (Vin Diesel) and Luke Hobbs (Dwayne Johnson) faced off in Fast Five, trading body blows in a glorious celebration of testosterone and baby oil. Dom had other adversaries in the franchise, but Hobbs was the first who felt like a genuine peer. But perhaps, as Diesel later intimated, putting “two alphas” together was always going to cause trouble. This beef came to a head when, during the filming of The Fate of the Furious, Johnson stated that an unnamed male costar was a “candy-ass,” and it didn’t take long for everyone to reach the conclusion that he was referring to Diesel. The situation was so bad that Diesel and Johnson reportedly didn’t film any scenes together in Fate, and after Hobbs led his own spinoff film, the character didn’t appear in F9. The actors have mended fences enough that Hobbs makes a cameo in Fast X, but even if their beef has simmered down, it might not take much to reignite it. It’s an alpha thing. 

Who won the beef? This is about as tricky as determining a winner between Dom and Hobbs, since nobody in the Fast franchise is capable of losing a fight. Does Johnson take the L after flaming out in other blockbusters, or has Diesel essentially admitted that he needs Hobbs for these movies to work? A better question might be: Who is the only man still making weird posts about the #FastFamily on Instagram? 

By that metric, we can smell the Rock cooking up a win. —Miles Surrey

The most dissected grainy video since the Zapruder film emerged in the aftermath of the 2014 Met Gala. It showed Solange Knowles wailing on her big sister’s husband in an elevator, to the point that she had to be restrained, while said big sister looked on. In the months—hell, years—that followed, one simple, unanswerable question remained: Why?

And how could it not? This was pop culture’s preeminent royal family, reduced to starring in a video better suited for WorldstarHipHop—presumably thanks to one well-compensated hotel employee with a line to TMZ. And while the joint statement the family would issue after the incident said that they had worked through it, the photographic evidence suggested everything but that:

Roughly two years later, we got a possible reason for the elevator altercation: Becky with the good hair. On 2016’s Lemonade—on the short list of the best scorched-earth records ever made—Beyoncé seemingly made public the fact that her husband had an affair. The linchpin song was called “Sorry,” as in she ain’t sorry, and it detailed a male antagonist’s dalliances with another woman. For a moment, it made Jay-Z the most hated man in America and gave some justification for Solange’s actions in the elevator. Lil’ sis has never confirmed that this is why she attacked her brother-in-law—officially, she’s said only, “What we had to say collectively was in the statement that we put out, and we all feel at peace with that”—but it’s a tidy narrative. And it’s one that Beyoncé has been happy to fuel in her own way. On “Cozy,” she sang, “Confident, damn, she lethal / Might I suggest you don't fuck with my sis.” Safe to say her husband did and found out.

Who won the beef? In 2017, Jay-Z released 4:44, essentially an apology record and real estate guide to Dumbo. On one song called “Kill Jay-Z,” he raps in the second person, “You egged Solange on / Knowin' all along, all you had to say you was wrong.” He hasn’t dropped another album since. The family survived the ordeal, so consider it a win for Knowles-Carter imperialism, but it’s hard to call this one anything but a massive loss for the patriarch. —Sayles

Grueling pre–pitch clock marathons. Jeter vs. Nomar, A-Rod vs. Varitek, Evil Empire vs. Idiots. The Core Four; Pedro, Petey, and Papi; Wake, Youk, and Manny being Manny. Pedro wrasslin’ Don Zimmer and subsequently calling the Yankees (Enrique Wilson among them) his daddies. Doug Mirabelli’s police escort. The turncoats Roger Clemens and Johnny Damon. The Aaron Boone Game … or was it the Grady Little Game? The Bloody Sock. The Steal.

From 2002 to 2005, the Yankees and Red Sox played to a 45-45 draw in the regular season and postseason combined. They won the most and second-most games in the majors, respectively, in the 2000s, and they faced each other almost 200 times. They finished first and second in the AL East eight times and first and second in MLB payroll six times. This classic rivalry somehow went up a level in this era—and led to some serious bad blood, only some of which was sock related.

Who won the beef? Ultimately, the Sox, who recovered from their devastating defeat in the 2003 American League Championship Series to exact their vengeance just as unforgettably the following year. Boston’s comeback from a 3-0 deficit in the ’04 ALCS was a prelude to their curse-killing championship the same season, which received a sequel in 2007. Granted, the Yankees tacked on a title in 2009, but they haven’t won one since, while the Sox have claimed two more. On the other hand, the Red Sox notoriously traded their homegrown Hall of Fame right fielder, while the Yankees re-signed theirs. The rivalry rages on—or simmers on, maybe, since these mortal sports enemies haven’t had a first-and-second finish or a matchup in a full postseason series since 2018. —Lindbergh

It’s kind of hard now to remember a time when this beef was fun, but it’s much easier to insist that this beef is the defining pop culture feud of the 21st century. It is the reason why some of the most notable music of the past few decades even exists. From the moment Kanye West stormed the VMAs stage in 2009, gone off Hennessey, he welded a bond of indignation between himself and Taylor Swift and all those who dared pick a side between the two. The president weighed in. Kanye said that he “made that bitch famous.” Taylor dropped subliminals in acceptance speeches. Kim Kardashian took up her then-husband’s sword, tilting the rivalry with some found-footage shenanigans, sending hordes of commenters with snake emojis into the lair of Taylor Swift, who would eventually reclaim that snake for herself. There were ceasefires and broken agreements. Tree Paine worked so hard. Now that we’re all older—and now that a certain somebody has moved on from celebrity feuds to full-blown Nazism—this yearslong war feels frivolous, even gross. But if you were there on the night of the VMAs or the night Kim dropped the video, you know how major this was.

Who won the beef? These things are decided in the court of public opinion, and right now, I’m not even sure Kanye West is allowed within 50 feet of a courtroom. —Gruttadaro