All games in the Southern Division were set to be held in Sacramento, a city often overlooked, despite being the capital of California. But for this weekend, the NCAA tournament would bring it wealth and attention on a scale the city rarely enjoyed.
College basketball was always big business. Merchandise flew off the shelves, ticket prices soared, and television rights went for sums that could make NBA executives blush. By the time the tournament reached the Final Four, the broadcast fees alone outstripped those of the NBA playoffs.
That was why top NCAA coaches could command annual salaries in the tens of millions.
And that was also why many star players saw the NCAA as an unjust system.
The players carried the game, but none of them earned a dime, yet the system wrapped it up in the noble excuse of "pure basketball." If it were really pure basketball, shouldn't tickets be free? Shouldn't broadcasts be free? Shouldn't everything be free? Instead, schools happily took massive checks from sponsors while forbidding players from so much as speaking with one.
Snoopy didn't bother thinking about things that deep. For him, the perks were already more than enough. Free food, housing, clothing, and travel, on top of being the pride of Anderson Academy? That was a bargain.
Kansas State University and the University of Kansas might have similar names, but their play styles couldn't be more different.
The Jayhawks of Kansas were built on team basketball. They didn't have a single transcendent talent, but as a collective, their offense was unmatched.
Kansas State, on the other hand, thrived on raw talent. Two prodigious forwards, Michael Beasley and Bill Walker, held up the sky for the Wildcats.
Beasley was a statistical monster. Thirty points and twenty rebounds was just another night for him. He was the clear favorite to be the number one pick in the 2008 NBA Draft.
Walker, meanwhile, had once been touted as a top-five pick himself, until his knees betrayed him. Back in high school, he and O.J. Mayo had joined forces, racking up a 39-game win streak and dominating the national spotlight. His ceiling had once been as bright as Mayo's, but injuries cast doubt on his future.
Even so, Walker was still a savage on the court, hammering down dunks and posting a steady 15 points and 7 rebounds per game. But scouts had him stuck between the late first round and early second.
Which meant this game was everything to him.
He had studied UCLA tape, and when he saw that a smaller player like Snoopy was holding the paint, he laughed out loud. "Tomorrow, I'm going to dunk on that little guy so hard he'll start doubting life," he swore to Beasley.
Beasley only shrugged, still half in a daze. "Do your best. If you want to be a first-rounder, you've got to put on a show."
Walker clenched his fists, hunger burning in his eyes. He needed this game far more than Beasley did. After all, even if Beasley stopped playing tomorrow, he'd still be a lock for the number one pick.
Before tip-off, Coach Ben Howland had sat down with Snoopy to review Kansas State's tape. Honestly, there wasn't much to analyze, Beasley controlled everything, with Walker occasionally flashing brilliance.
"Can you stop them?" Howland asked plainly. "I mean… can you keep them out of the paint?"
Snoopy thought carefully before answering. "You know my lateral quickness isn't great. My turning speed is slow. If they come at me from two sides, or pull up with floaters, I can't guarantee I'll shut them down. But if they go straight to the rim, I can send them back every time."
"That's all I need." Howland smiled. "With their basketball IQ, the chances of them running a two-man weave or relying on floaters are slim. Power forwards like them, explosive, athletic, they live to attack straight on. That's where you'll beat them."
Snoopy nodded.
Then Howland added something strange: "From now on, you should tell people you're six-foot-eight. Two meters and three centimeters. Stick with that."
"What?" Snoopy almost laughed. "I'm six-foot-four, coach. One ninety-three. Why—"
But later, when he saw Michael Beasley warming up across the court, he understood.
Beasley wasn't even a full inch taller than him, but still claimed to be six-foot-ten.
Yeah, right. Maybe barefoot he was two-oh-one, tops.
The NCAA was full of height-padding.
Height inflation was an open secret in the NBA. Most players tried to go taller, while a few went shorter, Yao Ming to hide his giant frame, Kevin Garnett to dodge the "center" label, Kevin Durant to sound more like a perimeter player.
At 3:30 p.m., tip-off finally came.
Luc Richard Mbah a Moute got his wish, starting at power forward, directly matched against Michael Beasley.
ESPN broadcasted the game nationwide. To cover Beasley, they brought in draft expert Chad Ford, and none other than Reggie Miller, the retired NBA legend turned sharp-tongued commentator. Since leaving the Pacers, divorcing once, and joining ESPN, Reggie had become their counterpunch to Charles Barkley's TNT crew.
Before the jump ball, ESPN's cameras panned across the front rows.
Chad Ford rattled off names with practiced excitement: the Bucks' general manager, the Bulls' head of player operations, the Timberwolves' GM, the Grizzlies' VP… and the Heat's president himself.
So many NBA power brokers had gathered in one place.
And they were all here for one reason,
Michael Beasley.