The referee's whistle pierced the air. Kevin Love and Kansas State's center Heywood leapt for the opening tip.
snap!
Love won cleanly, tapping the ball back to Russell Westbrook.
On the bench, Snoopy slid into the farthest corner seat. Just behind him sat Jennifer Lawrence and Nina.
Jennifer, clearly baffled by basketball, leaned toward him. "Snoopy, why don't they let you on the court? Wouldn't six against five be easier?"
Her logic was simple, almost childlike.
Nina, UCLA women's team's starting point guard, couldn't help but laugh. She patiently explained the basic rule—that only five players per team were allowed on the floor. Jennifer nodded with wide-eyed curiosity, then immediately followed up with: "Then why aren't you one of the five?"
Nina instantly regretted engaging. Talking basketball with Jennifer was like explaining calculus to a puppy. Still, she was stuck now, so she trudged forward, trying to explain positions and roles.
Before the awkward exchange could stretch further, independent scout Edward quietly approached Snoopy from behind.
Edward had been fixated on him recently. For an independent scout, unearthing an unknown gem and pushing him into the national spotlight was the quickest way to credibility. Snoopy wasn't just a prospect, he was Edward's ticket to a career breakthrough.
He bent low, whispering, "You need to show something today. I'm in talks with a powerhouse franchise. If you impress them, you'll land in one of the best locker rooms in the NBA. That environment will shape your entire future."
His words overflowed with adjectives, promises painted in gold.
Snoopy only lifted his head slightly, offering a polite, measured smile. "Thank you."
Edward wasn't annoyed. In fact, he found Snoopy's calm aura eerily fitting for San Antonio's famously stoic "silent assassins."
From the very first possessions, the crowd had only one name on their lips: Michael Beasley.
By Kansas State's second offensive trip, he had seized the game. Against Luc Richard Mbah a Moute, it was a massacre. Mbah a Moute couldn't slow his steps, couldn't bother his shot, couldn't stop his boards. It was as if a schoolboy were helplessly watching a man steal whatever he pleased.
"This could turn into Michael Beasley's personal epic," said Heat VP Andy Leonard to Pat Riley, seated beside him.
Riley nodded.
Beasley's dominance was expected. But Riley's sharp eyes kept drifting to another—UCLA's #0. His lightning-quick first step, his violent strength, his relentless determination… Riley's mind scrambled for comparisons. Allen Iverson? Dwyane Wade? Stephon Marbury?
All close, but not quite right.
Then it hit him: "A driving-version Kobe Bryant?" he murmured.
"What's his projected draft range?" he asked Leonard.
"Fifteen to twenty. ESPN scouts think he could sneak into the lottery," Leonard replied.
Riley stroked his chin. Maybe two extra picks wouldn't hurt. Even in this so-called "weak draft year," this guard's body and mindset screamed lottery pick.
Meanwhile, Kevin Love was proving effective as a floor-spacing big man, nailing jumpers and battling for defensive boards. But Love and Westbrook alone weren't enough.
Against Kansas State's thunderous frontcourt tandem, UCLA was collapsing from the free throw line down. Beasley and Walker were dismantling them possession by possession.
Tweet! Timeout.
With 8 minutes gone in the first half, the score was 11–22.
In the ESPN booth, Reggie Miller—Hall of Famer and proud UCLA alum—showed no mercy.
"UCLA is a disaster tonight. Their defense is like a stale whole-wheat loaf gnawed by rats—soft, holey, and falling apart. Howland's in-game adjustments are worse than a nursing home patient with dementia. John Wooden's legacy is being squandered right before our eyes. UCLA should tear up his contract tonight."
Chad Ford tried to calm him. "At least Westbrook and Love are playing well, right?"
"That's individual talent, not UCLA basketball," Reggie shot back. "If you're relying on stars to go one-on-one, you're already finished. And even then—they're not winning you the game!"
On the sideline, however, Ben Howland was smiling.
He read aloud Mbah a Moute's stat line: "Two points, zero rebounds, zero assists, zero blocks, zero steals, three turnovers. Your matchup? Thirteen points, three rebounds, one assist, one block."
"You've matched their lead point for point," Howland said coldly. "Sit down. Watch how Snoopy handles this. And you too, Coach Cole, remember, offense isn't everything. Defense wins games."
He waved Snoopy forward. At the same time, he sent in defensive specialist Alfred Aboya and cutter/defender Lorenzo Mata-Real.
"Next play, we go zone!"
On the board, he drew a tight 2-2-1 shell. Westbrook and Bruin guard George Bloom at the arc. Love and Aboya anchoring the elbows.
And at the back, the linchpin, Snoopy.
The plan was simple: shut down Beasley and Walker's jumpers on the perimeter, force them into the paint… and into Snoopy's waiting arms.
Howland believed in his big guard's rim protection.
This was the NCAA. No defensive three-second violation. As long as Snoopy stopped even half of their drives, UCLA would claw back into it.
Tweet!
The horn blew. Wearing number 10, Snoopy walked onto the floor. The arena, tense and quiet, rippled like a lake untouched by wind.
Until Jennifer Lawrence stood up.
"STOOOPPPPY!!! GO!!! YOU'RE INVINCIBLE!!" she screamed, voice shrill and full of faith.
The effect was instant. A stone dropped into still water, sending ripples across Pauley Pavilion. Heads turned toward the golden-haired girl glowing with excitement.
On commentary, Reggie Miller covered his face. "Has Howland really lost it? He's sending a six-foot-three guard out there as a center? In the NCAA tournament?!"
Chad Ford chuckled softly, dodging the jab. "Well… his girlfriend looks impressive, at least."