To be honest, Joey Dorsey was not happy about Coach Calipari's latest adjustment. He hadn't even had a proper muscle-to-muscle battle with that infuriating kid yet, hadn't had the chance to crush him beneath the might of muscle power, so why on earth was Coach sending that softie Dozier to guard him instead?
But Calipari's authority in the Tigers' locker room was absolute. Even Derrick Rose followed his orders without question. So for a supporting player like Dorsey, protesting wasn't an option.
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The whistle blew, and play resumed.
Coming out of the timeout, Derrick Rose ramped up his aggression. Using Dorsey's screen, he exploded into the paint like lightning. Snoopy's reaction speed couldn't keep up; he could only watch as Rose banked in the easy two.
Snoopy retrieved the ball, turned, and quickly passed it to Russell Westbrook to start the next play.
Watching Westbrook and Rose blaze up and down the court like twin streaks of lightning filled Snoopy with quiet envy. He wished he could move like that, his legs felt powerful, but it was as if his body refused to channel that strength properly.
If only I had Westbrook's or Derrick Rose's speed, he thought as he jogged back across half court.
That thought dragged his mind back to that night under the meteor shower at four in the morning.
Why had Westbrook's body suddenly evolved, every attribute improving all at once, while his own changes seemed incomplete? His height and strength had skyrocketed, but coordination and agility had worsened. Why?
By the time he reached the right elbow near the free-throw line, his mind was still clouded with frustration.
Westbrook swung the ball back to him.
But the instant it hit his hands, Dozier was already there, pressing tight.
Dozier was the agile type of power forward, long-limbed and wiry like a young Kevin Garnett.
Though Snoopy was stronger, Dozier's length and footwork more than made up for it.
Under that relentless pressure, Snoopy struggled to move an inch. With no other choice, he passed the ball back to Westbrook.
And Westbrook, never one for hesitation, went straight into attack mode. A quick crossover split the defense. He blasted into the lane and soared for the dunk.
BANG!
Joey Dorsey came crashing down from the weak side, swatting the ball out of midair. Luckily, Kevin Love reacted fast, snagging the rebound and going for a quick floater,
Clang!
Missed.
Dorsey grabbed the board, flexing and roaring.
"One block, one rebound!" the commentators shouted.
Dorsey pounded his chest, glaring at Snoopy. "That's power! P-O-W-E-R!"
His roar was so obnoxious that the Staples Center crowd erupted in boos. From the sidelines, Miley Cyrus stood and started shouting indignantly, demanding that security remove "the manic troublemaker" from the game. But the nearby guards could only apologize, only the referee could make that call.
Miley, unwilling to back down, tried to argue with the officials herself, until Coach Ben Howland hurried over and gently pulled her aside.
Howland was a kind man, and the last thing he wanted was for Snoopy's "girlfriend" to become tomorrow's tabloid headline. After a few patient words from him, Miley finally calmed down, though her cheeks were still puffed with indignation.
Back on the court, Dorsey muscled his way to another offensive rebound over Snoopy and tipped it out to Roberts, who drained a long two from just inside the line.
With back-to-back big plays, Dorsey strutted around the court, shaking his head and swaggering like he owned the place.
Snoopy's chest tightened painfully, as if an invisible fist had clenched around his heart.
He felt suffocated by helplessness.
Back on offense, Dozier's defense still clung to him like glue, cutting off his every move.
He vanished from the rhythm of the game.
Fortunately, Kevin Love stepped up, stretching the floor with a string of long-range jumpers.
Still, Rose and Roberts kept answering on the other end, maintaining a five-point cushion all the way until halftime.
"After Calipari's adjustment, Snoopy's weaknesses have been completely exposed," Tex Winter sighed from the booth. "He doesn't have the size or mass to bang inside. Sure, he's got power and bounce, but in the paint, height and weight are the foundation. Out on the perimeter, he doesn't have the first step to shake defenders, and his shooting motion is too slow, sigh."
"At this rate, the NBA isn't even a conversation," Winter added gravely.
Kupchak stayed silent, listening carefully. Winter's evaluations carried heavy weight in draft discussions.
"I think Snoopy should wait another year before declaring," Earl Johnson suggested during the break. "He's not even nineteen yet, and he's only been training professionally for two months. With the sudden growth spurt, his body just needs time to catch up. If he can regain coordination and mobility in the next year, he's a surefire first-rounder, maybe even a lottery pick."
"But what if a year passes and he's still the same?" Kenny Smith countered. "Right now, some teams might gamble on his upside. Next year, maybe no one will."
Charles Barkley suddenly laughed. "You guys are thinking way too hard. A kid smart enough to earn a full scholarship from UCLA's Anderson School of Business doesn't need the NBA. He'll probably end up on Wall Street, making solid money for life. Sure, not as much as the league, but it's stable. You can't age out of a finance job. The NBA? That's a young man's game."
"Oh no, Charles, I disagree," Earl Johnson replied. "If I were Snoopy, I'd definitely go to the NBA first. Get the money, the fame, and build a résumé. Even if he flames out later, he can return to Wall Street with a former NBA player's aura, that's social capital you can't buy. His mind won't age like his body, and that name recognition will open doors anywhere. After all, he'd be the first of his kind."
The TNT trio was so engrossed in debating Snoopy's career plan that they almost forgot tonight's supposed star was Derrick Rose. Still, the ratings held steady, so the producer didn't dare cut them off.
Meanwhile, on the UCLA bench, Snoopy sat clutching his chest.
The weight of helplessness pressed down on his lungs, stealing his breath.
He had to let it out.
Every time his mind replayed Dorsey's smug roar or Rose blowing past him effortlessly, the fire inside him swelled, demanding release.
I need to release this pressure, this useless, suffocating weakness.
His jaw locked tight, and his fists clenched so hard his knuckles cracked.
Enough.
It was time to end this pathetic, powerless feeling.
No more hesitation.
No more holding back.