Joey Dorsey was heavier, broader, and clearly stronger in pure physical force.
But the moment Luc Mbah a Moute's jumper left his hands, Dorsey failed to claim an advantageous position. The two of them were wedged deep under the basket, caught in a tight angle against the rim.
Bang!
Mbah a Moute's three-pointer clanged off the rim, the ball bouncing high into the air.
Dorsey immediately twisted his body, using his right arm to pin down Snoopy's left. From their previous jump-ball clash, he already knew, he couldn't beat Snoopy in vertical explosiveness. But he did have the edge in height and wingspan. If he just held his ground and waited for the ball to drop, he was certain he'd touch it first.
It was a fine plan, on paper.
To the spectators, it simply looked like a brutal battle beneath the rim.
Dorsey's weight bore down mercilessly, smothering Snoopy's movement. The pressure, physical and psychological, felt like a cage, trapping him in a prison of fate.
The ball descended, closer and closer.
And Snoopy could take it no longer. That helpless feeling, being restrained, manipulated, controlled, boiled over.
A roar erupted from his throat, raw and defiant.
Then, his legs exploded. Every ounce of power, every speck of rebellion, gathered beneath his feet and detonated.
He sprang upward like a tiger unleashed.
Dorsey, still pressing his arm down, was blasted aside by the sheer force of it. His eyes widened in disbelief. He had never imagined that Snoopy's lean frame could conceal such ferocity, such violent energy.
And before he could react, Snoopy had already snatched the ball above his head with one hand and slammed it through the rim.
BOOM!
The entire arena froze, then erupted.
A thunderous, one-handed putback dunk!
Pauley Pavilion exploded with cheers, the long-suppressed excitement ignited into an inferno.
Most fans hadn't even seen how Snoopy broke through the hold, but it didn't matter. Dunking over Joey Dorsey was enough to send the crowd into delirium.
"SNOOPY! SNOOPY! SNOOPY!!"
The entire arena chanted his name in unison.
Miley Cyrus leapt up from her front-row seat, waving her arms wildly.
At that moment, she felt a surge of pride so strong it almost startled her. She even caught herself glancing smugly at her two friends beside her, her expression practically shouting, "See that? That's my puppy. That's my boyfriend!"
After landing, Snoopy lifted his head, pointed at his right arm, and shouted his message to the world,
"POWER!!"
Returning insult for insult.
Joey Dorsey's face darkened, as if smeared with mud.
He stared around the arena, watching fans cheer, watching Westbrook and Kevin Love rush over to chest-bump Snoopy, and an ugly sense of humiliation clawed at his gut.
That powerlessness, it reminded him of last year's No. 1 pick, Greg Oden.
Is that my destiny too?
The thought flashed through his mind like lightning. He shook his head violently, clearing it, and sprinted toward the offensive end, his jaw tight with defiance.
He refused to believe Snoopy could truly suppress him. He was taller, stronger, tougher, he wouldn't accept this.
Meanwhile, as Snoopy ran back on defense, he noticed something odd, his strides felt lighter. Faster.
"His explosiveness reminds me of Stoudemire," Kobe Bryant murmured courtside to Mitch Kupchak. "And I mean pre-injury Stoudemire."
Kupchak nodded, still shaken. The image of Snoopy muscling Dorsey aside and dunking violently replayed in his mind, it had happened right in front of him. The collision alone had enough force to crack bone.
"But he still can't dunk off the dribble," said veteran scout Tex Winter calmly. "At best, he's another Ben Wallace, and shorter."
The words shattered Kupchak's daydream.
For all Snoopy's extraordinary vertical, his coordination lagged painfully behind.
Meanwhile, back on the floor, Snoopy had once again boxed Dorsey out perfectly. Though his face flushed red under the 123-kilo center's body weight, and his teeth clenched tight, Dorsey still couldn't move the 96-kilo Snoopy an inch.
Westbrook snagged the rebound. Recently, he'd taken a liking to hanging near the baseline to grab defensive boards, both for fast-break opportunities and for prettier stat lines.
He ripped the rebound down and burst forward, ready to launch a lightning counterattack.
But Snoopy, seeing both Derrick Rose and Roberts already sprinting back, shouted, "Slow it down! Control the pace!"
To everyone's surprise, Westbrook actually listened.
Coach Ben Holland's eyebrows rose sharply on the sideline. "Snoopy can make Russell listen? How in the world did he pull that off?"
In the frontcourt, Snoopy moved straight into the paint, forcing Dorsey to stay glued to him.
That one step inside was enough, the Memphis Tigers' defense instinctively collapsed.
Luc Mbah a Moute found himself wide open at the arc again, this time, swish!
He drained it, confident and clean.
As the ball dropped through, Snoopy jogged over and high-fived him. "Keep shooting. I'll handle the boards."
Mbah a Moute blinked in surprise. He'd expected Snoopy to freeze him out after all the friction between them earlier.
But Snoopy didn't seem to hold grudges. On the court, he set screens for him, passed him the ball, even tipped rebounds his way.
"Don't look at me like that," Snoopy said calmly. "We're teammates now. Winning is all that matters."
Normally, Mbah a Moute found that tone unbearably smug, dripping with an elite's superiority. But this time, it sounded, sincere. Even pleasant.
Second half.
Derrick Rose used Dozier's screen to slice into the paint. Snoopy tried to step up, but he was a beat too late.
The future No.1 pick was too fast.
Swish!
A clean reverse layup.
Snoopy could only watch, powerless.
The sting of it twisted inside him. From childhood, he'd always been the top student, always excellent at everything. His pride had built itself on never failing.
Now, that pride burned in his chest like fire.
He clenched his jaw tight.
He forced himself, to respond.