After standing frozen in front of everyone for nearly forty seconds, Snoopy finally regained control of his body.
The roars and shrieks of gossip still hadn't died down in the Memorial Coliseum as he made his way toward the bench. He felt as though the stiffness around his knees had finally melted away, they were supple again, loose and responsive.
When Miley Cyrus threw down the microphone and kissed him on the chin, his entire brain went blank. His heart, already pounding at a high tempo, suddenly kicked into overdrive, hot blood rushed violently downward through his body.
And the instant Miley's tongue slid into his cold mouth, that boiling current surged through him, completely shattering the stiffness that had locked up his knees.
They came alive.
Flexible. Responsive. Free.
This kind of agility was something Snoopy had never felt before. For a moment, he thought his knees could drop to the floor and still hold him steady through a change of direction.
Of course, changing direction wasn't just about knees.
It was a full-body movement, if the upper body didn't cooperate, it could all fall apart.
Still, Snoopy knew one thing for sure: just with these knees alone, Aldridge was no longer a problem.
"Hey, Snoopy! How'd Miley taste? Got a little 'Miley-nutrient boost,' huh?"
Brian Wright rushed over, eager for gossip.
Snoopy ignored him.
Instead, he sighed and said, "Man… I guess talent really does let you do whatever you want. One song and you've got two pop stars falling all over you…"
Before he could finish, Russell Westbrook smacked the back of his head.
"What d'you mean 'fooling'? You don't understand, this is what we singers call chemistry. When we fall in love, it's all about the feeling. Got that? The feeling."
Brian Wright didn't get it.
Snoopy just covered his face helplessly. He didn't get it either, and he hated being lumped in with Westbrook's so-called "music scene." It was even more annoying than being forcibly kissed by Miley Cyrus.
At least that had felt… pleasant, in a physical way.
Coach Ben Holland walked over, clapping to pull his players back to focus. He brought out the tactics board and started drawing up adjustments. He wanted Luc Mbah a Moute to take over Kevin Love's role at the free-throw line, he needed someone who could pose an offensive threat there and also distribute the ball.
Luc looked hesitant. Playmaking wasn't his strength, and his ball-handling was limited.
Just as he was about to reluctantly agree, Snoopy spoke up.
"Let me do it. I'll pull Aldridge's defense out of the paint. Brian, Luc, Russell, cut hard to the rim. I'll get you the ball."
Ben Holland looked at Snoopy. He trusted that Snoopy wasn't the type to brag, but at the same time, he couldn't quite believe it, Snoopy had no driving ability and no jumper. His only threat from the free-throw line was… well, free throws.
Snoopy met his gaze with firm confidence.
Holland pursed his lips, then nodded.
Since Kevin Love went down, UCLA had been forced into a passive position tactically, even though they'd ended the first half with some dazzling defense and a monster dunk in transition. If Snoopy wanted to try something new, fine. Better to fight back than wait to die.
Beep!
The whistle blew. The second half began.
Even as the crowd was still replaying the image of Miley Cyrus dropping her mic and kissing Snoopy, the game was already underway.
NBC and ABC commentators wasted no time discussing the scandal as the broadcast returned from commercial, even replaying the kiss.
ABC treated it playfully.
NBC, not so much.
"This was clearly a staged stunt," NBC's commentator said sternly.
"Snoopy, as a UCLA player, showing off like this at halftime is disrespectful to the game. If he's trying to catch the NBA's attention through gimmicks like this, it'll backfire. It'll hurt his draft stock."
"As an interior player, he should focus on fixing his poor shooting and clumsy drives. I just hope he contributes something in the second half, though frankly, UCLA's chances are already dead."
NBC's tone was harsh as always, and their outlook on UCLA's title hopes remained grim.
To them, matching a 6'4" Snoopy against a 6'11" Aldridge was a disaster waiting to happen.
Darrell Arthur, Kansas's forward, seemed to agree. As play resumed, he sneered at Snoopy:
"Good thing Aldridge wasn't the one singing with Miley. Even if she jumped, she couldn't reach his mouth."
Snoopy shot him a cold look. He hated this guy, the kind who never stopped yapping in your ear. He'd heard of trash talk before, but never this annoying or juvenile.
Westbrook brought the ball up the court. Kansas had already set their zone defense.
At the free-throw line, Snoopy raised his hand. Russell passed it in immediately.
Snoopy caught the ball, Aldridge stayed back in the paint, only Arthur lingered nearby, waiting for an opening to strike.
Then suddenly — Snoopy lifted the ball, feinting a shot.
Arthur bit hard, sliding forward and leaping up for the block.
But midair, bang!
Snoopy snapped the ball to the floor and darted past him, a sharp side-step slicing through Arthur's defense.
His upper body stayed almost still, but his footwork was lightning.
He blew past Arthur and charged straight into the lane. Aldridge stepped up to meet him.
As Aldridge lunged forward, Snoopy met him head-on, small strides, quick, deadly.
Just as they were about to collide, BAM!
Snoopy executed a razor-sharp crossover, his steps cutting violently from left to right.
His movement looked awkward, but it was brutally efficient.
Aldridge was left behind.
Then, in one swift motion, Snoopy bounced the ball off the floor, Luc Mbah a Moute stormed in and SLAMMED it home.
The crowd exploded.
Just like that, Snoopy's crossover had shredded Kansas's paint defense to pieces. The gossiping atmosphere vanished, replaced by pure basketball heat.
UCLA was down by only five points now.
Los Angeles fans roared with joy. And across the arena, every NBA scout, GM, and executive sat frozen in disbelief.