Like NBA teams, the Bruins had a locker-room tradition of "rookie hazing."
But what just happened was by far the most "unique" initiation Kevin Love had ever seen.
The one who struck first—Darren Collison—ended up on his knees, tears streaming down his face, nearly fainting from pain.
If Kevin hadn't stepped in to beg Doug to stop, Doug wouldn't have let him off at all.
Even so, Doug still forced him to write a confession with his left hand, stamping it with a handprint, before finally taking him to the bathroom to soak off the glue with cold water.
By the time the glue dissolved and Collison's right hand was freed, it was already twisted into a crumpled mess.
In truth, Doug hadn't used his full strength, nor had he deliberately crushed his bones.
Still, Collison would be spending the night in agony.
"Remember this, Snoop Dogg!!! I'll get my revenge!"
Collison spat the words venomously before storming off.
Doug couldn't be bothered to care.
He already saw through Collison: a typical bully who picked on the weak, backed down from the strong, and wasn't particularly bright.
"Hmph. Revenge? If you even dare sleep in the dorm tonight, I'll give you credit for guts."
Doug sneered, then sat back at the computer, ready for another round with Kevin Love. But Kevin suddenly got a call from his father, Stan Love—an NBA scout was visiting, and Kevin had to hurry home.
Both Kevin Love and Darren Collison were aiming for the 2008 draft. According to the three major mock draft sites, Collison's highest projected spot was 15th, with Love close behind at 17th.
Westbrook, meanwhile, was undecided. As a freshman, he hadn't played much or shined yet. If he declared too soon, he might go undrafted. He was waiting for March Madness, hoping to break out on the national stage.
As for Doug? The NBA draft wasn't even on his mind. He played a game, shut off the computer, and went to bed.
A dreamless, quiet night.
Westbrook, Love, and Collison never returned.
The next afternoon, after finishing his business school classes, Doug went straight to the gym.
Under Leon Bob's guidance, he began stretching and footwork drills.
Right now, Doug's strengths were power, rebounding position, and ball-handling in place. But beyond that, his basketball skills were full of holes. His first priority was coordination—at the very least, not looking so stiff.
Bob liked Doug a lot. The kid was polite, funny, and most importantly, willing to be his test subject. Unlike the star players dreaming of the NBA, who always worried about injuries ruining their draft stock—even Russell was starting to refuse intense regimens—Doug accepted anything.
Only Snoop. Only Snoop had the true spirit of science.
Bob had transferred all his passion to him. After all, where else would he find a "fool" willing to bench press 185 pounds while balancing on a yoga ball?
Only Doug could complete his "comprehensive scientific training plan."
Doug himself knew Bob was half winging it—his so-called "balanced scientific training" sounded a lot like a pyramid scheme. But he didn't care. All he wanted was to train so hard his body stopped feeling so rigid.
And in fact, the crazy routines worked.
Two oddballs with matching needs, they clicked instantly.
At 3:30 that afternoon, Coach Ben Holland walked in and saw Doug hanging upside down while Leon Bob tossed him medicine balls.
His brow furrowed.
He thought he might need to have a word with Bob soon. After all, this was UCLA basketball, not a circus act.
"Snoop, on court in five. We're running a full scrimmage."
"Got it!"
Doug quickly agreed. If he wanted to keep enjoying this training, he had to put in some work.
Reluctantly, Bob set his "test subject" down. Doug joined the others on the court—thirteen Bruins in total.
Defensive coach Nolan introduced him: "This rookie's name is Doug, can call him Snoop."
The team laughed.
Collison, of course, didn't. His right hand still throbbed.
After the brief intro, Doug put on the yellow jersey for substitutes.
He didn't know everyone yet, but he saw Kevin Love, Darren Collison, Mbah a Moute, and Jrue Holiday all in white as starters. Russell Westbrook was a sub like him.
At first, Doug wasn't put in the game.
Coach Nolan pulled him aside and patiently explained the team's plays and movements.
"When Leonard set that pick for Russell just now, he planted his feet outside the arc to give Russell a shield from Collison. Remember, your feet can't move during a screen, or it's a foul."
Doug already knew a bit about the rules, but Nolan's explanation deepened his understanding.
After all, he was an IQ-146 academic ace.
To him, learning this was no harder than solving a middle school algebra equation.
So when Nolan explained Leonard's positioning, Doug was already analyzing—shouldn't Leonard have set up at a 45-degree angle to the left of the basket? That way he'd block Collison more effectively and give Russell a straight-line drive. And between two points, a straight line is always shortest, right?
"Now look at Anderson's box-out. Smart—he claimed his spot in the paint early, kept Mbah a Moute out, and secured space for rebounds."
"Remember, when you're undersized, you have to expand your range to compensate for lack of height. That's why I always say—get your base stable!"
No sooner had he said it than Mbah a Moute spun around Anderson's position. Collison fed him perfectly, and he soared up, slamming the ball down hard.
"YEAH!!"
Mbah a Moute roared in triumph under the rim.
"Anderson's base wasn't stable enough," Nolan criticized. "He didn't restrict Mbah a Moute. He should've been deeper."
Doug disagreed. From Archimedes' principle, when you face greater force, you should actually move closer in, to maintain leverage. That's the only way to defend your ground. But he kept that thought to himself.
Nolan continued explaining screens and positioning.
But Doug's curiosity went further.
"Why do only perimeter players pass inside? Why don't bigs pass back out? From the basket, you've got the widest field of vision—the whole court fans out. From there, you can hit every corner with the shortest distance."
Nolan paused, then admitted: "Snoop, I can't really answer that. All I know is, shots at the rim are the highest percentage. Once you're in the paint, most players take it themselves."
"Oh!"
Doug nodded, thoughtful.
After a while, he asked again: "But why don't big men just drive the ball themselves? Their strides are bigger, their threat to the basket higher. Passing only adds risk."
"Because their center of gravity is higher. Easier to steal from them. Even in the NBA, few bigs push the fast break themselves," Nolan explained.
Then Nolan asked: "Snoop, what kind of player do you want to be?"
Doug thought for a moment. "If I find basketball fun and keep playing, I want to be the type who can start attacks from the backcourt, battle for rebounds in the paint, and also direct my teammates from anywhere on the court. I like guiding the whole team forward."
"It's like solving an Olympiad math problem—I start with the big picture, then break it down into details."
"So if I had to name my role, I want to be… an armed guard."
Honestly, Nolan didn't really get it.
But he looked Doug up and down.
He thought to himself: for Snoop to survive in basketball was going to be tough. At 195 cm, with long arms and great strength, sure—but his flaws were bigger. No ball-handling, no shooting, no experience, slow reactions. At best, he could be a temporary shield. Once Douglas returned, he'd be off the team.