On game days, Westbrook and Kevin Love always woke up early. Today, they brought Snoopy along.
The three jogged a lap around campus.
Then Westbrook stopped, face solemn, and muttered a prayer toward the southwest.
Doug and Kevin stood quietly beside him. They knew he was speaking to his late brother—hoping that Barrs, watching from above, could see his performance today.
Westbrook's path in basketball had never been smooth. As a kid, his talent didn't stand out. His closest friend, Barrs, was the prodigy. The two grew up together, conquering one Los Angeles court after another, then dominating at Leuzinger High School.
Back then, Westbrook was just Barrs's sidekick. Barrs was the shining star, a future NBA player in the making. Until tragedy struck—summer of sophomore year, Barrs collapsed in a pickup game and never got back up. An enlarged heart took him away forever.
From that moment, Westbrook carried his brother's UBA dream, grinding twice as hard.
Maybe it was fate—or Barrs's spirit—that Westbrook suddenly shot up in height that very same year. A UCLA assistant coach noticed him, and from the pool of recruits, he snagged a full-ride scholarship at the last minute.
"…Barrs, this afternoon I'm facing O.J. Mayo. You always wanted to see that Ohio kid in action. Today, I'll test him for you," Westbrook whispered.
After finishing his prayer, he rejoined his teammates, and together they headed toward the arena.
On the way, Kevin Love raised a practical concern: "Before we eat those candle-wax nutrition meals, shouldn't we get something decent first?"
Westbrook jumped on it immediately. "Pizza or burgers?"
Doug had no opinion—he'd never eaten a nutrition plan meal before.
But Westbrook and Love quickly disagreed. Westbrook craved pizza; Love wanted burgers.
"Rock-paper-scissors," Doug suggested.
Love nodded. "Good idea. But isn't that a little unscientific?"
"Best two out of three," Doug countered—the economics student opting for a more rigorous system.
Both accepted, played, and—Kevin Love won.
"Burgers it is!"
"Rock-paper-scissors—what a beautiful conflict-resolution tool," Love chuckled, swinging open the door to a burger joint.
The three Bruins starters dug in with relish.
Meanwhile, over at the arena, Darren Collison and Luc Richard Mbah a Moute got the news: they were out of the starting lineup.
Coach Holland delivered it almost without expression.
"Why?" Collison was stunned. "Coach, I don't think I should lose my starting spot in such a crucial game. USC has O.J. Mayo—the high school phenom everyone called a Kobe-LeBron hybrid. I'm the only one who can guard him."
It was a strong case.
But Holland shook his head. "Darren, you just came back from injury. I consulted with the team doctor. You hurt your calf, and that pulled on the thigh ligament. We have to be cautious—we're responsible for your career. And Russell's been phenomenal lately. He deserves this chance. I believe he's ready for that showdown with Mayo."
"You'll have your chance to return to the starting five once you're fully healthy. Just outperform Russell in practice like you used to."
Collison was left cornered.
He had two problems.
First: admitting his calf injury excuse was a cover-up. The hospital visit had been for something much more private. Coming clean would mean confessing his lie and dealing with the ridicule and rumors that followed.
Second: he couldn't explain why Russell had torched him in scrimmage the last two days. Westbrook suddenly looked unstoppable, and Collison simply couldn't contain him.
So he swallowed hard and stepped aside.
That settled, Holland turned to Mbah a Moute. His case was easier—he hadn't been a regular starter anyway.
"If I'm not starting, then who is?" Luc asked. "Are we running that Phoenix set?"
"Snoopy," Holland replied bluntly.
Luc's eyes went wide. Shock written all over his face: Why? Why Snoopy?
Collison stepped back in, openly incredulous. "Him? He's starting?"
Every curse word he'd ever learned crowded at the edge of his tongue.
To him, this was the most absurd lineup decision imaginable. He swore even his grandmother would do better than that damn Snoopy in the starting lineup.