Twenty minutes later, Snoopy dangling upside down was finally released. He had completed the task of popping fifty balloons on the wall.
Leon Bob helped him with stretching afterward.
Once that was done, Coach Tony walked in. The court had been set up with a passing device, identical to the kind used in NBA Skills Challenges.
Kevin Ding didn't rush to interview Snoopy. Instead, he quietly observed him practicing passing drills, recording everything with his handheld DV camera. A voice in his head told him: these recordings would one day become priceless material.
By now, Kevin had already begun to map out a long-term reporting plan. He wanted to serialize the story in the Orange County Chronicle, creating an epic basketball documentary: chronicling a prodigious basketball boy's rise to elite status. He believed this long-form coverage would be far more valuable than a single interview.
"Listen, Snoopy. I know you're a rookie. So we'll start with the basics."
"I'll teach you the chest pass first. Quick, effective, highly accurate, and easy to control—this is the most common type of pass on the court."
"Watch me. Hold the ball with fingers spread naturally, thumbs forming an eight shape, support the back-side of the ball with your finger roots, leave your palms empty, elbows bent naturally…"
Tony's instruction was meticulous, as if teaching a first-grader. He demonstrated a pass to set a benchmark.
Then—BANG!
The ball missed, bouncing off harmlessly.
He looked a little embarrassed.
"Focus on the target when passing," he emphasized.
Just then… SWISH!
Snoopy's pass hit the five-meter target dead-on.
Tony froze.
"You hit it on the first try?" he asked incredulously.
Snoopy glanced at his hands, unimpressed. For him, it wasn't difficult.
Kevin Ding noticed another detail: Snoopy's palms were enormous, making a basketball feel smaller than a volleyball in his grip. He couldn't help but imagine his idol: how incredible would it have been if Kobe had hands like these?
Swish!
Swish!
Swish!
Swish!
Chest passes always found the target. Tony was stunned.
Next, they moved to overhead passes. Here, Snoopy wasn't perfect, but still highly accurate, especially for long-range passes. Tony couldn't help but think—maybe Snoopy would have a better career in football than basketball.
Then came bounce passes. Tony expected a minor difference between stationary and running passes—but the results were absurd: stationary, Snoopy's accuracy exceeded seventy percent; in motion, it dropped to zero.
Leon Bob stepped over to explain.
Tony's jaw dropped. "I've never seen a player like this. His finger control is perfect, but his body coordination… it's like watching a toddler learning to walk."
Leon Bob shrugged. "Aren't we all?"
Snoopy demonstrated single-arm, single-shoulder passes next. Static, his passes were missiles—dead-on. Moving, they were chaotic, like drunken bottles flying unpredictably.
Training continued until five in the afternoon.
Snoopy loved it. Each pass created vivid mental images of guiding teammates to score against opponents. He relished this sense of command over the court, perhaps why his professor believed his future achievements in macroeconomics would surpass his skills in microeconomics.
Kevin Ding had observed everything. When Snoopy finished his shower, Kevin approached.
"Hello, Snoopy. I'm Kevin Ding, an intern reporter for the Orange County Chronicle. I've spent the whole afternoon observing you. I see limitless potential. You could become an NBA elite. I want to chronicle this journey from the beginning, your story deserves to be told."
He continued passionately, "The media can amplify your fame. Readers will grow alongside you, making you a player with a devoted fan base. This could change your life, a full-featured tracking report."
Snoopy wasn't one to chase fame; he preferred living quietly. Still, Kevin's sincerity made him pause. "You really believe in me that much?"
"I swear," Kevin raised four fingers. "Among all UCLA Bruins, I think you have the highest potential. Some of it may never fully realize, but I'm willing to bet on you."
Kevin's eyes locked onto Snoopy.
"I want to be a great sports reporter. I need a chance to make that happen. You're that chance."
Snoopy felt the truth in his gaze. For the first time in his life, someone spoke so plainly, placing their dreams on him.
He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. I accept your coverage."
Kevin pumped his fist. "YES!"
Kevin had always been bold and willing to gamble. Most reporters would have produced a minor, quirky article. Kevin would treat Snoopy as the main star, framing him as a future superstar—the kind of coverage reserved for O.J. Mayo or LeBron James as prodigies.