Ever since Snoopy had miraculously been named Final Four MOP, then immediately signed that wildly controversial "5 years, $88.88 million" NIKE contract, and even dropped a Billboard Top-10 single with Disney princess Miley Cyrus, his popularity had skyrocketed to the level of Derrick Rose and Michael Beasley, maybe even a little higher.
But to the rookies entering the draft with him, his strength didn't match his fame at all.
So from O.J. Mayo downward, everyone wanted to step on him to climb higher. At this final sprint stage toward the draft, creating a highlight against the most marketable prospect could boost their stock dramatically.
Naturally, a wave of challengers surged toward him, especially the leapers. Recently ESPN had quoted the Orange County Chronicle, hyping Snoopy's rim protection and specifically emphasizing:
"He has NEVER been dunked on, head-to-head, in any game."
Those words were like gasoline on the competitive fire of young athletes. Who doesn't want to be the first? Who doesn't want to become famous with one poster dunk and jump up the draft board?
After all, draft position is tied directly to salary. A No. 1 pick earns near mid-level money. No. 2 gets less, No. 3 even less… and by Round 2, you're not even guaranteed a contract.
But what they didn't understand was this:
Ever since Snoopy first touched a basketball, whether it was USC's Renny Koon, Stanford's Lopez twins, Kansas's Joey Dorsey, or today's Anthony Randolph and top-pick favorite O.J. Mayo,
Every single player who looked down on him, mocked him, or tried to use him as a stepping stone wound up crushed beneath his iron palm.
Every. Single. One.
If it happens once, it's luck.
If it happens every time,
it's strength.
James White and JaVale McGee didn't get that. They only believed in the muscle memory in their legs and the tension in their tendons. In their world: jump high enough, and everyone lives beneath your crotch.
So when Snoopy gave that "sincere" invitation, James White immediately shot a glance at Eric Gordon.
Then he drifted up to the top of the arc to set a pick.
Moments later, he and Gordon cut into the paint together. With a slick spin move, Gordon pulled Kevin Love toward him. James White burst forward and launched, sky-high, elegant, almost artistic.
Gordon tossed the ball upward perfectly. White caught it mid-air, stretching into a beautiful, soaring poster attempt.
By dunk contest standards, it was a 48-out-of-50, elite height, elite form, pure beauty.
But this was not a dunk contest.
This was a game.
Right as he was about to hammer the ball in,
Snoopy slipped around McGee and shot upward like a missile.
The usually quiet, gentle Snoopy let out a deep, guttural roar as he clamped down on the ball with both hands.
Power surged from his core through his entire body, explosive, overwhelming, flooding into his right palm.
This was Snoopy's first full-power block.
He could no longer tolerate these spring-legged showoffs, swooping in one after another, baring their fangs, trying to dunk on him.
"Do you think I don't exist?"
"GET DOWN!!"
Snoopy roared, and raw force exploded.
Mid-air, the once-elegant James White instantly lost control. His arms flailed like a drowning man, but the air isn't water. There's no buoyancy, no support. His hands slapped at emptiness, and he plummeted,
All elegance erased.
THUD!!
James White landed flat on his back in the paint.
Pain shot through him, but that wasn't what hurt most.
What hurt most was Snoopy gripping the ball, leaning down coldly, and saying:
"You think YOU can dunk on me?"
White glared, ready to snap back,
But then,
BANG!!
Snoopy slammed the ball onto the floor beside his head.
The impact cracked through the court like thunder, drilling straight into White's skull, echoing with a will that said:
DO. NOT. CHALLENGE. ME.
Instinctively, fear replaced the fury in White's eyes.
Snoopy simply dribbled away calmly, crossing the three-point line before handing the ball to Derrick Rose.
The arena was stunned.
No one expected the normally polite, refined Snoopy to unleash something this violent.
The block alone, snatching White's dunk from mid-air and knocking him out of the sky, sent the crowd into a frenzy.
But when Snoopy leaned down and slammed the ball in warning beside his head,
The collective gasp was deafening.
For a moment, they couldn't even find the words.
"Beautiful!!"
Dwyane Wade punched the air. For the first time, he truly admired Snoopy, deeply, genuinely. It exceeded anything he felt for O.J. Mayo's skill set.
"There's a wild beast living inside Snoopy," Wade said. "We underestimated him."
"Before camp began, there were so many players in the media, wings, big men, swearing they'd dunk on him. They laughed at his height. Honestly, if it were me, I'd have clapped back instantly. But he stayed quiet. And now I see, his way was better."
"There's nothing more satisfying than flipping a challenger onto the floor and crushing his ambition with a basketball."
Wade relaxed his fist and smiled, glancing at Pat Riley.
Riley smiled as well.
As the coach who built the iron-blooded "New York Mafia" Knicks to challenge Jordan's Bulls, he had every reason to want a player like Snoopy:
Outwardly calm.
Inwardly, a tiger with fangs.