The Philadelphia game carved Rex Valen’s name permanently into the 2010 American sports calendar.
Within hours every major sports site’s servers were buckling under the traffic of people searching for him.
ESPN ran a massive looping GIF of the 2.7-second tip-off dunk on its homepage: **Physics Has Left the Chat — How Does a 265-Pound Monster Run Like a Ferrari?** Bleacher Report did what Bleacher Report does best—posted a photoshop of Greg Monroe crying into a toilet while a blank-faced Rex dunked in the background.
TNT Sports followed immediately: **39-22-10 Immortality — Two Games and Rex Just Rewrote the March Madness Frontcourt Hierarchy** The wave did not stop at the Pacific.
It crashed like a tsunami.
Sina Sports, Sohu, NetEase—every major portal’s sports section was flooded with full-screen images of Rex.
**Miracle!
265-Pound Beast Dominates Philadelphia — 20-20 in a Half and Embarrasses All-American Monroe** **After Yao Ming, Our New Paint Tyrant Has Arrived** **Next Interior Monster — What Does His Draft Stock Look Like?** fans flooded Sina’s comment sections and hotlines demanding live coverage of every remaining game.
The executives moved fast.
Overnight they cut a heavy check and secured exclusive rights to every remaining Fresno State contest from the NCAA.
Before 2010, March Madness barely registered.
A few Finals games at most.
Full elimination-round coverage for one player was completely unprecedented.
Overnight, fans across the country set alarms and passed the word.
No one wanted to miss a single second of the monster.
Evening on the Fresno State campus.
Orange streetlights cast soft pools of light across the paths.
Rex had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled low and a black mask covering most of his face.
Campus fame had turned him into walking clickbait; the disguise was supposed to help.
Paul George rolled his eyes so hard they almost left his head.
“Bro, if campus security sees you dressed like that they’re going to tase you on sight.” “The outfit is pointless.
It’s like trying to hide Charles Barkley’s ass under a trench coat—anyone with eyes can still identify the silhouette.” Rex conceded the point and pulled the mask down.
“Seriously though,” George continued, “how big are you right now?
I checked Twitter.
Our official Fresno account has like a hundred thousand comments in characters under the last post.
And your media over there is going to broadcast our next game live?” “My name is about to reach the mysterious East?” “Relax, PG.
Keep throwing the ball a little higher so I can dunk more and I’ll make sure the endorsement deals never stop.
You’ll be living on General Tso’s chicken and Coconut Tree brand coconut juice.” George frowned.
“What’s General Tso’s chicken?
And what the hell is Coconut Tree brand coconut juice?” They kept walking.
Near a small grove of trees a group of girls’ voices floated over.
“Did you guys see the game tonight?
That center is so fucking hot!” A blonde in short shorts waved her hands with pure excitement.
“Oh my God, of course I watched.
Those shoulders, that muscle definition—I was melting in the stands.” A Latina girl had stars in her eyes.
“Do you think a 7’1″ power animal like that is just as rough and… long-lasting in other departments as he is on the court?” “Oh gosh.
If that’s true I’m going to need to have 911 on speed dial.
That would be a full humanitarian crisis.
But I still really want to find out…” Behind the trees Paul George let out a low whistle.
“Wow, Rex.
I’m pretty sure every girl on campus wants to get posterized in your paint right now.” Rex only smiled.
Campus fame had its perks.
American coeds were not shy about expressing interest.
But the Final Four was coming.
Extra energy belonged on the court, not in dorm rooms.
The next morning the Fresno State practice gym echoed with the clean bounce of basketballs.
The full roster stood around the tactical board.
Coach Steve Cleveland clapped once for silence.
“Alright, men.
Elite Eight is done.
No time to celebrate.
Our quarterfinal opponent is locked in.” His expression hardened as he wrote the name on the board: **Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets.** “This is a real title contender.
Completely different athlete profile from anyone we’ve faced.” He tapped two names.
“Iman Shumpert and Derrick Favors.” “First—Shumpert.
Pure defensive pest.
6’5″, strong as hell, mad-dog energy on the ball.
Averaging 12.4 points, 5.1 boards, 3.8 assists.
PG, he’s going to glue himself to you on every possession.” Paul George shrugged and smirked.
“I’ll just shoot right over that high-top fade of his.
The hair will be my aiming point.” Cleveland nodded, then locked eyes with Rex.
“Rex.
This is your real test.” “Derrick Favors.
6’10”, 245 pounds, true freshman.
Don’t let the age fool you—he’s a projected top-three pick this year.” “Fourteen-point-four points, 8.4 rebounds, 2.1 blocks a night.
Power and explosion at an elite level.
He is a different species of big than anything you’ve seen.” “Solid post skills, but the real problem is the physicality.
He will bull-rush you in the paint like an actual bison.” Rex nodded once.
He remembered Favors.
2010 lottery lock.
Undersized by traditional center standards but a true low-center-of-gravity wrecking ball.
Survived on strength and length on defense.
Soft touch and range on offense.
“Don’t worry, Coach.” Rex’s voice was calm and absolute.
“Whether it’s Derrick Favors or anyone else, nobody is stopping us from the Final Four.” Cleveland’s face broke into a satisfied grin.
“That’s the energy we need.
Georgia Tech is good.
We’re better.” “Goal—Final Four.” The entire room answered as one.
“Final Four!”