The day after Houston, the NCAA officially locked the Final Four bracket for the entire country.
Fresno State Bulldogs versus Ohio State Buckeyes.
Kentucky Wildcats versus Syracuse Orange.
National heat went nuclear overnight.
Kentucky owned the consensus number-one pick John Wall and the volcanic big man DeMarcus Cousins—talent gap so wide it felt unfair.
Syracuse had ridden wing assassin Wesley Johnson to a hard-nosed Cinderella run.
But the remaining matchup was the true national event.
Evan Turner of Ohio State was the undisputed face of the 2010 NCAA season.
Every individual award, locked number-two overall on every mock, the official scoring king of the tournament.
Across from him stood the three-center-template monster who had steamrolled every opponent in March Madness, paired with lottery wing and self-proclaimed Mamba disciple Paul George.
Genius versus genius.
The internet melted.
A few days later.
Los Angeles.
Staples Center.
The Final Four semifinal between Fresno and Ohio State had arrived.
Fresno State sat just outside Los Angeles, so the game felt like a home contest.
The 21,000-seat arena was more than half full two hours early.
The atmosphere already matched an All-Star weekend in L.A.
VIP rows filled with sports royalty and Hollywood names in clean sections.
Kobe Bryant sat front-row in a black casual suit, Pau Gasol beside him.
Magic Johnson was there too.
A cluster of A-list actors occupied the next section.
Leonardo DiCaprio kept a low profile under a baseball cap.
Kanye West gestured wildly nearby.
The most eye-catching presence belonged to Taylor Swift.
Simple white skinny jeans.
Over them she wore an oversized Fresno State number-91 jersey—Rex’s jersey.
Blonde hair loose, face glowing.
The entire building noticed her in one glance.
The oversized jersey hung loose, exposing a clean stretch of collarbone.
Pure and provocative at the same time.
Everyone in America understood the message.
The new pop queen had shown up specifically for Rex.
Barkley stared at the courtside seats and exploded into the mic.
“Kenny, tell me I’m not hallucinating.
This isn’t an NCAA semifinal—this is a Hollywood crossover All-Star event!” “Kobe, Pau Gasol, Taylor Swift, Emma Watson… this turnout is bigger than most NBA playoff games!” Kenny Smith nodded hard.
“Rex has completely left the college basketball bubble.
He’s a full crossover superstar now.
This is ridiculous.” On the floor the players warmed up.
Paul George dribbled, then caught sight of Kobe in the front row and froze solid.
The ball rolled off his fingers.
“Rex!
Rex!
Look!
That’s Kobe!
Lakers Kobe!
That’s my idol!” His voice shook with pure fanboy energy.
“I’ve been a Mamba disciple my whole life.
Half my game is copied from him.
My idol is sitting right there!
Do you even understand what this feels like?!” Rex casually rose for a warm-up dunk, voice completely flat.
“If you like him that much, go say hi.
Kobe’s cool.
He won’t blow you off.
Hell, he might have come tonight just to watch you.” “To watch me?” Encouraged, Paul George straightened his jersey, gathered every ounce of courage, and jogged over to the sideline.
“Hey Kobe, I’m Paul George.
Huge fan.
Tonight I’m going to compete exactly like you.” Kobe raised an eyebrow, then offered a rare soft smile.
He stood, slapped George’s hand, and patted his shoulder.
“You’re solid, kid.
I like your defense and your shot.
Keep going.” George nearly blacked out from happiness.
The Mamba just praised me.
He said I’m solid.
Little PG is about to ascend.
But before the glow could settle, Kobe stretched his neck and peered past him.
“By the way, PG.
Where’s that teammate of yours with the purple hair who likes snapping rims?
Why didn’t you bring him over?
I wanted to meet the future historical super big man early.” ???
George’s heart took a clean dagger straight through the center.
So the Black Mamba had carved time out of his schedule… Not to watch the self-proclaimed disciple.
But to see the purple-haired monster.
I was a fool for believing.
Both starting lineups were announced.
Fresno: Rex, Paul George, Kevin Minusnett, and the backcourt duo.
Ohio State: number-two overall Evan Turner leading a group of three defensive specialists and one blue-collar big.
The lead official walked to center court.
Every light in the building locked onto the circle.
The tip-off whistle sounded.
Ohio State’s interior blue-collar big, Lauderdale, exploded upward with everything he had, fighting for the opening possession.
The Murasakibara template answered.
Rex planted and launched.
Two-hundred-sixty-five pounds of pure mass violated physics and rose straight up.
He cleared the opposing big by a full head, flicked the ball with one long arm, and sent it perfectly back to Paul George at half-court.
Even though George was currently drowning in envy and heartbreak, the muscle memory never hesitated.
One long guided outlet.
Exact same opening script.
No mercy.
Tip-off long pass.
Rex landed, took two strides, and left the floor again.
Body fully extended in the air, one hand secured the ball, and he hammered it through the help defender.
KRA-BOOM——!!
The rim bent hard.
The dunk crack echoed through Staples Center.
2–0.
2.9 seconds.
Signature tip-off alley-oop, replicated once more.
Across the Pacific the Sina Sports booth lost its collective mind.
Ke Fan’s voice cracked at full volume.
“Here it comes again!!!
The classic that never dies!!!
Rex’s signature tip-off alley-oop is back in the Final Four!!!” “From 2.7 seconds in Philly, to 3 seconds in Houston, to 2.9 seconds at Staples!
This is carved into his DNA now!” “I hereby make a formal recommendation: every team that faces Fresno from now on should just forfeit the tip!” “Because the tip is nothing but a free alley-oop for Rex!” Su Qun kept nodding, voice full of quiet awe.
“When pure physical tools can erase every tactical scheme, that is the most terrifying part of Rex right now.” “Clearly the rest of March Madness still has not adapted to his physical intensity.” “Which means it’s about time the NBA stage got a taste of it too.”