It wasn’t only the national media that got high off Rex’s arrogance.
After Fresno State’s thirty-three-point miracle comeback, the giant with nuclear talent triggered a magnitude-ten earthquake across the entire NCAA.
Far away in Lexington, Kentucky, the Wildcats’ locker room was still cooling down from a brutal intra-squad scrimmage.
Players sprawled across recovery chairs.
The television in the center of the room replayed Rex’s post-game interview on loop.
The moment the line “Wait until I’ve destroyed this year’s projected number-one overall, then ask me again” hit the speakers, the temperature in the room dropped several degrees.
“Ohhh, what did I just hear?
This dude’s got some serious mouth on him.” Eric Bledsoe wiped sweat from his forehead and shot a sideways look at John Wall, who was sitting quietly in the corner.
In every 2010 mock draft, John Wall was the undisputed, no-debate consensus number-one pick.
Rex’s words might as well have been pointed straight at Wall’s face: “Wash your ass and wait.
I’m coming to break you.” “DeMarcus, what’s your take?” Patrick Patterson nudged the big man beside him.
DeMarcus Cousins was staring at the screen with a look that could only be described as “nuclear-level peaceful.” As Kentucky’s interior monster and the consensus best center in the NCAA, Cousins treated the paint like his personal playground.
If he didn’t like someone, that someone got an elbow.
“Tristan that soft-ass bitch got dropped for 26 and 15 by some Asian kid in the second half?” Cousins spat on the floor.
“Big-12 defense is greenhouse roses.
If that kid runs into me I’ll put an elbow through his chest and teach him what real American force feels like.” “Easy, DeMarcus.
He’s not just your prey.” John Wall stood up, expression ice-cold.
“That kid is clearly talking shit at us.
Atomic bomb of Fresno or secret weapon, doesn’t matter.
If they somehow survive long enough to meet us… The whole team is going to give him a group lesson.
Neither the best center nor the number-one pick is something random dogs get to aim at.” The four Kentucky stars locked eyes.
Competitive fire had already been lit.
… Meanwhile, inside the tactical meeting room of the Pac-10 powerhouse USC, the discussion was several times louder.
Simple reason: USC was Fresno State’s next opponent in the round of 32.
“Look at this.
This is who we’re facing the day after tomorrow.” The USC head coach tapped the whiteboard, face as grim as a funeral.
“Rex Valen.
We have zero game film on him, but based purely on the physical tools he showed in the second half, we’re dealing with a once-in-a-generation freak.” Sitting in the front row was USC’s cornerstone, the Montenegrin center Nikola Vučević, holding Rex’s box score.
Vučević.
This season in the Pac-10 he was averaging 18.7 points, 13.4 rebounds, and 2.0 blocks.
Most Improved Player.
First-Team All-Conference.
Absolute anchor of the USC frontcourt.
“Coach, I think everyone’s overhyping him a little.” Vučević closed the stats sheet and spoke with a thick Eastern European accent, shaking his head.
“Basketball is a game of skill and IQ.
Players who only rely on physical tools never last at the highest level.
That’s the consensus of the sport.” To be fair, after watching the film Vučević believed he had a complete read on Rex.
Fast.
Strong.
Classic American physical style.
Vučević came from the European school and considered himself a deeper student of the game.
Skill and basketball IQ were what separated the players who survived from the ones who disappeared.
He stood, confidence shining in his eyes.
“The day after tomorrow I’ll pull him out to the perimeter with my mid-range and high-post playmaking.
Force a 7’1″ heavy tank to defend beyond the three-point line and his conditioning and defensive habits will fall apart.
Even if we end up in the post, I can handle him.
I’ll use pure European post fundamentals and teach him a real lesson.” Vučević’s confidence put the whole room back on solid ground.
If DeMarcus Cousins was the consensus best center in the NCAA because he combined body and skill, then Vučević was the slightly weaker-bodied but more complete technical version of Cousins.
On pure post skill, Vučević would challenge any big man in the NCAA over the last five years.
… Two days remained until the round of 32.
Afternoon on the Fresno State campus.
California sun, light breeze carrying that familiar floral scent.
Rex and Paul George had just finished extra work.
Both were shirtless, jerseys draped over their shoulders, laughing as they walked back toward the dorms.
In the sunlight Rex’s features looked carved from stone.
The 7’1″ frame and eight-pack of steel abs made him look like the war god stepped straight out of Greek myth.
In a university that size would mostly draw curious stares.
Dropped into an American campus, the same body turned half the female student population into instant fans of the local equivalent of spicy hot pot.
“Hey, Rex!
Free tonight for coffee?” A group of cheerleaders in very little clothing stopped on the sidewalk, waving hard.
One blonde bombshell even threw him a deliberate wink and pushed her chest forward a little more.
“Sorry, ladies.
Legs are dead from practice.
Rain check.” Rex flashed a bright, easy smile, voice warm but playful.
“But if you bring a pack of strawberry gummies down to the dorm, I might draw an extra heart on the signed jersey.” “Ooooh!
Deal!
We’re going right now!” The girls squealed and scattered toward the convenience store in a cloud of chatter.
Paul George watched the whole scene and turned into pure lemon juice.
“Fuck you, Rex!
You traitorous bastard!” His face was pure tragedy.
“That was Cindy!
Assistant captain of the cheer team!
Every guy on campus wants that!
Last week I asked her out and she told me she’s allergic to Black guys!
Now she’s asking if you’re free and volunteering to buy you strawberry gummies?!
I’m the face of Fresno State!
Why is some dude who played half a game already stealing my entire spotlight?!” What really made George’s blood pressure spike was that several of those girls were exactly the “American thick” type he had been daydreaming about the last few nights before sleep.
“Relax, PG.
Stop complaining like a neglected housewife.” Rex laughed and threw an arm around his roommate’s shoulders.
“Listen to big bro for a second.
Once you hit the League this year and sign that multi-year deal worth tens of millions—hell, even nine figures—Fresno cheerleaders won’t be the only ones asking what you’re allergic to.
Mid-tier Hollywood actresses will line up.” “For real?” George looked suspicious.
“Money makes the world go round.” “That’s not what I meant.” Paul shook his head.
“You really think I can land a hundred-million deal in the NBA?” Truth was, George was never a pure blue-chip prospect.
A solid lottery pick around the tenth overall range was realistic, but guaranteed max money was never a sure thing.
Rex shrugged, then winked.
“I believe in your potential, PG.
On one condition—you stop letting your impulses run the show.
Cut back on the daily takeoff-and-landing sessions.” As George’s roommate, Rex knew far too many of the man’s secrets.
College-age Paul George was no different from most high-school and college kids: energy levels permanently stuck on overdrive.
“Damn it, there are people around—shut your mouth…” George’s face went red.
He scrambled to change the subject.
“Rex, serious talk.
You really declaring for the draft this year?” “Of course.” Rex’s smile faded.
The moment the NBA entered the conversation his eyes went distant, fixed on the path ahead.
“The NCAA stage is too small.
Only the League can let me use everything I have.” George nodded, then asked the natural follow-up.
“Any team you’re eyeing?
Lakers?
Heat?
Link up with the superstars—that’s the fast track to a ring these days.” In 2010 the superteam era hadn’t fully exploded yet, but the trend was already visible.
The Celtics’ Big Three had just shown the league a new blueprint.
Rex curled his lip in pure disdain.
“Superteams?
That’s what weak people do.” He laced his fingers behind his head, voice carrying quiet arrogance.
“If I go somewhere, it has to be a place where I make the decisions.
I want to take a bottom-feeder and turn it into a dynasty with my own hands.
Make every so-called super team shake when they see us coming.” George stared at the giant beside him.
The ambition and absolute self-belief radiating off Rex were almost physical.
“Sounds cool as hell… but it’s gonna be brutal, Rex.
You’ll have the entire league hunting you.” Rex suddenly stopped walking.
“That’s why I’m asking, PG.
Once we both hit the League… you wanna join my team and be my number two?” “Uh… joining your team is fine.” Paul George frowned.
“But being your number two… Why does that sound kinda weird…”