I Hope Westbrook is Okay

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The next day, San Antonio, Texas.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the glass window, landing directly on Stevens' face.

After defeating the University of North Carolina, Butler University rested for the night and flew to San Antonio yesterday.

In two days, at 3 p.m. on April 5, they would face UCLA in the first semifinal to decide who would earn a spot in the finals.

At 9 p.m., the University of Memphis and the University of Kansas would compete for the other slot.

Stevens slowly opened his eyes, tilted his head away from the bright sunlight, sat up, and stretched.

"Brad, are you awake? I brought you breakfast. Here's your favorite hot dog," Liam said as he turned around, hearing the rustle of Stevens getting up. He pointed to the food on the table.

Stevens got out of bed, dressed, washed up, grabbed the hot dog, and joined Liam.

Liam was intently studying UCLA's game footage on his laptop.

On the screen, Westbrook powered his way through a double team, cut inside, and dunked in a game against Xavier University.

"Wow! Westbrook's talent is incredible. It's hard to believe a point guard can be that athletic, and his passing is just as impressive," Stevens said in awe.

"Yeah, he's entering the draft this year, and he'll be selected high for sure," Liam nodded.

The video shifted to Xavier on offense. Westbrook was defending the opposing point guard, applying pressure and nearly stealing the ball. However, when the point guard passed it off, Westbrook lost sight of him. The guard cut behind Westbrook, received a pass, and scored an easy layup.

Click.

Liam paused the video and looked over at Stevens.

"Brad, what's your take on Westbrook?"

Stevens chewed thoughtfully on his hot dog, then said, "His athleticism makes him a beast on defense, especially one-on-one. But when he's off the ball, he loses focus."

Liam smiled lightly and rewound the video to the moment Westbrook nearly stole the ball.

"Look at his defensive posture," Liam said.

Stevens studied the screen more closely and suddenly understood.

"You think he's taking too much of a gamble?"

In the footage, Westbrook leaned forward aggressively, reaching for the ball. If the opposing guard had better handles, he could have easily slipped behind Westbrook.

Liam nodded, dragging the video forward to several other defensive sequences involving Westbrook.

"He's constantly gambling for steals. His athleticism bails him out when he's out of position, making his one-on-one defense seem better than it is."

Stevens' eyes lit up. "So, you're saying we can have Stephen exploit that, break through his defense?"

Liam chuckled. "Exploit it? No, I want to teach him a lesson. Give him a taste of reality before he enters the NBA."

Stevens looked at Liam's "gentle" smile and felt an odd wave of sympathy for Westbrook.

"I hope Westbrook's okay."

…

In the morning, the Bulldogs gathered at a local gym for recovery training, preparing for their semifinal game.

Liam stood before his players. "We're making a lineup change for the game... Ben, you're starting in place of AJ."

"Me? Are you serious?" Ben Slaton asked in disbelief.

Since Curry joined Butler, Ben had barely gotten any starts. He hadn't expected to be called up in such a crucial moment.

"What, you don't want to start?" Liam teased.

"Of course, I do!" Ben nodded enthusiastically, though doubt crept in. "But... can I really do this?"

Given the win-or-go-home nature of March Madness, subs get very little playtime. Ben had only logged a little over 20 minutes in the first four games combined.

Liam's tone softened. "Ben, the team needs you—"

"I'm ready, Coach!" Ben interrupted, heart swelling with pride.

Ben had always dreamed of the spotlight, imagining cheers and glory as he led his team to victory.

"…just make sure to pass as we've practiced," Liam added.

Ben deflated slightly, realizing he wasn't being asked to lead. "Got it, Coach."

Liam turned to Butler. "Jimmy, your job is to guard Westbrook. You don't need to lock him down, but make it as hard as possible for him to score. Let him shoot if he wants, but focus on defending his drives. Also, trash talk him, get in his head."

Butler hesitated but nodded. "Okay, I'll try."

Though Butler wasn't afraid of defending anyone, trash-talking wasn't his forte. Growing up on the streets, his insults usually revolved around people's family members or body parts—not something allowed on the court.

"Stephen," Liam turned to Curry, "I need you to trash talk Westbrook too. Think you can handle it?"

Curry scratched his head sheepishly. "My mom raised me not to talk trash…"

The team burst into laughter. Liam sighed, "Fine, then celebrate after every basket you score. Rub it in his face."

Curry grinned confidently. "Now that, I can do."

Liam smiled mischievously. "Good. And you've got some extra training over the next two days. Something special for the game."

…

Two days passed quickly.

AT&T Center, San Antonio.

At 3 p.m., the energy inside the recently renamed arena was electric. More than 18,000 fans packed the stadium, having traveled from across the country to witness this monumental clash.

With Westbrook's explosive playstyle and Curry's finesse, both had built large followings. The demand for tickets skyrocketed, with prices soaring to nearly a thousand dollars—a figure comparable to finals tickets.

"Welcome to the first semifinal of the 2008 NCAA Championship! Butler University versus UCLA. It's Butler's first time in the semifinals, while UCLA is the most storied program in NCAA history. A battle between a dark horse and a powerhouse!" Jim Nantz's voice boomed across the CBS broadcast.

"We're honored to have legendary star and current Pacers GM, Larry Bird, with us. Larry, how do you see this matchup?"

Larry Bird chuckled. "As an Indiana guy, I've got to back Butler. But objectively, it's anyone's game. Butler's got Curry and Butler—wait, I meant Jimmy Butler, though that's confusing. And UCLA has Westbrook and Love. It's evenly matched."

"So, we're in for an intense showdown?"

Bird shook his head. "Not necessarily. I think

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