Chapter 76: The Rarity of Weekly Honors and an Arrogant Rookie
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"Are you referring to Herb Sendek?"
Grunfeld appeared somewhat surprised.
In his impression, Sendek's presence in the Knicks organization seemed more tied to his relationship with Wang Song rather than any proven coaching capabilities. Was such a rash decision to replace the head coach really acceptable to the Knicks management?
Scott Layden remained silent, simply nodding.
In fact, he had been contemplating this move for quite some time. Complaints about Don Chaney from the coaching staff had grown increasingly frequent, and Chaney's arrogant attitude towards both management and the media left Layden thoroughly dissatisfied.
The Knicks' current roster chemistry and locker room harmony further convinced Layden that even a mediocre coach could keep the team afloat. Having a coach familiar with their star rookie felt like a logical interim solution.
Grunfeld, visibly shocked, struggled to digest Layden's bold plan. Replacing a head coach at this stage of the season was bound to cause a stir in the league. However, Chaney's lackluster performance had already eroded much of the management's patience, making his dismissal seemingly inevitable.
"Calm down, Grunfeld. This is only a temporary measure. We'll still search the market for a more qualified coach to build a tailored system around our core players," Layden reassured.
Hearing this, Grunfeld finally exhaled in relief.
---
After a grueling game in Denver, the Knicks boarded their flight home for New York.
On the plane, Wang Song was absorbed in upgrading his stats.
The Denver game had brought him a record-breaking 8,000 Stable Points in a single match.
**[Current Available Points: 9,530]**
Wasting no time, he allocated 9,000 points to improve his post-up game.
**Player: Wang Song**
- **Height:** 213 cm
- **Weight:** 97 kg
- **Attributes:**
- Agility: 99
- Rebounds: 99
- Interior Defense: 99
- Paint Scoring: 99
- Post-Up: 89
- Mid-Range: 70
- Three-Point: 60
- Playmaking: 80
- Perimeter Defense: 70
- Steals: 70
Surveying his updated stats, Wang Song felt pleased. Just 10 more points to max out his post-up game, and he would dominate the paint like a hybrid of Hakeem Olajuwon and Shaquille O'Neal.
However, he knew he needed to follow the nutritionist's plan to bulk up if he wanted to maintain dominance in the NBA, where physical battles were much tougher than in the NCAA.
Engrossed in his adjustments, Wang Song didn't notice the lively discussion about the NBA Player of the Week award brewing among his teammates.
"Steve, do you think Wang has a shot at the Player of the Week award?" Kurt Thomas asked enthusiastically.
For a role player like Thomas, such an accolade felt almost mythical. After all, the award wasn't exclusive to rookies—it was a recognition for the best performers across the entire league.
Even among the Knicks, only a handful had ever received it. One of them was, of course, Steve Nash.
Embarrassed by Thomas's eagerness, Nash scratched his head awkwardly.
Sensing his discomfort, Allan Houston chimed in to defuse the situation: "Let me put it this way, Kurt. I've been in the league for 10 years, and I've only won the Player of the Week award once."
"What?!" Thomas jumped in astonishment, nearly unbuckling his seatbelt.
Houston smiled wryly and nodded, while Nash added, "Same here, Kurt—just once for me."
Thomas looked back and forth between them, disbelief written all over his face. Houston was a top-tier scorer, and Nash was an elite playmaker. Yet both had only won the award once?
For the first time, Thomas began to grasp the true difficulty of achieving this honor.
"Now you've got me worried that Wang might not get it after all," Thomas muttered, sinking back into his seat.
---
Back in New York, the Knicks' victory in Denver had already set the city abuzz. Newspapers sold out within hours, and even the renowned agent David Falk struggled to find a copy.
"Michael, do you see this? This kid is the future face of NBA centers!" Falk exclaimed, puffing on his cigar.
Michael Jordan took the paper, smiling faintly.
"David, be honest with me—what does this kid really want?"
Falk paused, then calmly flipped the cigar in his hand, miming an abstract shape in the air.
Jordan leaned closer, his smile fading into a frown as he watched Falk's gestures.
"You've got to be kidding me, David," Jordan said, incredulous.
But Falk's expression remained unwavering.
"You're telling me he wants an Air Jordan of his own? To create his own brand?" Jordan scoffed, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"Michael," Falk replied, "he's not kidding."
Jordan shook his head, laughing loudly.
Over the years, countless players—some of them superstars like Magic Johnson, Hakeem Olajuwon, and Patrick Ewing—had attempted to replicate Jordan's commercial success with their own signature brands. None had succeeded.
What made this rookie think he could be any different?
Amused yet intrigued, Jordan couldn't help but take an interest in Wang Song's audacious ambition.