Lin Yu, your plan sounds tempting, but it's tough to execute—arguably impossible.
"Jalen Rose, one of the Five Tigers, entered the league as the 13th pick in the 1994 draft. In his sophomore year, he averaged 10 points and six assists per game with a 48% shooting percentage. He was a swingman with limitless potential."
"Our Bullets simply don't have the assets to trade for such a high-value rookie."
Anseld swiftly pointed out the flaw in Lin Yu's plan, while Bolin beside him smiled silently.
Lin Yu remained unruffled, picking up the thread: "Jalen Rose's value is indeed high, but we can trade for him using Javon Murray-San."
"A center averaging 14.5 points, 9.6 rebounds, and 2.3 blocks per game at the peak of his career—and he's still so young. Acquiring Jalen Rose is no difficult task."
"As for the remaining two players, to my knowledge, they're both currently unsigned. We can sign them for the minimum salary."
Jofan Murrayson, at 7'7", is the Bullets' current starting center. Last season, he averaged nearly 15 points, 10 rebounds, and two blocks per game. Even in this era of dominant centers, he'd easily rank among the league's top ten.
Boling couldn't help but laugh. "Kid, trading Javon for Jalen Rose is certainly possible. But what happens after that? We'd be left without a center, and our team's record would plummet."
"You don't seriously think fans come to watch the Michigan Fab Five lose, do you?"
Facing the successive doubts from Onseld and Boling, Lin Yu remained unflustered. These objections were entirely within his expectations.
Murray doesn't fit into our Bullets' offensive and defensive system—no one can deny that.
"His lateral movement and defensive footwork are painfully slow. How many possessions per game do we lose because Murray can't get positioned under the basket in time, allowing opposing centers to score?"
"His poor lateral mobility even hinders Weber's drives to the rim at times."
"I don't deny Murray is an excellent center—he just doesn't fit our Bullets."
Lin Yu's arguments were well-reasoned, leaving Onseld and Bolin utterly speechless.
"Lin, do you know why we drafted Murray back then? Exactly—because of Iron Pillar."
"I've faced Zhuang Ji on the court. I know exactly how intimidating that frame is defensively in the paint. My judgment proved spot-on—we landed a top-tier center like Murray with just a second-round pick."
"I admit he's not perfect, but his rim-protection skills rank among the league's top five. You saw the four-game losing streak we suffered after he left."
"Truth is, no player is truly flawless. Murray is our best solution."
Anseld patiently explained to Lin Yu. If their bond weren't as strong as that of the brothers, his fiery temper would've already sent Lin Yu packing with a broom in hand.
No sooner had he finished speaking than Lin Yu broke into a wide grin.
"Actually, we do have a perfect center—at least for the Bullets, he's perfect."
"Who?" Bolin pressed curiously.
"Ben! Ben Wallace!"
The name Lin Yu uttered drew a bitter smile from Onseld.
Big Ben was a player he'd personally selected. Perfect or not? Did he, Onseld, not know?
Zero ball-handling skills, negligible low-post offense, free-throw accuracy worse than most high schoolers, and stunted height—he was nothing like a center should be. By any measure, Big Ben was far from perfect.
If Shaq's center talent was God feeding him manna from heaven, then Big Ben's was God feeding him dung.
"Kid, times have changed."
"I signed him half a year ago out of personal attachment. I saw my younger self reflected in him."
"But this isn't the ancient savage era anymore. The age of short, power-type big men like us has come to a complete end."
Onseld's voice was filled with resignation and melancholy. Sometimes he envied other big men stars of the new generation—at least they had nominal successors.
Take the Twin Peaks' successor to Nate Moumound—the early-career Dream Olajuwon.
There's no talk of a successor for Onseld—he's like a childless husband who dies alone, with no one to burn paper money for him.
Lin Yu shook his head repeatedly. "No, sir, times haven't changed!"
"Give me one week—just one week—and I'll prove that power forwards still have a place in the game!"
"I'll prove that if Mr. Onseld could return to his prime, he'd still be a bone-crushing terror in the paint!"
Onseld stared blankly at Lin Yu. Even though he thought the young man was utterly mad, a warmth stirred in his heart.
"Clap! Clap!"
Boling reluctantly rose from his seat and applauded Lin Yu's words.
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!"
"Now I understand why Wes sees something special in you."
"Young man, you're truly in the wrong line of work. If you were a politician, there might be a seat for you in the Washington State Assembly."
"Murray's injury will sideline him for at least another week. I honestly can't think of a single reason to turn you down."
"We have three home games coming up this week. Kid, I hope you can bring some surprises to this old man."
With that, Old Bolin shuffled away, his steps unsteady.
"Does this mean the boss has agreed?" Lin Yu's heart skipped a beat. Even though this outcome was within his expectations, it still filled him with exhilaration.
He was about to become the head coach of an NBA team!
"I really don't know whether to call you clever or foolish, kid."
"Don't get too excited just yet. Have you considered what would happen if we lost all three home games? What fate awaits you then?"
"Boling isn't a philanthropist. His money won't cover keeping idle hands. You might not even get to be an assistant coach."
Anselde's face clouded with worry, deeply concerned about Lin Yu's impending predicament.
Lin Yu, however, wore an unabashedly optimistic expression. "Lose all three? Impossible."
"With a trio of stars like Webber, Howard, and Strickland on the roster, even a stray dog picked up off the street couldn't lose all three games."
"Forget it. You just haven't been through the harsh realities of the real world yet."
"If it were as easy as you say, why would we be on a four-game losing streak?"
"All you can do now is pray that God is with you. That way, you might at least keep your assistant coach position."
"Come walk with me. This outfit is way too shabby. I don't want fans thinking I hired a homeless guy as head coach during home games."
Lin Yu glanced down at his suit—wrinkled and frayed at the cuffs, clearly a bargain-bin find from a big-box store, costing no more than a hundred bucks.
He didn't refuse Old Grinder's offer and followed him to Washington's busiest commercial district.
Initially, Old Grinder intended to have a suit custom-made for Lin Yu. Unfortunately, with the home game tomorrow night, time was too tight. Instead, he bought a ready-to-wear suit at a boutique, costing $1,200.
"Not bad. Youth has its perks. You make this suit look like it cost ten grand."
"Hmm, feels like something's missing?"
"A watch! Exactly! What man is complete without a watch? I'll get you a Rolex too!"
Without waiting for Lin Yu's consent, Old Bone Crusher dragged him into a luxury boutique. He selected a basic Rolex model, spending another five thousand dollars.
In the 1990s, over $6,000 had astonishing purchasing power—enough to buy a decent used Cadillac.
Lin Yu gazed at the burly older man before him, his heart brimming with gratitude. Even a drop of kindness deserves a spring of gratitude—Old Bone Crusher had done so much for him. He vowed to repay this favor properly someday....
At nine o'clock the next morning, guided by Onseld, Lin Yu arrived at the team's training ground.
The Bullets' routine morning practice preceded tonight's home game against the Boston Celtics.
"Everyone over here—meet your new head coach!"
Onseld bellowed, gathering the entire team around him.
Lin Yu scanned the unfamiliar yet somehow familiar faces: King Chris Webber, Nook Juwan Howard, Speedster Strickland, General Harvey Grant, "Carl" Daney, and Big Brother Tim Legler.
The giant Jovon Murraysan stood out the most. Though injured, he still made an appearance on the court.
In the NBA, any player with a nickname usually has something special. Take General Grant, for instance—the younger brother of the Bulls' first dynasty's starting power forward, Cobra Horace Grant. A few years back, he was a near-All-Star averaging 18 points and seven rebounds per game.
Take White Shooter Legs, for instance. He was a marginal player with the Bullets, holding a status similar to Ben Wallace's.
Yet he won the NBA All-Star Three-Point Contest and, in 2011, was named among the NBA's Top Ten Three-Point Shooters of All Time alongside legends like Larry Bird, Ray Allen, Steve Kerr, and Reggie Miller!
So it's not that the Wizards can't shoot threes—they just don't prioritize it.
"Huh? Where's Ben?"
Lin Yu frowned. His entire plan revolved around Big Ben. Not seeing him on the team now threw Lin Yu into a panic.