The name you hear now is Phil Jackson, a basketball celebrity just as much as a coach these days. It is hard to imagine Jackson handing out personally selected hardcover books to these Knicks, who on Friday night could not count backward from 24 to 1 and make the appropriate choice about shooting the ball in the closing seconds.
Jackson was a Knick in the good old days, and later Red Holzman had to contain his inner glow over the success of his boy with the Bulls. By now, Jackson carries good baggage, Jordan and Pippen baggage; and bad baggage, Shaq and Kobe baggage.
What would Jackson do with sore-kneed nice old Allan Houston, the most anonymous Knicks star ever, who has scored a zillion bland points yet will primarily be remembered for one fortuitous roll against Miami? Houston cannot start on this team, yet he eats up salary space, courtesy of decisions made by the Dolans and Scott Layden nearly four years ago.
This is not a team that Jackson (or, for that matter, Larry Brown) would lust to coach, although each might bring more zeal to the job than Wilkens seemed to bring.
For the rest of this season, the remaining coaches still have to watch this team. The fans, on the other hand, do not.