Chapter 59: Signings Complete, Media Day Kicks Off!
After wrapping up a solid performance in the Las Vegas Summer League, Chen Yan returned to Phoenix and immediately locked himself into solo training mode.
Two weeks flew by. While his personal attributes hadn't shown much improvement, Chen Yan wasn't surprised. He already knew—once you hit a high level, getting better becomes a grind. Gains come slow. But that wasn't the point. The real goal of this off-season grind? Maintaining his physique and keeping himself game-ready.
Chen Yan was now a professional. Staying sharp in the off-season wasn't optional—it was the bare minimum for someone serious about making it in the league.
Before long, August rolled around—and finally, the Suns front office got moving.
August 1st
ESPN broke the news: the Phoenix Suns signed J.J. Barea to a one-year guaranteed deal worth $800,000.
Sure, it was the cheapest type of guaranteed contract you could get, but Barea wasn't complaining—he was hyped. That same night, he called Chen Yan, practically choking on his words with excitement.
"Yo, Chen, man… Thank you, bro. For real. I owe you big time."
This contract meant one thing: he had a spot in the NBA next season. That's everything for a guy like Barea—undersized, overlooked, but still fighting.
August 4th
The Suns officially announced the signing of Kalena Azubuike, a free agent previously with the Warriors. The deal? Two years, $1.95 million, with a player option on the second year.
Fans weren't exactly thrilled. Twitter and forums lit up with skepticism. Too short. Too raw. Not enough experience. Some thought Azubuike was a reach, others doubted Barea could hang in the league with his height disadvantage.
But Coach D'Antoni? He saw something different.
To him, Azubuike was a raw gem—able to drive, shoot, and cut without the ball. His offensive toolkit was legit. What he lacked was confidence and real court experience.
As for Barea? D'Antoni saw a spark plug. High motor, solid range, quick decision-maker—even if he was a bit vertically challenged.
D'Antoni was never one to follow convention. He had his own system, and he believed both guys could carve out real roles under it.
Of course, Chen Yan wasn't just twiddling his thumbs during Summer League either. Behind the scenes, he'd pitched several names to D'Antoni—David Lee, Kyle Korver, Paul Millsap, even Darko Miličić.
But not all plans pan out. Some guys wanted too much money. Others just didn't fit the system. Chen Yan understood. This wasn't 2K. He wasn't the GM. Real-life teams had constraints. He couldn't build the roster like a fantasy draft.
Still, the Suns' scouting department wasn't about to sit around waiting for rookie suggestions either. They were working their own angles.
August 20th
The team pulled off their biggest signing of the summer: Matt Barnes. Two years, $6.1 million.
Now that got people talking.
If Barea and Azubuike were the nice guys trying to make their mark, Barnes was a certified enforcer. He brought edge. Grit. He wasn't afraid to rattle cages, drop hard fouls, or run his mouth until tempers flared. Every locker room needs at least one dog like that.
Barnes had just come off a stint with the Warriors, so adjusting to Phoenix's high-tempo, run-and-gun system wouldn't be an issue.
Chen Yan was all for the move.
"You can't have a roster full of choir boys," he told Nash during one practice. "You need someone that's ready to scrap."
With Barea, Azubuike, and now Barnes in the fold, the Suns' off-season signings were essentially wrapped up. D'Antoni wasn't the type to build a bloated roster anyway. He stuck with a tight 7-8 man rotation. Anything more was overkill—and a waste of cap flexibility.
October 2nd — Training Camp Opens
The gym lights were on early. Chen Yan showed up first—sweatband on, bag slung over his shoulder, fully locked in.
Not long after, Steve Nash strolled in.
"Early bird, huh?" Nash grinned, tossing his bag onto a bench.
Chen Yan stood up, dapped him up. "Gotta set the tone, man. Can't let the old heads think rookies slack."
Nash chuckled. "I was watching your NCAA tournament run a few months back. Now we're teammates. Wild, huh?"
"Crazy," Chen Yan nodded. "Didn't expect it to move this fast."
Truth be told, the two had kept in touch since their first meeting. Nash had shot him a congratulatory text after the NCAA championship, and again when Chen Yan got traded to Phoenix.
"Yo, yo, yo! Look at this—two MVPs choppin' it up?"
Amar'e Stoudemire strolled into the locker room with that signature grin of his, catching Nash and Chen Yan deep in conversation. His voice carried that playful swagger that only someone like Amar'e could pull off.
Everyone knew Nash had bagged back-to-back regular-season MVPs. As for Chen Yan? His was the Summer League MVP—respectable, but clearly Amar'e was just poking fun.
"Amar'e! Long time no see!" Chen Yan stood up with a grin and extended a hand. "Hope you're not gonna hate me this season."
Stoudemire raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Steve just told me he's giving me half the lobs he used to give you. Said you're on your own now."
Amar'e burst out laughing, caught off guard. "Man, you wild," he chuckled. "Didn't know the rookie had jokes."
Nash smirked. "He's got jokes and hops."
As more teammates trickled into the locker room, one after another came by to dap up Chen Yan and welcome him. The energy in the room was light but competitive—a group of guys ready to grind, but with enough chemistry to laugh through the sweat.
Boris Diaw strolled in next, casually carrying a fresh cup of espresso. He handed it to Chen Yan with a warm smile.
"Try this," Diaw said. "Roasted it myself."
Chen took a sip, eyebrows raised. "Damn, this is legit. You sure you play ball and not run a coffee shop on the side?"
Diaw chuckled. "Why not both?"
Everyone knew Diaw was a certified coffee fiend. Dude even had an espresso machine set up in the locker room. If he wasn't in the NBA, Chen was convinced the man would've opened a five-star café in Paris.
Physically, Diaw still looked solid—muscular, agile. The whole "soft, floor-bound big" label from fans didn't do him justice. The man could run, jump, shoot, and dish dimes. He had finesse, sure—but he also had bounce.
Chen recalled a story from Diaw's first tryout with the Suns. He saw this vertical test machine in the facility, pointed to it, and asked, "Who's got the highest score on this?"
The staff replied, "Amar'e Stoudemire."
Diaw calmly set down his coffee, slipped off his sandals, and leapt—clean to the top of the chart.
Then he put his sandals back on, picked up his coffee, and said coolly, "Didn't seem that hard."
Chen grinned at the memory. Underneath all that smooth passing and perimeter skill, Diaw was a sneaky athletic freak. Pairing him with Nash on the floor was going to be wild. With both acting like floor generals, Chen figured he might get lockjaw from catching too many alley-oops.
The next few weeks were all about work. Training camp officially kicked off, lasting a month. During that time, the Suns would trim the roster, evaluate chemistry, and get in rhythm through a handful of preseason games.
Two days in, it was time for Media Day.
Held at America West Arena, it was one of those events where everyone had to play nice with the cameras and microphones. Pictures, interviews, access—basically an organized media circus set up by the league to hype up the season.
Players and coaches were required to answer questions, pose for photos, and let media film some practice sessions. It wasn't optional—it was part of the job.
Naturally, Nash, Stoudemire, and Chen Yan were the center of attention.
Nash and Amar'e were the established All-Stars, the backbone of Phoenix's high-octane system. But Chen Yan? He was the wild card—the rookie who tore up Summer League and had fans buzzing.
Cameras clicked like crazy, mics were shoved in their faces, and reporters rapid-fired questions. Through it all, Chen Yan handled himself like a pro. He'd rehearsed for this moment, expected the standard questions: expectations for the season, thoughts on his teammates, how he was adjusting to the NBA.
He kept it clean—spoke highly of the team, praised the coaching staff, talked about putting in the work and earning his minutes. It was all classic media-day fluff, but he delivered it with confidence and poise.
After the interviews, Chen suited up in his No. 0 jersey for the photoshoot. Posing in full uniform, flashing a mix of game face and charisma, he looked every bit the part of the league's next rising star.
Then came the group shots. The photographers called out, "Chen, Amar'e, Steve, Boris—together, please!"
It was no coincidence. The Suns' front office had made their intentions crystal clear.
This was their core four.
Nash, the floor general.
Stoudemire, the high-flying enforcer.
Diaw, the versatile chess piece.
And Chen Yan, the young gun with superstar potential.
The 2005-2006 season was about to begin, and Phoenix had its squad locked and loaded.
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