You may have loved him in spite of his shortcomings, or because of them. You might have hated him for his attitude and ethos, but simply couldn’t deny his talent. Or you may have dismissed him—too stubborn for his own good. And having the chance to consider things over the past few weeks, maybe everyone was right.
Allen Iverson’s career can be viewed a number of ways, as it all depends on what moments you view as definitive. If you choose to remember that 2001 season, and his 48 points in game one of the NBA Finals, beating the herculean Lakers, then that puts Iverson in a category with the best of them. On the other hand, if you remember Iverson bickering with coaches, or feuding with management, you may remember him differently; impossibly talented, but fatally flawed.
But just about everyone remembers him as a member of the Philadelphia 76ers.
Had he gone out with someone else—say, the Knicks or Bobcats—we’d have gotten over it. Plenty of iconic stars finish out their careers in strange jerseys. It’s a shame, but also a reality of the era we live in, and the egos involved in these type of things. Michael Jordan with the Wizards, Emmitt Smith with Arizona, Joe Montana with Kansas City, Shaq with the Suns, and now the Cavs, and whatever team he latches onto next season. At this point, we’re used to it.
But Allen Iverson’s was such a revolutionary figure… Seeing him reduced to 20 minutes-a-game off the bench for some also-ran team would have been so incongruous to everything that came before. He was basketball’s 2Pac—rough around the edges, unapologetic to his critics, and authentic in every sense of the word. Without a doubt, had Iverson somehow died anywhere between 1999 and 2004, at his apex, we would have lionized him in exactly the same way.
Not for his game, but for the values he embodied. His game was always very good, but the persona—the corn rows, the tattoos, the crossovers, the fearlessness, playing-with-four-different injuries attitude—was what made him transcendent. Like nothing we’d ever seen before. A force of nature.
And watching him finish his career on a 20-win Knicks or Grizzlies squad would have been like seeing 2Pac record with autotune. We’d get over it, but some things are just impossible to forget. It’d change our memories forever.
Now, instead of trying to forget, the Sixers have given the entire league a chance to remember. To get all mushy over those Larry Brown teams, and pretend like the last three years never really happened. Like this has been the plan all along. Iverson’s not perfect, and he meant a lot of different things to different people, but he was always a 76er.
When he went elsewhere, for whatever reason, the whole Iverson myth became marginialized. It was inevitable, really; people evolve and devolve, and as AI got older, it became harder and harder to exist exclusively on his own terms. Suddenly, Carmelo was more talented, Detroit played better with Rodney Stuckey, and even Memphis—Memphis!—decided they’d be better off without him. The indomitable, pint-sized icon had been dominated, and cast off into the NBA’s junkyard.
But now, NBA fans are going to get one last glimpse at the glory days. A comeback tour. Back from the dead. He’s relevant again. No more autotune 2Pac records, or playing second-fiddle to Richard Hamilton. Instead, Iverson’s The Man in Philly, and he’s going to put them on his back and take them as far as he can. Iverson was never the best player on earth, and Tupac wasn’t the greatest lyricist of all time. But in each case, their otherworldly will made them impossibly captivating. Not the best or most refined, but with a persona that always made him the center of attention.
Now, provided this is his last year in the NBA, Allen Iverson’s going out the way he came in. On his own terms, killing himself to win, and carrying the 76ers and the city of Philadelphia with him. It was never his game that made him special, but that once-in-a-lifetime will is something we’ll always remember. Now, we get to see it once more, and remember AI for what made him great in the first place. That’s the way it should be.
UPDATE: And look at the video of his press conference. One more reason Allen Iverson is basketball’s 2Pac, and probably the biggest thing I missed when I wrote this on Wednesday. Emotion is what sets him apart from the rest. When he wants to win, we see it. When he loses, he cries. When he’s mad… Well, he’s mad a lot. And that distracts some people.
Like Tupac before him, Iverson puts forth this militant veneer, and it’s present 90% of the time. He’s either complaining or arguing or yelling or shaking his head in disgust. This is the Allen Iverson that most of the public knows.
But for people that follow basketball, what makes him so compelling isn’t the miltance, but that he’ll occasionally offset that persona with a moment like yesterday’s press conference, when he spontaneously broke down in tears. This is why people love Allen Iverson; because if he look closely, he’s not the heartless thug that you hear described.
In an era of vanilla athletes like Kobe Bryant, or someone like Brett Favre, who’ll stand up there and coldly discard legions of fans that cared about him for years, it’s refreshing to see someone that so obviously cares, himself. As Iverson said yesterday, fighting back tears, “They love me … And I love them.” And like everything with Iverson, it feels authentic.
Though, just like Tupac, it feels out of character when considered alongside some of his tirades. A person that’s liable to lash out at his inner circle one day, and then bear his soul to the world the next. How do you make sense of someone like that? Is it possible for someone to be ruthless and vulnerable at the same time?
It’s a tough question; but when you talk about Iverson in Philly, and the Sixers fans celebrating his return, make no mistake: they love him because of moments like yesterday. The moments when he lets us in; when he shows you that despite everything you’ve heard, he cares more than you could possibly imagine.
“Thug,” maybe; but “heartless” just doesn’t apply.