Loving The Knucklehead

Have you ever loved someone that you knew was bad for you? Someone who couldn't get out of their own way? Who would do wrong even if right were easier? I'm sure the answer for most of us is yes. We all have had, at one time or another, a friend or family member who forced us into fits of head shaking and hand wringing. But I'm not talking about that kind of love. No, I'm referring to a love that is considerably less significant and altogether unreasonable. In other words, I love Allen Iverson. There. I said it.

You might ask how I could love someone with an aversion to practice ("we talkin' 'bout practice"), who listens to gangsta rap, wears cornrows, is covered head to toe in tats, and has even been in trouble with the law, someone who I have little to nothing in common with? Well, love knows no reason or rationale, but I'll try to explain.

It seems to me, that to love someone requires only one thing in common. Well, Allen and I have two. First, I love basketball. Of course, I hate Kobe Bryant so that alone doesn't cut it. But secondly, I love the Philadelphia 76ers. Starting from the days of Dr. J and his militant afro soaring to the hoop, to the squandered Charles Barkley years, to the Iverson/Larry Brown resurgence of 2001, to the bland mediocrity of now, they're my team. So when the Sixers made Iverson the number one pick out of Georgetown in 1996, I was already predisposed.

Beyond that, however, I have never seen anything like him before or since. From the moment he stepped on the court, he was electrifying. Has there ever been anyone quicker or faster? Watching him run the court is like staring at an optical illusion. There are times when I swear he teleports from one spot on the floor to another. You see where he started and where he ends up but somehow, not the space in between. And how about toughness? Here's a guy who might be 5 foot 11, who weighs about 150 pounds, yet has no fear of driving to the hoop, going up amongst the giants, and landing on his ass in an effort to score the ball. But what happens after being knocked to his backside is even more remarkable. He does it again. And again. And again.

I remember on one occasion, when playing against the Milwaukee Bucks in the 2001 conference finals, Iverson drove to the lane only to encounter wannabe thug Scott Williams, who elbowed him in the face and drove him to the ground. After picking himself up off the court, he went to the bench to get looked at. The team doctor discovered that the elbow had caused a laceration to the inside of his cheek. Mindful of the NBA rule that does not allow a bleeding player to go back in the game until said bleeding is stopped, Iverson went back anyway. Asked by a reporter afterward, how he managed to keep the bleeding away from the eyes of the referees. He replied, "I swallowed it." How tough is that?

He's also unusually candid and quotable for a modern athlete. He almost always says what he feels, even when it hurts him (see the anti-practice diatribe). But he can also be disarming and generous. He is almost unfailingly complimentary of other players and he can be very funny. In fact, he uttered one of my favorite all time quotes from the world of athletics. During the Sixers magical playoff run of 2001, that ended with a finals loss to the detestable Lakers, Iverson was asked if he was worried about fatigue setting in on the eve of game one of the finals. He replied, "fatigue? fatigues is army clothes."

That Sixers team of 2001, filled with cast off role players surrounding one all-time great talent, is my favorite sports team ever. I don't care that they lost to Shaq and Kobe (grrr...) or that they never came close again after that. These lovable losers who were carried on the back of a midget (in basketball terms anyway), and by the mind of hoops genius Larry Brown, captured my imagination better than even the teams I loved as a kid. They had moxie. He had moxie. And moxie goes a long way.

Hell, he even converted my future wife. I recall watching a Sixers game with her in her mom and dad's basement. I said "watch this guy." After maybe three seconds my wife made an ooh sound as "little" Allen (as she would come to call him) surged to the hoop with one of his liquid quick moves and kissed the ball off the board into the basket. She would later refer to him as being "cute." Did I mention that I married this wonderful woman? I'm not saying that's why I married her but...

Unfortunately, since that 2001 peak, things have not gone nearly as well for Iverson. The subsequent Sixers teams ranged from mediocre to pretty good, but never got close to competing for a title again. In the midst of the awful 2006 season, Iverson was suspended by the team for a variety of issues, and then traded to the Denver Nuggets. In Denver, Iverson had a productive year and a half before being traded to the Detroit Pistons last year. It was there, in the motor city, where Iverson hit bottom. Surrounded by a team that was in decline, with a rookie coach who had difficulty managing egos, Iverson suffered through his least productive season. A season that he didn't even complete due to what many believe was a phantom back injury.

So now, he is a man without a team. The rumors are that he may end up with the Memphis Grizzlies or the Los Angeles Clippers. Two woebegone franchises who would only be signing him to sell tickets. I would love to see him get one more shot with a contender. To get the chance to fulfill the promise of that 2001 season in Philly. But I know that's unlikely. For one, with a contender, he'd probably have to take less money and come off the bench. Something his admittedly massive ego probably won't allow. And for two, one basketball executive has referred to him as the hoops version of Barry Bonds. A guy who can play but probably won't make your team better. That seems to be the unfortunate consensus in the NBA among those who might otherwise be willing to sign him.

So how does the story of this mercurial talent end? Probably badly and sadly to be honest. A once great player scoring baskets for a team on the outskirts of respectability until the losing overcomes his better nature and he makes a scene. A scene that will quite likely lead to an unceremonious exit from the league. I hope for something different but I know the odds are stacked against him.

But hope I do. Because love knows no reason or rationale. And I love Allen Iverson.

Sumo-Pop
July 21. 2009