We're talking about practice.And not in a "I'm above this" sense, but that practice, ironically, is all Allen Iverson can do right now.
The basketball community was dealt a huge blow yesterday when one of the most popular, influential, controversial and best players of our generation, apparently left with no other options, announced his retirement. Just two years ago, he was one of the league's most prolific scorers and a perennial All-Star, but an ill-advised Joe Dumars acquisition left AI in a worst-case scenario; on a Pistons squad that had built its reputation on selflessness and team play, concepts which came to Iverson like weight loss to Glenn Robinson. He complained, resisted, called out management and spent the latter half of his tenure in Detroit on the bench with an injury he would have fought through at any other juncture in his career. His expiring contract gave him a much needed out this past July, but his value had sunk to such depths that few teams came knocking this past summer, offering him a backup role and a fraction of his accustomed salary. That he wound up in a Memphis Grizzlies uniform was telling of just how far Iverson had fallen, and laid an obvious foundation for disaster.
Everyone with half a brain knew that this situation would unravel, but even the most shrewd sceptic couldn't have seen it coming this fast. Three games into the season, Iverson's reserve role ate away so much at his pride that he forced a parting of ways with the Grizz and became a free agent. Several teams were mentioned as poential destinations but the reluctance to sign AI over the summer was only magnified by his too-brief-to-call-tumultuous time in Memphis. He thought he could contribute to a winning team, but none of them wanted him. Fuck, the Knicks didn't want him. So, painted into a corner by his own pretentiousness, Allen Iverson was forced to walk away from the NBA.
It's a tragic tale Iverson's told. Despite his incredible speed, ankle-shattering handle, smooth stroke, fearless aggression, stoic toughness, MVP award, plethora of All-Everything commendations and celebrated status as the hero of hoops-hop culture, he's never been what every basketball player wants to be: a winner. His early years in Philly were like the snobby chick at the bar turning away every guy in sight: Keith Van Horn, Derrick Coleman, Jerry Stackhouse, all failed as second fiddles while the 76ers never amounted to much. As the Leastern Conference succumbed to mediocrity, Iverson was gradually surrounded by defensive-minded players who were scoring-challenged enough to justify his 120 shots/game. Dikembe Mutombo, Aaron Mckie and Tyrone Hill weren't demanding touches, just working the glass, moving the ball and locking down the opposition; it suited The Answer just fine. As such, the 76ers were able to become worst pre-Cavs team to win the East title, and in the playoff pinnacle of Iverson's career, were bitch-slapped by the Lakers in the Finals.
So close and yet so far away, he's been trying in vain to get back there ever since. As talented a player as he was, Allen never figured out that players can win games but championships need to be won by a team. His trip to the finals was anomalous; the 76ers were perennial doormats because players who were talented enough to win titles didn't fit on teams where one player insisted on dominating the ball so much. Even when he was paired with a bonafide superstar for the first time in his career, he failed to turn the Nuggets into anything special. For all his other-worldly talent, he was never one of those transcendant players, a guy like, oh...let's say...at random... Chauncey Billups, who could put his ego behind the good of the team and create a positive impact even if he didn't get his. For years teams feared him, but now off the court, they still do.
From Allen Iverson's tone and words yesterday, you can tell how reluctantly he's doing this. The man clearly has some great basketball left in that tiny but explosive body, and for the sake of him and his legions of fans I hope we get to see it. As fitting and humbling as it is that a career marred by a me-first attitude is ending this way, anyone who loves and has influenced the game of basketball as much as AI deserves better. Only history will tell whether he's remembered as the game's greatest pound-for-pound scorer ever or a childish diva, but if there's anything left of the competitive inferno that used to fuel Iverson, this won't be the last we hear from him. He's still got time to salvage his career before his injury-ravaged body finally gives out; maybe a team will come calling.
Until then Allen, we're talking about practice. It can't hurt you now.
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