Allen Iverson will never win an NBA Championship.
Allen Iverson is loved in Philadelphia.
Are these two things separate and distinct?
Allen Iverson is an undersized shooting guard who needs the ball in his hands. His style of play is such that it does not get his teammates involved very often, and results in an offense that doesn't "flow." He's also one of the league's top 50 all time players, and has led that league in scoring several times. But we don't care about any of that.
Allen Iverson gets hit, and gets back up.
Allen Iverson is covered head to toe in ink. Allen Iverson has braids, once recorded a rap album, and has been arrested several times. He's had his domestic disputes sprayed across the tabloids. But we don't care about any of that.
Allen Iverson gets hit, and gets back up.
Philly loves Iverson not because he makes shots, but because he misses them-and takes 20 more. Philly loves Iverson because he single-handedly carried the Sixers to an NBA Finals in 2001-and lost. Philly loves Iverson not because he makes it look easy, but because he makes it look hard. He makes it look like playing the game of basketball is shaving decades off his life span. We do care about that.
This is the City of Brotherly Love, and love demands sacrifice.
Mike Schmidt was seen as an enigma despite his exceptional performance because he made the game look easy. Dr. J played basketball in a manner that was both graceful and charming. Donovan McNabb is misunderstood because he can hurl the football a country mile, outrun a linebacker, and is blessed with wondrous physical gifts. Eric Lindros was kept at a distance, mainly because he was just too good.
Conversely, Jon LeClair was loved because he score 50 goals a year, and they all looked difficult. This city fell in love with a fictional boxer in Rocky, not because he was Italian, not because he was from Philly, but because he wasn't that good. They made a statue of Rocky despite the fact that 1)he's fictional, and 2) he lost the fight. Why?
Because Eric Lindros and I have nothing in common, that's why. There is nothing he can teach me. There is nothing that I can learn about myself from watching him play hockey. Mike Schmidt was born to play third base. Dr. J was born to play basketball. The were freaks of nature, almost a species unto themselves. The game demanded nothing of them.
Philly loves Iverson because he's not 6'6", because he's not Michael Jordan. Iverson is generously listed as 6'0". God did not fashion him to be the next basketball superstar. But a superstar he is, and it is costing him. Night in, night out, he's knocked to the floor, hit in the face, undercut, uppercut, and just plain cut. Philly loves Allen Iverson because he can't play like this forever. He can't keep taking it to the rim, absorbing the punishment, he can't keep cheating these giants, he can't possibly do what what he does.
Philly loves Allen Iverson because he can teach us something.
Iverson can teach us something about heart. Something about perseverance. Something about LIFE. About how life's not about getting knocked down, it's about getting back up. About how desire, grit, and determination can carry you as far as a killer crossover and fade-away. About playing hurt, not only in a game, but in Life.
Iverson can teach us about redemption. About how almost being traded can lead to All-Star game MVPs, League MVPs, and cries of "Where my coach?" He can teach us about loss, like the end of the 2001 Finals, when things hadn't fallen our way. He can teach us that coming from nothin' doesn't mean that you're nobody. He can teach us about beating the odds.
Allen Iverson was a black kid from Hampton, Virginia-but he was one of us. So we loved him. That legacy isn't complicated at all.
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