The world is warming up to Allen Iverson
All-Star guard has gone from rebel to basketball mainstream
 H Rumph Jr. / AP Denver's Allen Iverson smiles during his March 19 return to Philadelphia, his first since being traded to the Nuggets in December 2006. |
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Last Wednesday, Allen Iverson played his first game in Philadelphia since being traded to the Nuggets in 2006. The city that booed Santa Claus greeted A.I. with a standing ovation, a celebration of a decade's worth of dazzling play, non-stop effort and boundless heart.
It's not surprising that Iverson, once such a lightning rod for controversy, would get a hero's welcome in Philly. Time heals all wounds, sorts out ambivalence and highlights the good times. But it's indicative of a shift in Iverson's reputation that was not fully realized until he arrived in Denver: Allen Iverson is now just another NBA superstar.
During his time as a Sixer, Allen Iverson became both a pop culture icon and the poster child for a troubled league. He won the MVP in 2001, and yet some saw his style of play as typifying the declining quality of the NBA's on-court product. Kobe Bryant has had his fair share of detractors, but they at least acknowledged his mastery of the game. Iverson was either God in Reeboks or a total charlatan.
In part, this was because Iverson was always about more than just basketball. Race in professional sports is a touchy subject, one most people would prefer to avoid. After all, discussing such a sensitive issue is at odds with the recreation we look for when we turn on a game. But in certain cases, the issue is nearly impossible to ignore, and few athletes have brought racially-charged signifiers to the foreground like Allen Iverson.
Iverson's staccato crossover and relentless improvisation were seen by fans and critics alike as just a few steps removed from the playground, and his non-stop swagger was that of a generation reared on hip-hop. Nearly as much was made of Iverson's appearance: cornrows, innumerable tattoos, shorts way baggier than Webber's and a post-game wardrobe that included do-rags and mountains of jewelry.
For anyone wanting to believe that "thugs" were defiling basketball, Iverson's exoticism offered the perfect scapegoat; it also injected a new level of "realness" — or authenticity — into the game. More often than not, debates over the merit of Iverson's play came back to these larger notions, notions that carried with them unmistakable racial connotations.
But Iverson no longer seems so radical. The isolation play he pursued so aggressively (under Right Way guru Larry Brown, no less) is no longer so foreign — if a coach has a player with those skills, he'll find a way to use them. The look Iverson brought to the NBA has become commonplace, if not standard, and some of his experiences have become lessons to a younger generation. Stern's displeasure over Iverson's rap opus "Jewelz" has almost certainly been a factor in players now contenting themselves with lurking on mix tapes or starting their own labels. Iverson pushed the envelope, and today's athletes learned tact from it.
While Iverson was once the ultimate rebel, he's now part of the basketball mainstream. What he brought to the game, on and off the court, has been adopted by up-and-coming players and — especially with the dress code softening the blow — accepted by all but the stodgiest fans.
As the world has caught up to Iverson, there has also been a greater recognition of his worth as a player. His play in Denver, especially his ability to coexist with Carmelo Anthony, has quashed the "selfish" label, making it clear just how bad his Sixers teams really were. And now that every Iverson drive isn't fraught with socio-cultural tension, it's easier to marvel at the sheer virtuosity of what he does. No one makes as many impossible shots as Iverson; on the other hand, Iverson makes so many that we often take them for granted.
In Philadelphia one day before Iverson, Barrack Obama gave a frank, refreshing speech on race in America. He described prejudice as a cycle of mutual resentment and misconception, but expressed the belief that, by bridging this distance, change is possible. That Allen Iverson is no longer a threat to national security nor a quasi-political folk hero confirms Obama's vision. He's just a damn good basketball player, albeit one who probably forced a conversation or two about more important issues.
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