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NBA BASKETBALL
The A.I. Xplosion
<December 8, 2001>
By
Steve Apel <Eugene, Oregon>
Only a short year ago, Allen
Iverson was the poster boy for what was wrong with the
NBA. He's flashy, arrogant, has cornrows, and is white
America's worst nightmare. Fast-forward six months,
and he's suddenly the savior?
Allen Iverson. He's young, black and doesn't give a
#$%&. He's gone from punctuality problems to being the
most popular player in the NBA. What caused this turnaround?
Was it Pat Croce? Larry Brown?
It was Allen and the American people.
Since coming into the league, Iverson has had an X on
his back. From his "I don't have to respect anybody"
attitude to hoisting up 35 shots a game, he's exactly
what the NBA doesn't need. A young guy who doesn't care
for his elders and will do whatever it takes to get
his points. The team is secondary; making a name for
himself is mandatory.
Why does America truly love this guy? It could be his
swagger, his million-dollar smile, or maybe all of the
above. Yet A.I. gets the love because he's earned it,
and he has the hardware to prove it.
The MVP trophy Allen brought home was a symbol. A symbol
of how far he's come in his five years in the league.
A symbol of how a young man can turn 180 degrees --
and still be the same person. He hasn't changed as much
as we think he has. It just took five years for us to
look past the jewelry, the posse and the snarl.
He still shoots a lot, argues with the coach, but now
he gets the job done. As the 76ers went deeper and deeper
into the playoffs, A.I. brought us along with him. It
wasn't a journey of just the 76ers, it was the journey
of Allen and America.
After each 50-point performance, we found ourselves
asking for more. We wanted this man to feed our passion
for the game. He has what we all hoped for -- and made
the NBA fun to watch again. He can't get up like Vince
or dominate like Shaq, but he has what every little
guy on the courts of America plays for: Pride.
In fact, Iverson isn't playing for himself. He makes
us feel as if that's us with him. His little frame twisting
and turning its way to another basket, dominating a
game built for big men. He's the true Mighty Mouse,
the underdog in a sport built for dynasties. He's not
supposed to do what he's doing, and that's why we love
him.
As he's gotten older, we've grown accustomed to his
style. His ability to always get the ball, to always
put up the shot. The man brings his work boots every
night, much like the American people. Maybe that's why
we are so fond of him, the similarity between a nation
and a young black man whose tool is a basketball. Iverson
makes us believe that it isn't the size of the dog that
counts, but the size of the dog's heart.
As the final moments of the 76ers' season ticked away,
so did the attachment with Iverson. Will we ever have
the love for the man we so endured during the 2001 NBA
playoffs? Can we truly love a man whose shorts go to
his ankles? A player whose cornrows make many feel as
if he's more likely to rob us than greet us with a smile?
Allen Iverson has come a long way, but not nearly as
long as the people who've watched him. How can a 60-year-old
white woman be so enthused by a 26-year-old black man?
Iverson has brought the game together and truly shown
that race isn't as important as the excitement one can
bring by putting a ball in a hoop.
He's not just another NBA player with exceptional ability.
He's the man who we consider one of us. The true American
hero, Allen Iverson.
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