We are early in a Sixers season in which we are again reexamining the career of Allen Iverson, again reconsidering his legacy. The team has chosen to trot out the uniforms worn by the Iverson-led 2000-01 NBA finalist on occasion, and a recent book and docuseries allow us to revisit the life and career of the most compelling figure to ever don those duds.
As a result, the same questions that have been asked before can be asked again. As headstrong as he was, could he have accomplished more by toeing the line? As stubborn as he was, could he have risen even higher by playing along on occasion? And as great as he was, could he have been even greater?
All of that is food for thought. And there are some indications in both his memoir “Misunderstood” (written with New York attorney Ray Beauchamp) and the three-part Prime Video docuseries “Allen Iv3rson” that The Answer has considered those questions himself.
As an example, here is a passage from late in the book, which like the doc came out in October:
Me being stubborn, I dug deeper. You don’t like my style? Gonna do it more – let the joints sag further. You don’t like my friends? I’m gonna hold those dudes closer. You think my family should be in jail? I’m gonna be there in court for them. You don’t like my partying? I’m gonna stay out later, party harder. It ain’t a strategy for life I recommend. It’s just how I did it. The loyalty, stubbornness, got me in trouble, got me criticized, and sometimes brought pain, but it wasn’t stopping me from racing for greatness and making my mark in the NBA.
(Emphasis mine.)
There is no argument about his talents, his role as a culture-changer or (for better or worse) his loyalty to those with whom he grew up in tidewater Virginia. But that sentence I bold-faced above at least hints at some reflection on the part of Iverson, who is now 50 – that a less-is-more approach might have served him even better, that meeting people halfway on occasion might have allowed him to soar even higher.
That was all crystallized in one of the signature moments of his career, the infamous press conference after the 2001-02 season in which he bristled at questions about his practice habits. Iverson mentions in the book’s preface that his emotions were jumbled going into that presser – that he was still coming to grips with the murder of his close friend Rahsaan Langford months earlier (“That shit broke me,” he writes), while at the same time believing he was in a good place with Sixers management, which quelled any rumors that he was about to be traded.
He adds later in the book that in his mind, the media focus was all wrong that day: What about the games? What about my friends and family? What about me, the human being?
Point taken, and it underscores why he and Beauchamp titled the book as they did. Misunderstood? Yeah, there’s no doubt some of that on the part of a media corps that is largely from an entirely different background than his.
At the same time, it seems fair to ask if Iverson ever fully understood his responsibilities as a franchise player. Yes, he played hard. But could he have played harder if he wasn’t such a “nightcrawler,” as Stephen A. Smith calls him in the docuseries? And yes, he was incredibly productive. But could he have done even more if he hadn’t butted heads so often with his coaches, Larry Brown in particular?
Put simply: Would we hold him in even greater regard if he had just taken care of his body and agreed to go along to get along?
Consider, if you will, the example of Ray Allen. Allen, known for his work habits, entered the NBA the same year as Iverson – 1996 – but played four seasons longer and made $30 million more in salary. He also won championship rings in Boston and Miami.
The question is not whether Allen is a greater player than Iverson. That debate was settled long ago. Rather, the question is whether Iverson could have followed a similar career arc. Would he have agreed to be a co-star in Boston, with Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce? A role player on the LeBron James-led Heat? Not likely. He was a solo act, a guy who did his best work when surrounded by the lunchpail-carriers who comprised the 2000-01 team. It was great for one season, but only one season.
The off-the-court stuff is no less fascinating, and best examined in the docuseries. He has always been loyal to his Virginia friends, which to some extent is laudable; how often have athletes been criticized for “not remembering their roots”? But the question that is raised is whether those friends have brought him down, while he has tried to raise them up. And the views of Iverson’s ex-wife Tawanna, as well as Stephen A., are telling.
“Allen will tell you I’m not fond of too many of his friends,” Tawanna says in the doc, adding that her ex-husband “felt pressure to take care of his friends” to the point that it “caused issues” for the couple. (They were married in 2001 and divorced in 2013, though the doc indicates that they have since reconciled.)
Smith covered Iverson as a beat writer for the Inquirer. And in the doc he comes off not as the grating presence he is on ESPN, but rather as thoughtful and incisive.
“I personally know of several friends that Allen Iverson lied for,” Smith tells the cameras, “and acted like he did stuff they did, just to cover for them.”
Iverson’s response?
“I’m gonna hang around who I choose to be around,” he says in the doc.
Iverson’s decade-plus stay in Philadelphia ended with a 2006 trade to Denver. He would drift from there to Detroit and Memphis before briefly returning to the Sixers in 2009. Then he played a short time in Turkey, and that was that. He has since made the Hall of Fame, had his number retired by the Sixers and seen a statue in his likeness erected outside the team’s practice facility, the ultimate irony.
All of that is well-deserved. He was a great, great player, and a fascinating figure. But as the book and the docuseries indicate, you can’t help but wonder if he left some meat on the bone, if there wasn’t more he could have accomplished. And you can’t help but wonder if deep down, he doesn’t wonder about that, too.