Our all-time lightning rod
All of it, the arrogance mingled with the plea for understanding, mocking the value of practice while reminding people how he plays hard and plays hurt night after night, make him a columnist's dream.
Allen Iverson is the champ, pound for pound, inch for inch, however you want to measure his scrawny body. I have been writing sports in this City of Brotherly Love and skimpy trophy cases for 42 years, and I have never seen anyone like Iverson, when it comes to forcing folks to take sides.
Love him, hate him, scold him, embrace him, criticize him, praise him, he loves being in the crosshairs of controversy except for those moments when he hates being in the crosshairs of controversy.
There have been others, Wilt Chamberlain, Charles Barkley, Ricky Watters, Dick Allen, who created a furor by their words or actions. But there has never been anyone like Iverson, the most exciting player in the NBA, who proclaims his love for his coach, Larry Brown, yet behaves like a spoiled child constantly testing Brown's patience.
After five years with Brown, Iverson still doesn't understand the difference between coaching and criticism, hasn't the vaguest idea of what Brown is constantly preaching about playing the game the right way, can't spell team if you spot him the "t-e," has no concept of the role of the media, and thinks he's like you and me, ignoring the platinum jewelry, the entourage, the Bentleys.
All of it, the arrogance mingled with the plea for understanding, mocking the value of practice while reminding people how he plays hard and plays hurt night after night, make him a columnist's dream, a talk-show host's favorite celebrity and the poster child for television ratings.
He invites us to walk a mile in his shoes. Most Philadelphians would love to do that, if they could afford the $125 for those sleek sneakers. Meanwhile, they’ll keep on talking about him, the undisputed champ of controversy.