Iverson’s act keeps fooling fans who should know better
As it has been done so many times already, the re-set button will be slammed again soon. With that, Allen Iverson will have found himself cleansed. And with that, too many sports fans of Philadelphia will be made to look like small-town fools.
The routine is as predictable as any punchline in a knock-knock joke. It should be, seeing that the same gag has been running for 21 years. At some upcoming, made-forwhatever press availability — best guess, when the other such previously honored 76ers are reunited to celebrate the pending number-retirement ceremony for the late Moses Malone — Iverson will slide behind a microphone and start mumbling the familiar script.
He’s changed. He’s matured. He’s older, more responsible. He wishes he would have known then what he knows now, but he can’t change that. He loves Philadelphia and the Sixers and their fans. He’s been in consultation with Larry Brown — “my coach,” he’ll say, hinting at a squelched tear — and he has been adequately counseled to act responsibly when the public is watching.
Like any good performer, he will work the room. He’ll emphasize all the respect he has for the other legendary Sixers, carefully mentioning at least one from every generation. Then, he will announce that the current Sixers have his full support and that eventually they will be one of the most successful dynasties in the history of competitive athletics.
With that, he will adjust his sunglasses and choke-back a manufactured sob, give a thank-you-and-goodbye wave with the enthusiasm of Richard Nixon and show himself to the exit. The press, so trained, will transcribe every word and prepare it all for print. Yep, that ought to do it.
Until the next time.
Of all the mysteries in the modern history of Philadelphia sports, professional or amateur, none tops the unconditional devotion of the fan base to Allen Iverson. How can a town so proud of its rough edges have its self-proclaimed street smarts so consistently exposed as flimsy and phony by one smiling self-promoter?
The most recent example is a pip, a top-five entry about to soar up the list. Basically, just hours after appearing on local TV shows, in sunglasses, to promote a cockamamie 3-on-3 hoops tournament featuring players no longer able to play in the NBA, Iverson apparently had one of those ever-available Sunday morning doctor’s appointments. It was there, he would relay through Instagram, that he was warned against playing. So he didn’t play. Yet that was after his dedicated fans had occupied the lower bowl of the Wells Fargo Center for one more chance to see him drive into traffic, fall down and clank a shot.
And that was it: Tickets were sold. Iverson came up with an excuse not to play, providing no details about his ailment. (And, just asking: Where were the Sixers’ sports scientists while all this was going on?) The event went on. And as if there are any more necessary instructions for a half-court game other than to pass, screen away, play man-to-man, call out switches and follow shots, he technically did a little coaching.
Reportedly, there were some boos when it became obvious that Iverson would not check into the game. That’s a first. Maybe it’s a sign that the brainwashing has receded. But if so, it has taken a while. And it may never be known how Iverson was able to so mesmerize a customer core that otherwise rejects athletes who don’t prepare to be their best and who regularly disappoint in tough, late-game spots. Iverson missed 96 shots in five games of the 2001 NBA Finals, yet local lore is that he nearly carried the Sixers to a championship. What other athlete in Philadelphia history could have blown off a Fan Appreciation night yet remained so appreciated by fans? What other 76er could try to come to work wearing Celtics gear? What other Philadelphia player could rock a full Dallas Cowboys costume and pose with Jerry Jones ... and not be reminded of that 36 times during any sports-talk radio show for the next dozen years? Wear a New York baseball cap, A.I.; no one in Philadelphia will mind.
The leading theory behind Iverson’s warped popularity in Philadelphia is that the fans bought into him too early and, as a package deal, chose to characterize local product Kobe Bryant as a fraudulent villain. And the more Bryant succeeded in proving them wrong, the more determined the fans were not to budge.
There are other reasons. Iverson was marketed well at a time when the Sixers were led by can-do pitchman Pat Croce. And when he did play, he battled, rarely taking a play off. He was a Rookie of the Year and an MVP. He is rightfully in the Hall of Fame. He was generous with his autograph. He was friendly to people. So, OK, there is all of that.
Just in case that’s not enough, however, Iverson will wait for the predictable moment when he is introduced during a Sixers game this season, then stand in a luxury suite and wave down at the adoring masses. The fans might even get him to cup his ear, but only if they’re good. The counter will be re-set.
And the games will begin again.