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Allen Iverson Overstayed His Welcome With 76ers
Scott Soshnick
By Scott Soshnick
Dec. 12 (Bloomberg) -- Allen Iverson has to go.
It's time.
His departure is past due, really.
Before another keystroke is made, let us acknowledge without equivocation that watching Iverson do his thing for the Philadelphia 76ers -- breaking ankles, in hoops lingo -- is among the real treats in professional sports.
As a performer he is unlike any other in the National Basketball Association.
Iverson cares. He gives maximum effort. Those are admirable traits, especially these days, when too many professional athletes don't care what the scoreboard says.
That's what makes this soon-to-be-completed divorce so sad.
``It's time for him to go his way and us to go our way,'' says 76ers Chairman Ed Snider.
In order to fully appreciate Iverson, one must stand beside him in the locker room. At 6-feet, 165 pounds, he's a sapling among redwoods.
He can sure put the ball in the basket, though. He is the league's leading scorer. He's fast. He's fearless. With apologies to the hacks that created Dwyane Wade's sneaker commercial, it is Iverson who gets knocked down and keeps getting up.
All that said, I just can't shake what NBA coaches Jeff Van Gundy and Gregg Popovich always say: A coach, team, owner and franchise are only as good as the best player and the example he sets.
The leader can make things easy on a coach -- or not. With Iverson it's usually the hard way. A.I. was all too often absent.
Practice would start. No Allen. A team function would start. No Allen.
Silly Practice
Thanks to Iverson's rant several years ago, we all know how he feels about practice.
``I know I'm supposed to lead by example. I know that. I'm not shoving it aside like it don't mean anything,'' Iverson said. ``I know it's important. I do. I honestly do. But we're talking about practice. How silly is that?''
Even former 76ers President Pat Croce, who developed a tight bond with the player he dubbed ``Bubba Chuck,'' was pushed too far.
Even Croce, an eternal optimist, lost hope.
Before the 2001 season Croce actually traded the player he chose with the No. 1 pick in the 1996 draft. He called Iverson himself to break the news.
``I did not want to trade Allen,'' Croce told me back then, ``but I could no longer defend him.''
Philly's Forgiveness
That's the thing with Iverson. Someone's always issuing a statement of apology or hastily calling a press conference to clarify.
For a while, the Philly fans forgave Iverson's transgressions, which included several run-ins with the law.
He provided the sizzle and they adored him for it. Remember the advice Russell Crowe's character in the movie ``Gladiator'' received -- win the crowd.
Iverson did.
After Croce's swap fell through, thanks to Matt Geiger's unwillingness to give up what's called a trade kicker, Iverson saw the light.
The team responded, reaching the NBA Finals. Iverson led the underdog 76ers to a win over Shaquille O'Neal, Kobe Bryant and the Los Angeles Lakers in Game 1 of the 2001 championship series.
They haven't reached the conference final since.
Love Cooled
The love affair has cooled.
Last season, Iverson skipped a fan appreciation event. The 76ers weren't happy.
And then, two weeks ago, Iverson blew off an event for season-ticket holders and corporate sponsors.
That infuriated Snider.
Iverson's antics were endured when the 76ers were winning, when the building was jammed. That isn't the case anymore.
Not even close.
Check the standings. Philadelphia is last in the Atlantic division with a record of 5-14 entering last night's game.
Moreover, the 76ers are averaging 15,517 fans a game this season, placing them 27th among the 30 teams. Iverson, the showman, no longer captivates the fan base.
``As hard as it is to admit, a change may be the best thing for everybody,'' Iverson said in a statement over the weekend. ``I hate admitting that because I love the guys on the team and the city of Philadelphia.''
Conditional Emotion
Iverson never understood that love, in the context of professional sports, is a conditional emotion. Adoration is ephemeral. It's based on wins and losses.
Iverson isn't winning games. He isn't selling tickets.
From a business perspective, the former MVP isn't all that valuable anymore.
The 31-year-old Iverson has, over the past few seasons, spoken often of his maturation, of being a leader. You know what they say about actions and words.
Snider has heard enough. He's had enough.
Iverson's erratic temperament isn't worth his exceptional talent. Not anymore, anyway.
Even brotherly love has its limits.
(Scott Soshnick is a Bloomberg News columnist. The opinions expressed are his own.)
To contact the writer of this column: Scott Soshnick in New York at [email protected]
Last Updated: December 12, 2006 00:03 EST
Allen Iverson Overstayed His Welcome With 76ers
Scott Soshnick
By Scott Soshnick
Dec. 12 (Bloomberg) -- Allen Iverson has to go.
It's time.
His departure is past due, really.
Before another keystroke is made, let us acknowledge without equivocation that watching Iverson do his thing for the Philadelphia 76ers -- breaking ankles, in hoops lingo -- is among the real treats in professional sports.
As a performer he is unlike any other in the National Basketball Association.
Iverson cares. He gives maximum effort. Those are admirable traits, especially these days, when too many professional athletes don't care what the scoreboard says.
That's what makes this soon-to-be-completed divorce so sad.
``It's time for him to go his way and us to go our way,'' says 76ers Chairman Ed Snider.
In order to fully appreciate Iverson, one must stand beside him in the locker room. At 6-feet, 165 pounds, he's a sapling among redwoods.
He can sure put the ball in the basket, though. He is the league's leading scorer. He's fast. He's fearless. With apologies to the hacks that created Dwyane Wade's sneaker commercial, it is Iverson who gets knocked down and keeps getting up.
All that said, I just can't shake what NBA coaches Jeff Van Gundy and Gregg Popovich always say: A coach, team, owner and franchise are only as good as the best player and the example he sets.
The leader can make things easy on a coach -- or not. With Iverson it's usually the hard way. A.I. was all too often absent.
Practice would start. No Allen. A team function would start. No Allen.
Silly Practice
Thanks to Iverson's rant several years ago, we all know how he feels about practice.
``I know I'm supposed to lead by example. I know that. I'm not shoving it aside like it don't mean anything,'' Iverson said. ``I know it's important. I do. I honestly do. But we're talking about practice. How silly is that?''
Even former 76ers President Pat Croce, who developed a tight bond with the player he dubbed ``Bubba Chuck,'' was pushed too far.
Even Croce, an eternal optimist, lost hope.
Before the 2001 season Croce actually traded the player he chose with the No. 1 pick in the 1996 draft. He called Iverson himself to break the news.
``I did not want to trade Allen,'' Croce told me back then, ``but I could no longer defend him.''
Philly's Forgiveness
That's the thing with Iverson. Someone's always issuing a statement of apology or hastily calling a press conference to clarify.
For a while, the Philly fans forgave Iverson's transgressions, which included several run-ins with the law.
He provided the sizzle and they adored him for it. Remember the advice Russell Crowe's character in the movie ``Gladiator'' received -- win the crowd.
Iverson did.
After Croce's swap fell through, thanks to Matt Geiger's unwillingness to give up what's called a trade kicker, Iverson saw the light.
The team responded, reaching the NBA Finals. Iverson led the underdog 76ers to a win over Shaquille O'Neal, Kobe Bryant and the Los Angeles Lakers in Game 1 of the 2001 championship series.
They haven't reached the conference final since.
Love Cooled
The love affair has cooled.
Last season, Iverson skipped a fan appreciation event. The 76ers weren't happy.
And then, two weeks ago, Iverson blew off an event for season-ticket holders and corporate sponsors.
That infuriated Snider.
Iverson's antics were endured when the 76ers were winning, when the building was jammed. That isn't the case anymore.
Not even close.
Check the standings. Philadelphia is last in the Atlantic division with a record of 5-14 entering last night's game.
Moreover, the 76ers are averaging 15,517 fans a game this season, placing them 27th among the 30 teams. Iverson, the showman, no longer captivates the fan base.
``As hard as it is to admit, a change may be the best thing for everybody,'' Iverson said in a statement over the weekend. ``I hate admitting that because I love the guys on the team and the city of Philadelphia.''
Conditional Emotion
Iverson never understood that love, in the context of professional sports, is a conditional emotion. Adoration is ephemeral. It's based on wins and losses.
Iverson isn't winning games. He isn't selling tickets.
From a business perspective, the former MVP isn't all that valuable anymore.
The 31-year-old Iverson has, over the past few seasons, spoken often of his maturation, of being a leader. You know what they say about actions and words.
Snider has heard enough. He's had enough.
Iverson's erratic temperament isn't worth his exceptional talent. Not anymore, anyway.
Even brotherly love has its limits.
(Scott Soshnick is a Bloomberg News columnist. The opinions expressed are his own.)
To contact the writer of this column: Scott Soshnick in New York at [email protected]
Last Updated: December 12, 2006 00:03 EST
