Cooney: Still can't let go of Allen Iverson's Hall of Fame induction
When it came to playing basketball, there wasn't much Allen Iverson did quietly. The diminutive guard's game didn't just speak volumes, it literally made buildings shake at times.
Iverson went into the Hall of Fame on Friday in an event that was somewhat overshadowed around here due to the fact it was held at the home of the Basketball Hall of Fame in Springfield, Mass., and that it coincided with the first weekend of a full college and pro football schedule. But, much like his play on the basketball court, Iverson stole the show on a night that included the inductions of Shaquille O'Neil, Yao Ming, Tom Izzo and others.
Dressed in a black suit, shirt and tie, Iverson was as genuine at the podium as he was at any time during his career in trying to will his teams to victories. Perhaps one of the most misunderstood players ever to compete in this city is now starting to endear himself to the many who never could grasp what Iverson was about.
There is no doubt he had his troubles – late for games and practices, disregard for coaches and management, among other things. His was a life that few of us can understand, from a troubled upbringing that included a father who headed a gang at a very young age to a jail sentence just after high school.
I won't pretend to know what Iverson went through. I also won't pretend to know the man very well, having only regularly covered him during his comeback with the Sixers in 2009-10 during his 25-game stint with the team. But what I did get to know was a man who did everything in his life 100 percent.
When there was dancing in the locker room before a game, he was the best at it. If there was a song being played from the locker room sound system, he turned it louder. His jokes were the loudest, and most often the funniest. His stories commanded full attention.
I saw him as a person that lived his life 100 percent, 100 percent of the time, whether that was good or bad. If he was on the basketball court, he played his hardest. I have no doubt that if he was partying with friends, he did that to his fullest, also. His commitment to family and friends seems to be beyond admirable.
His basketball life, in which he finished his 17-year NBA career with averages of 26.7 points 6.2 assists and 2.2 steals in 41.1 minutes, was ruled by a scoreboard. When he left the court, he knew if he and his team were winners or losers. That was a clear-cut line. His life outside of basketball has no clock, no definitive winner or loser on a daily basis. While many think he has a blessed life due to the millions he's made and the millions he still has coming to him (there is a $32 million Reebok deal due him at 55, though a divorce may cost him some/most of that), others wonder if he can survive in a world without basketball and the daily adulation that he became accustomed to.
I'm going to bet/hope that Iverson thrives in his new life. Just 40, he has five children whom he adores. He had said he is attempting reconciliation with the mother of his kids, Tawanna. He adores his mother, friends, past teammates, former coaches and anyone that has helped him in his life.
I ran into Iverson in the hallways of the Wells Fargo Center before the team's next-to-last home game last season, not long after Iverson held a press conference to talk about his upcoming Hall of Fame induction. He shed genuine tears at the press conference just talking about the ceremony, which then was still months away. "I don't know how I'm going to hold it together that night," he said to me. "There are just so many people who mean so much to me. It's gonna be a long night."
His speech lasted just past 30 minutes on Friday, and Iverson was teary-eyed even before he took the stage with his presenters – Larry Brown, Julius Erving and John Thompson. He seemed to thank pretty much everyone he knows. His list of friends who have passed was longer than anyone his age should have, a sign of the tough upbringing he endured. And perhaps his broadest smile during the speech was saved for close to the end, when he brought up the Philly fans.
"My relationship with the fans in Philadelphia is like no other," he said, comparing their admiration to him to that of Chicago's with Michael Jordan. "Thank you all for the support over the years. You all let me grow. You all let me make my mistakes. You never jumped off the bandwagon and continued to support me like true fans are supposed to."
It was a well-deserved thank you to his supporters and, just maybe, a bit of a plea to not bail on him now. Whether you loved him or loathed him, check out the speech. It may give you some more insight as to the person Allen Iverson is.
