By Richard Carrier
Contributing Writer

In a week when the moral failure of the world’s most recognized athlete made front page headlines, often usurping our President’s monumental decisions as the lead story, a college coaching legend was forced to retire and an iconic college football program casually fired their third winning coach in the past 13 seasons (despite facing a $14 million buy-out) the story that could hold the most life-lessons, particularly for our young athletes, barely made page three in most sports sections.

Last week Allan Iverson signed a non-guaranteed one-year contract with the Philadelphia 76ers at the pro-rated minimum salary for an NBA veteran, about $650,000. His yearly salary for the prime six years of his 11-year career at Philadelphia had been $11 million.

There is no doubt that Allan Iverson was, and still almost is, the grittiest player, large or small, to ever lace them up. There is no doubt that he is still a 20-point per game scorer. There is no doubt that he doesn’t have a clue and never did.

Iverson returned to the 76ers after a two-year, plus three-game sojourn with Denver and a one-year stint at Detroit. Those stops were followed by signing with the Grizzlies. Initially he embraced that franchise because “God chose Memphis as the place I will continue my career. They are committed to developing a winner.” Three games into the season he deserted both that prophecy and that commitment. On the surface it could appear that Iverson is returning “home” for his final crusade before he retires to wait for the Hall of Fame to call. But in fact he signed, and for the minimum, with the 76ers because not one other team would have him, regardless of the bargain basement price. Thirty coaches and 30 general managers have had enough of the “I” which prefaces every act or statement by the Answer. They’ve gagged on his selfishness for the last time.

Philadelphia had interest solely because their starting point-guard was going to be out for two months. Even in their fairly desperate situation, the 76ers were not willing to risk anything on Iverson. They can show him the door the first time he steps on the court, and for free.

It’s unfortunate, but revealing, that the ten-time All-Star, four-time scoring champion, two-time All-Star MVP, Rookie of the Year and League MVP (2000-01) is best known by a two minute and 30-second monologue he delivered at a 2002 press conference. But his “practice” rant truly defines his lack of character and his view that he is someone above the constraints of mortal men. As the “franchise player,” practice was irrelevant; as was being on time, respecting his coaches and his Commissioner, following a dress code, staying out of trouble and, God forbid, practicing with his team. Those two and a half minutes were really the beginning of the end for “I” for Iverson and stamped him as being clueless as to the importance of being a teammate in the most intimate of team sports, with only five players making up the whole in a very complex dance. He would be delighted to help your franchise, but only on his terms. Perform in a supporting role, tutor the younger players, act as an ambassador (ever notice how many endorsements he doesn’t get?) Afraid not, that just ain’t the answer, according to the Answer.

The “practice? We’re talking about practice. Not a game, but practice, I’m supposed to be the Franchise Player” and “how silly was that?” quotes from that press conference have been played over and over, but the final statement Iverson made in that press conference “How the hell am I supposed to make my teammates better by practicing?” is a carved-in-stone pronouncement of just how team-blind the Answer has been throughout his entire career. A tear-filled return to Philadelphia did no more than confirm the poor me, whine of a misunderstood egoist.

Allen Iverson may very well be elected to the Hall of Fame and, frankly, his numbers qualify him for enshrinement. His difficulty will be finding a former teammate to introduce him at the ceremony.