Some people care so much what others think of them they change the way they live. And some people don't. Some people become famous and ditch all the friends who hung with them when they were nobody special. And some people don't. Some people tell reporters what they want to hear so all the people who don't know them can smile a little broader. And some people don't. Some people live in fear of being different, of actually having something to say that not everyone agrees with. And some people don't.

Allen Iverson? Oh he doesn't. Not at all. Iverson, or I as he's come to be called, is so much one of a kind, so original in the way he goes about being the baddest point guard in the NBA, that it's amazing there's even one of him. He's that special.

I for an I. When you come up like I you learn the value of relying on just yourself. You have to. The product of a 15-year-old mother, Iverson has lived without little things like electricity and heat. And three meals a day. And a positive male role model much of the time. And hope. He has been imprisoned and yet does not seem bitter. He has endured. He has persevered. He has thrived.

He has triumphed.

And it's his triumph that's a rude facial to everyone who said he'd never amount to anything. To everyone who said he could never hack the NBA. To everyone who laughed at his intentions. To everyone with a sinking feeling that this kid may rewrite the record books someday. See, society has it all wrong: this is a role model. Not merely for the kids you see on TV, with their perfect families. Many of them know what time it is, anyway. But Allen seems to speak for those without a voice, the children who live so far off the government's radar screen that they may as well be dead. The kids Ghostface so rightly rapped about in "All That I Got Is You." Kids who exist but don't really live.

Allen gives them hope that they may stand where he is someday. Winners all. It's a burden, carrying all those hopes and dreams of those thousands, but it's one Allen Iverson readily accepts. He accepts it because he knows that he had no one there for him, and he knows what that feels like. He accepts because he is a man, not a boy. He also has his own child, a daughter, someone who's changed his life and made him see his responsibilty at such an early age.

"She's made me a lot smarter, a lot wiser, to what's going on around me," says Iverson. "She made me more responsible. Having a daughter, a lot of things that I do are going to reflect on her life, so I try to live my life so she could see what I've done in my life, and look at it like she can achieve anything. Whatever she has to go through, whether negative or positive, she can overcome."

Allen Iverson overcame quite a bit last season. Things were blown out of proportion. Things were misrepresented. Things got ugly. It got so bad that the press started picking on his boys. A bad influence? Pleeease. His boys are no more a bad influence on Allen than they are on you. Some people make friends for life and some people don't. Allen Iverson, who's been through his share of tough times has a crew of guys who were there for him when they were splitting a pizza six ways, and they're gonna be there now with the Cristal flowing.

"Those are my friends," he says. "Those are guys who were with me since day one. They're the guys that believed in me. Man, these guys are the ones I trust. Out of all these people, and bein' where I'm at right now, it's hard to trust people. And those are the guys I trust."

I for an I

Iverson has to look out for himself, 'cause the other NBA point guards are coming for his ass after what he did to them last season. Made them lunge. Made them fall. Made them foul out.

He had a lot of those moments last season and he has a lot more in store this season. With a year under his belt, Allen is no longer the "rookie sensation". The man known as I won the Rookie of the Year award by posting these stats: 23.5 ppg, 7.2 apg and 2.1 steals per contest. Read 'em again. That's seven assists, Mr. "But-he-takes-all-the-shots."

Who says there's no team in I?

While his critics were surprised that he won it, Allen says he wasn't.

"I was happy, but I was more relieved, you know?" Iverson says. "I mean, I felt a lot of pressure had came off me by finding out. I was always thinking about it. I felt that I was the Rookie of the Year. I worked hard to try to become the Rookie of the Year and it just felt good, like a dream come true. It was a tribute to my family and friends you know everybody that stuck with me through my rough times."

Every generation or so there's one of them. The point guard you can't take your eyes off. The one who, when he's on the court, it's as if no one else is. In the 50's, Bob Davies, the dribbling maestro, made three, four guys chase him without relinquishing control of the pill. During the 60's, Bob Cousy made passes that others couldn't even dream about. The 70's? Pistol Pete, who could burn you from beyond halfcourt or swoop past you, hair and socks flapping in the breeze. The 80's? Buck (y'all know who I'm talking about, right?) made Showtime the greatest show on earth. Then came the 90's. Plenty of dope point g's stepped up to claim the mantle set forth by those before, but none have been able to raise themselves to that new level. And then came the '96 season and out of Georgetown came a young guy by the name of Allen Iverson and his trusty sidekick, the cross-crossover. (So nice they named it twice.) He was met with immediate criticism.

"Won't pass."

"Can't shoot."

"Too small."

"Too wild."

"Waaay too wild."

All the while, Allen-imaginary toothpick firmly implanted in his mouth-served so many folks on the regular, he should've changed his damn nickname to "IHOP". He did things with the ball that have never been done by a man of his size (5-10, 165 pounds). Still folks bitched. It didn't help that his team was losing as many games as they played. Or that the kid stood defiant in the face of criticism and continued to play the kind of ball that dominated the prime-time highlights. It didn't help thas he was so ill, he made people in high places shiver and people in low places cheer.

Now he's busy flipping a new script. With a successful draft and some trades, the Sixers may really have a squad. Maybe Allen won't have to burden himself with scoring 35 percent of the points. Maybe he also won't have to make excuses every time he scores 40 and drops five or six dimes, instead of 10 or 12. Sure Allen is sure of his game. But when was he sure he was gonna make the NBA?

"I think it was the first year I started playin', when I was like eight or nine years old," he says. "I felt when I picked up a ball, I felt that I could do it. There's a lot of people who, you know, said that it wasn't possible, that 'only one out of millions,' that I couldn't do it, you know, I heard everything. But I never fed into that. I always believed that if I wanted to do it, I could do it. My moms really made me believe that I could do it. When she kept tellin' me I could, well, I trust her more than anybody. And I believe in her more than anybody. Once she started tellin' me that, then I knew the dream would come true."

Only Iverson can defeat himself, so when he wins, when his dreams come true, it's just that much sweeter. For him and us.