Have Some: Is That Your Final Answer? This is the Answer: Allen Iverson can arrive on time.  In basketball's summer months, when the NBA's best and brightest become modern-day hoop minstrels, bouncing from town to town like old Negro League barnstormers to various all-star games and charity golf and softball events, basketball's most conflicted brother has no problem with the various, diamond-studded, platinum-blinging, $20,000 timepieces that dangle from his ink-enhanced wrists.  The Answer arrives on time.  In Miami, he rolls into American Airlines Arena in plenty of time for the festivities of Zo's Summer Groove all-star game. As always, his posse trails in his wake. To all but Iverson, they are all men of unspecified purpose. Iverson might be The Answer, but his boys are sinister question marks to an unknowing outside world. Are they everlasting friends or parasitic sycophants? Are they grifters on a hustle, or trusted partners protecting his ass? The reality, say those who know Iverson best, is they are both his greatest pillars of strength - allies who've supported him all his life - and perilous anchors, threatening to drag him to the bottom of some predictably tragic abyss. "I fear," said one former Iverson confidante, "that if things keep going the way they are, Allen's life will have a tragic end." Allen Iverson has been to this dangerous edge before, and navigated the precipice like some Sherpa guide on a gaping Himalayan crevice: A childhood of despair; jail time and vanishing scholarship offers; a Benz, a gun, a bag of herb and a state trooper.  But here he is, "keepin' it real," and still standing: a 25-year-old with a $71 million NBA contract, and the everlasting love of an entire hip-hop generation, who wear his sneakers, mimic his crossover dribble, sport his braids and wonder what the hell Mainstream America is scared of.  Yet now, even his greatest supporters are wondering what's up with The Answer. The Sixers have tried desperately to trade him. His coach, Larry Brown, has blasted him publicly as a knucklehead who doesn't understand the meaning of the word "professional." Brown held a press conference to, in essence, justify why the Sixers wanted to trade him first to the Clippers, and then to the Pistons.  The short version of Brown's press conference is well known now: Why should a coach have a problem with a player, when all the coach is asking is that the player show up on time for games, show up on time for practices, and participate in all off-season workouts, just like everybody else? The Sixers say he has missed or been late to as many as 50 practices. Brown says after Iverson missed so many 9 a.m. practices, he changed the practice times to 11, and Iverson still couldn't get to the gym in time. Brown said Iverson's teammates wanted to lock the door to the gym when Iverson was late.  But as hard as general manager Billy King tried, the Sixers couldn't get rid of Iverson, one of the game's most exciting, tough, talented players. Two years ago, Iverson led the NBA in scoring. Last year, he finished second to Shaquille O'Neal. No one can guard Iverson one on one. Few teams can stop him from doing whatever the hell he wants on the court.  Yet the Sixers couldn't get rid of him.  Do you understand what this means, Allen?  The friggin' Clippers turned down a deal for you that could have been done easily. All they had to do was basically give up Lamar Odom. Under any normal circumstances, only a fool would turn down a man of Iverson's abilities for Odom, a nice young player who has yet to prove he can be a superstar of Iverson's caliber.  But this time, the Clippers weren't exactly fools. Iverson's act rightly scares them.  In Detroit, the Pistons could have had him, too. Joe Dumars, a Detroit icon and one of the most rock-solid old pros who ever suited up in the NBA, wanted Iverson. He had no fear of his image. He had no reluctance regarding his attitude. The old guard and the young guard have talked, and Dumars liked what he heard. A few weeks ago, Joe D was talking about the kind of players he was seeking as he tried to mold the new Pistons into his own image. "I'm looking for guys who are going to be either extremely talented or extremely tough, and hopefully, some guys who are both," Dumars said.  He knew Iverson was both.  But no one else in the Detroit organization was as comfortable with Iverson as Dumars. So when the trade for Iverson was about to fall apart because Matt Geiger refused to toss out a clause in his contract that called for a 15% raise if he was traded (causing the Pistons to exceed the salary cap), the Pistons still had a way to pull the deal off.  One source close to the trade talks said someone suggested that the Pistons renege on the contract offers to Orlando free agents Ben Wallace and Chucky Atkins.The Pistons said no. It was unprofessional to do such a thing after promising to sign the two players.  They were absolutely right. Reneging on a deal isn't a nice thing to do. But who said the business of sports was supposed to be nice?  Think about it: If you had to choose between Ben Wallace and Chucky Atkins or Allen Iverson, how long would it take you to go for the bigger, better deal (Iverson)? Quicker than the time it takes for a New Yorker to hit his horn after the light turns green?  But instead of looking at this situation as something he created, or recognizing that his career is heading down the Derrick Coleman turnpike of lost souls and underachieving headcases, Iverson is pouting. One of Iverson's posse members was quoted in the Philadelphia Inquirer as saying, "Right now, Iverson and the Sixers can't work. After all that's been said, he's so ticked, it's scary."  Iverson doesn't seem to understand that he's the one who screwed up. He's the one whose watch doesn't seem to work. He's the one who doesn't realize that he's screwed up so badly that the damned Clippers don't even want him. But he is not the only problem. Brown is, too. While Iverson's friends keep whispering in his ear that Larry Brown is the enemy, and owner Pat Croce goes all over the country seeking advice on how to deal with Iverson, the other problem child in all of this - Brown - went on vacation. Croce has talked to Iverson. General manager King has talked to Iverson. Magic Johnson has talked to Iverson. John Thompson has talked to Iverson. But not once has Brown talked to Iverson. Instead, he held a press conference to make sure the public knew he was pissed off. He should have driven down to Norfolk and told Iverson.  Last week, Thompson, who coached Iverson at Georgetown for two seasons, tried to explain that to Croce. "[Iverson] is someone I love dearly. But I know he has to be cursed out periodically," Thompson told Croce during an interview on Thompson's radio talk show in DC. "But it has to be done by the coach. Not some former player, or former coach - nobody but the man who's putting him in and out of the ballgame. Larry's got to have enough gumption ... to confront him face to face and tell him he's wrong and say, 'If you miss one of my practices, you're not going to be on the floor.' But don't let him [miss] practice, score 40 points, and win a game for which you take credit for being a good coach, then call a press conference in the summer and say you're mad."  But the reality is, Brown doesn't have to change a damned thing if he doesn't want to. He has won this power struggle by virtue of a new contract extension that pays him $6 million and is filled with all sorts of power and corporate perks. He has won the power struggle by virtue of the fact that he has tried to unload one of the most feared scorers in the game. Iverson is the one who must change. Croce says Iverson told him he will. But until Iverson tells Brown he will, how can we ever believe him?		Author Bryan Burwell   Source HoopsTV   Return to Articles