Sixers' superstar makes key victory stunningly simple He made a shot from the brim of Billy Penn's hat. He made a shot from the top of the Ben Franklin Bridge. He made a shot from the wing of a 747. While it was landing at Philadelphia International Airport. He made two shots from so close to the Indiana bench that he was almost in the Pacers' laps. He made one shot that initially missed. But the ball bounced high above the backboard, hung there trying to make up its mind, saw that it belonged to Allen Iverson, and dropped through so clean and pure that there was not so much as a ripple of netting. Iverson shrugged. He had entered the Enchanted Kingdom. It is where whatever goes up is going through. Iverson did what MVPs are supposed to do last night. He put his skinny shoulders under the 76ers' team bus and lifted. The Sixers are now out of the ditch and upright. But they know they now must win at least once in Indianapolis. The solace is, they have played well on the road all year. Game 2, the billing said of last night's offering. But in reality, it was Game 7.  The 76ers were squarely up against it, having spit out an 18-point bit in the process of frittering away the home-court advantage they had spent six laborious months acquiring. Their very first playoff game, in what is supposed to be a lyrical postseason, ended badly and hung over them like a shroud. For a half last night, they played like a team strung tighter than a new guitar. But as soon as Iverson demonstrated that the Pacers would be unable to trap or contain him, the Sixers seemed to relax. Iverson gunned in 45 points in winning a shoot-out against Reggie Miller, the Pacers' assassin, who had 41. Iverson played 46 straight minutes. But the best number next to his name was nine, as in assists. It meant the Sixers had been able to figure out, for now at least, how to cope when Iverson is doubled or denied. The evening began with another one of the Sixers' flaming tributes to arsonists and pyromaniacs, also known as the introduction of the home players. Just before the fire belchers commenced to torch the rafters, Dikembe Mutombo wrapped his paws around the trophy for defensive player of the year. Unfortunately, it didn't count as a basket. And this game began exactly as the first one had ended, Miller whipping around a double screen and knifing in a long jump shot from the wing. It was an eerie replica of the three-pointer Miller had so confidently drained to win Saturday's series opener.  It also had the look of dire omen because in the first nine minutes Miller had 14 points. The man next to you said: "It's OK if Reggie gets his, just as long as Jalen [Rose] doesn't get his." Perhaps. But Miller was on pace for about 116 all by himself. The crowd serenaded him at every opportunity, with the usual profane two-word chant. Three straight years in the playoffs against the Pacers, and they still haven't learned. Miller is one of those rare players who don't shrink from a crowd but rather are fueled by it. The more verbal abuse that is heaped on him, the more creative, and accurate, he becomes. And then here came Iverson. He nailed an early jumper. Then another. That is almost always an encouraging sign. It means his confidence is high and it means they will come out on him, which in turn means that those defenders who have him on the outside are about to be grievously embarrassed and separated from several articles of their clothing as he begins his break-them-down cobra dance. The Pacers, who had shut down Iverson so effectively in the first game, came at him with the pack-hunt attack, dropping off the other Sixers, daring them to beat the Pacers. First, they picked on Eric Snow. Left him lonesome and with the ball. Go ahead, shoot. Dare you. But he made two uncontested jumpers. Emboldened by that, he posted up and scored off that. The key, of course, would come later, when the game was close. When it's tight and it's late, the Sixers have no options beyond Iverson. No one else seems eager to take the shot. Miller whisked around another screen and buried another three over Iverson, and Iverson looked in exasperation at the referee. Miller, he pantomimed, had gotten open by pushing off. But of course. It's the playoffs. Not much quarter is asked, and certainly none is given. Iverson responded the best possible way. At the other end, he rainbowed in a three. No griping back down the court. No lobbying for a call while his man scores. A three for a three. Take that. Miller had a reply. It was a falling-down, twisting, midair-correction jumper, made even though Snow jostled his elbow. Foul. Miller went through his talc-dusting routine and made the free throw even as the fans booed. They may never learn. Larry Brown, searching frantically for offense, tried Jumaine Jones, who is springy and exciting. But there is a reason he does not get extended minutes. His defense. Rather, his lack thereof. That deficit was reemphasized last night. The Sixers got a bucket here and there - Snow again, Aaron McKie off the bench, and the redoubtable George Lynch. It was a struggle, though. Iverson tried to match Miller. Someone had to.  Miller didn't come out. Isiah Thomas was going to ride that horse for as long as it could run. For a man 35, and with 14 NBA seasons of wear, Miller still has tread on those tires. Iverson wasn't coming out, either. The Sixers couldn't afford a pit stop for him. In one embarrassing sequence, the Sixers had four shots by three different players, each from a distance of a foot or less. They made none. Yet somehow they had the lead. Then Miller missed. Everyone blinked in surprise. Then he did it again. After the third attempt, he stopped shooting. And Mutombo, who had been embarrassed on offense by first flinging up an air ball from three feet and then getting an up-and-under move blocked, intercepted a shot by Rose and first swatted it into the visitors bullpen at Veterans Stadium and then spiked it through the first three layers of the earth's crust. The Pacers were dutifully impressed. But not cowed. Just cautious. They did not attack the rim. Iverson did, though. Fearlessly. As usual. He took over the game. The Pacers had been able to deny him the ball in the first game. But he had no problem getting it last night, and then it became obvious that, like Miller earlier, he had entered the Enchanted Kingdom. Whatever went up was going to go through. In such moments, the game becomes stunningly simple.		Author Bill Lyon   Source Inquirer   Return to Articles