When the lights dim today in front of a national television audience before the All-Star Game, it will be the culmination of a dream for Iverson. Twenty-four stars will be introduced by a public address announcer, and a member of NBA security will have every single player pause - just so the spotlight allows him one shining moment - signaling, possibly, the end of an arduous path only a few thought Iverson would ever climb:

The path to acceptance.

"It makes me feel so good to make the all-star team as a starter because it came from the fans," said Iverson, who will be introduced among such choirboys as Grant Hill and Ray Allen. "When it comes to the starters, the fans pick us. They're the people that watch the games. They make us. They mean everything. Without them, there wouldn't be us."

At 6 feet and 175 pounds, Iverson is clearly one of the three most electrifying players in the game. His quickness is unmatched, his ball-handling skills are unquestioned, and his desire to win is incomparable. He vowed, before and after being drafted by the Sixers as the top overall pick in 1996, that he would play every game as if it were his last, and has done just that.

He averaged 23.5 points per game in his rookie year, when he captured rookie of the year honors and became the only rookie in NBA history to record five consecutive games of 40 points or more. Last season, he became the first Sixer since the late Wilt Chamberlain to capture the league's scoring title, averaging 26.8 points per game and winning it on the last game of the regular season.

Iverson's accomplishments have meant success for the Sixers, who visited the playoffs last season for the first time in eight years. And NBC and Turner Broadcasting thanked Iverson and the organization by scheduling them for 19 national television appearances, a franchise record.

Iverson has thanked them all with his league-leading average of 31.3 points per game this season. Still, Iverson has long known the weight of cynicism, of having people expect him to fail, and there are times when he still feels like a target.

Recently, Iverson sat among old friends from Virginia, discussing, among other things, his image and being voted to the all-star team. Iverson's first reaction to the announcement had been that he must have been dreaming. Then he remembered the times the words "only in your dreams" had been thrown at him before, mockingly.

Iverson didn't specify whether they had come from personnel inside a Virginia prison, where he spent four months as a teenager after being convicted of maiming by mob in 1994 (the governor commuted the sentence and an appeals court later overturned the conviction); or from police officers in Virginia, who stopped his car for speeding in 1997 and arrested him on a concealed-weapons charge (he pleaded no contest); or from cynics who just "didn't want me to succeed," he said.

Iverson acknowledges that he is continuing to mature. And he concedes that he hasn't helped his reputation one bit by missing practices, arguing with coach Larry Brown, and airing the Sixers' dirty laundry in public. What's more, he's aware of the labels usually attached to his character because of those actions.

Child! Criminal! Selfish! Thug!

To hear Iverson talk, such criticism stems from those who harp on negatives, who never wanted him to succeed, anyway. He says he doesn't count most people in the city of Philadelphia among such critics, which makes the cynicism easier to ignore.

"I always felt I would get [the fans'] support," Iverson said of his selection to the all-star team, and his home city. "They care about what they like and that's basketball. A lot of fans don't care about the guy's personality, they care about what guys can do on the basketball court. It's not a popularity contest."

He has become popular, though, which breeds problems, both pleasant and painful.

On one hand, Iverson is today's modern version of a cult figure. He's hassled constantly. Fans, especially women, can't get enough, like the nurse who once screamed: "Allen, I love you. I'll leave my husband if you want me to."

Such adulation is mind-boggling, but numbing. It also reminds him of one of the biggest problems he has: Everyone wants something.

Old friends. People he's hardly known. Someone who may have helped Iverson or his mother out during hard times. Belying the tattoos on his body, the braided hairdo, the entourage referred to as his posse, those close to him say he's one of the sweetest people alive.

If you know him, of course.

"Allen is a great person once you get to know him," said Sixers guard Aaron McKie, Iverson's best friend on the team. "You have to really know him and be around him to know the type of person he is. People always think they can judge Allen by just his appearance. Just like my college coach [Temple's John Chaney]. I run into all kinds of people asking me, 'How could you play for him? How could you like that guy?' All I say is, 'He's a great guy. He means so much to me.' Until you sit down with a person and get to know them, you'll never know them."

Iverson knows this much: He's no longer picking up the bill for friends to fly all over the country to see his games; they now wait until he returns to Philadelphia. He has one personal assistant in Gary Moore, instead of 10 of his boys. And, despite their sometimes tumultuous relationship, Iverson knows he has a great leader in Brown. Regardless of all his heroics, Iverson knows that today's all-star appearance may have taken a while longer to achieve had it not been for Brown's exceptional coaching, along with the support of Sixers president Pat Croce and a host of teammates.

They have all allowed him to grow, to mature, and have provided a shoulder to lean on during his turbulent times. But a difficult road still lies ahead.

Image. It's still a problem for Iverson. This weekend, with last night's three-point shootout and today's game, represents a chance for it to continue to improve.

"I want it to," Iverson said. "I don't want people to say that I'm a good guy because I say it. I want them to see it, and take the time to understand who I am. I want them to understand I ain't the bad guy everybody says I am. I want them to say, 'Let me judge for myself,' and not by just coming up to me and saying, 'I'm going to ask him a certain question and if he doesn't answer it the way I want him to answer it, then I'm going to assume he's a bad guy.'

"For me to know you, to know what type of person you are, I've got to talk to you, man. I shouldn't be judged off of what somebody else says about me."

But what if people can't judge him appropriately because they can't get near him?

"Then don't judge me at all," he said. "It ain't fair to judge me if you haven't gotten a chance to talk, to understand who I am, the struggles I've gone through in my life, and why I do the things I do. That's why it feels so good to be an all-star."

Fans judged by what they saw, not what they heard.