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Questioning the Answer: The Trouble with Allen Iverson
D.S. CorpuzJan 6, 2007
And so what gives? What's wrong with the Answer? Why do his teams always seem to lose?
For starters, there's his style of play. AI brings a playground flair to the NBA—which is certainly entertaining, but rarely translates into victories. Iverson's knack for iso matchups effectively negates the team basketball that flourished around the league in the late 80s and early 90s. It doesn't matter how good you are—it's always hard to win games all by yourself.
Another problem: The Answer is, by all rights, a point-shooting guard...with a heavy emphasis on the latter. On the Nuggets, he's been asked to fill the role left vacant by Andre Miller—whose true point skills are a far cry from Iverson's trigger-happy game. The fit, so far, has been an awkward one.
And look—I'm not saying the Nuggets shouldn't get the ball in Iverson's hands. (Although given his five turnovers a game, maybe they should spread it around a little bit.) My point, simply, is that AI needs to learn that his touches are just as valuable as everyone else's...and that an off-balance twenty-three-footer is hardly a productive way to end a possession.
Like every legend-in-the-making, Iverson is bound to be a dominant court presence for any team. Other players stand in awe of him when he has the ball. Unfortunately, that reverence turns out to be a curse as often as a blessing.
In Philly, Iverson complained that GM Billy King and coach Mo Cheeks didn't listen when he said the Sixers needed to change their style. But the problem wasn't the team's—it was AI's. As good as they looked on paper, his 30.5 points a game did nothing to make his teammates better. Since the Answer left for Denver, the Sixers have gained all those things they could never have with Number Three running the show:
Balance.
Chemistry.
Flow.
Iverson's fire—the same fire that makes him liable to go for 50 on any given night—often burns too hot for his team's own good. What makes a great player? Passion, of course...but also awareness, and an ability to tone down your game when your teammates can't keep up.
In the end, Iverson's greatness—like that of all superstars—will ultimately be measured largely in terms of wins and losses. So hating on AI? That's not what I'm doing. If anything, in fact, I'm cheering for him...but in order to secure his place in history, he's got realize that his success and his team's success are inevitably intertwined.
And if he's going to be in the business of pointing fingers, he'd better start with the guy in the mirror.
Another problem: The Answer is, by all rights, a point-shooting guard...with a heavy emphasis on the latter. On the Nuggets, he's been asked to fill the role left vacant by Andre Miller—whose true point skills are a far cry from Iverson's trigger-happy game. The fit, so far, has been an awkward one.
And look—I'm not saying the Nuggets shouldn't get the ball in Iverson's hands. (Although given his five turnovers a game, maybe they should spread it around a little bit.) My point, simply, is that AI needs to learn that his touches are just as valuable as everyone else's...and that an off-balance twenty-three-footer is hardly a productive way to end a possession.
Like every legend-in-the-making, Iverson is bound to be a dominant court presence for any team. Other players stand in awe of him when he has the ball. Unfortunately, that reverence turns out to be a curse as often as a blessing.
In Philly, Iverson complained that GM Billy King and coach Mo Cheeks didn't listen when he said the Sixers needed to change their style. But the problem wasn't the team's—it was AI's. As good as they looked on paper, his 30.5 points a game did nothing to make his teammates better. Since the Answer left for Denver, the Sixers have gained all those things they could never have with Number Three running the show:
Balance.
Chemistry.
Flow.
Iverson's fire—the same fire that makes him liable to go for 50 on any given night—often burns too hot for his team's own good. What makes a great player? Passion, of course...but also awareness, and an ability to tone down your game when your teammates can't keep up.
In the end, Iverson's greatness—like that of all superstars—will ultimately be measured largely in terms of wins and losses. So hating on AI? That's not what I'm doing. If anything, in fact, I'm cheering for him...but in order to secure his place in history, he's got realize that his success and his team's success are inevitably intertwined.
And if he's going to be in the business of pointing fingers, he'd better start with the guy in the mirror.
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