NBA: How Allen Iverson and Kevin Garnett Revolutionized the League

I'll never forget the day.

I sat in a summer basketball camp in June, 2000, baking in the gym that was far hotter than the weather outside. As I looked around at the other kids in attendance, one thing stuck out. Everyone was wearing either Allen Iverson's Reebok Answer model kicks, or Kevin Garnett's then Nike-contracted edition.

Sure, it's a bit of a generalization—there were kids with the Adidas Kobe Bryant models (those black on black ones were straight dope), but a vast majority had on either Garnett's new Nike's or Iverson's Reebok Answers.

Even then, it struck me—Garnett and Iverson, who came into the league within a year of each other (1995 and 1996, respectively), were two of the foremost cultural icons at that time.

Not only were they fantastic players, but both instituted a sea change in the nature of the NBA, whose reverberations are still being felt today.

Garnett's intrepid decision to eschew college and jump straight from high school to the pros hadn't been done in years—the most notable exception being Moses Malone in 1974. He was instantly catapulted into celebrity status. People were enthralled with a player who would make such a move.

For Garnett, it was a decision filled with the singular bravado of youth. True, his scholastic situation coming out of high school was tense, and reports that he was awaiting his final SAT score at the time of his decision were verified after he was drafted. In some ways, it was his only clear-cut decision at the time.

But the cultural significance wasn't lost: the kid thought he could play at the top level in the world, and he didn't want to wait, forced to go through the standard schooling that is college basketball.

Much in the way that the Fab Five had ignited a sea change of their own, revolutionizing college basketball just a few years earlier, Garnett galvanized the idea of just what a big man could do.

At 6'10", Garnett had the size to bang in the post, but it was his God-given athleticism that most sharply separated him from his peers. At no time was this more evident than his incredible MVP season in 2003-04, when the "Big Ticket" averaged 24.2 points, 13.9 rebounds and 5.0 assists per game. He made it known that a big guy could do more than just rebound and mop up missed shots for put-backs.

A big guy could run a team now.

He could take his man out of the paint, then proceed to blow by him to the hole. Before he had that serviceable jumper now seen with the Celtics—the byproduct of years of practice—he made his living (and in the process became quite possible the coolest dude in the NBA) by way of a combination of high-flying, ferocious dunks and nifty shots in the paint. Opposing players quaked when they saw him readying for another leaping foray to the hoop.

Nobody had seen a player that size run the court like a guard before. Freaks of nature are few and far between, but since Garnett, we've seen that kind of hybrid forward become ubiquitous. From LaMarcus Aldridge to Chris Bosh to the thousands of high school kids currently peppering the latest recruiting rankings, it's safe to say that the former Farragut Academy product has made an indelible imprint on the League.

Kids want to be the next KG.

Iverson's story is more layered and truncated, wending its way through far more legal loopholes than his former colleague (AI most recently played with Turkish club Besiktas in 2010-11), but there is no denying just how cool AI was (and, to a certain extent, still is).

That crossover against Michael Jordan as a Philadelphia 76ers rookie, in which the Georgetown product sent Jordan, a superb on-ball defender, sprawling—so ankle-wreck-inducing was the move—before floating a 15-foot jumper that saw nothing but nylon.

That Slam Magazine cover, when Iverson bled swag before swag had even been invented as a term.

That 2001 NBA Finals Game 2 against the Los Angeles Lakers, when Iverson was caught on NBC cameras jawing with Kobe Bryant during the closing minutes of what would be an eventual loss for the Sixers.

The man took no 'ish from anyone, and wasn't afraid to mix things up on the court. He held his own through thick and thin. Though the Sixers would lose that series 4-1, Iverson finished a stellar 2000-01 campaign with MVP honors, becoming the shortest and lightest player ever to win the award. The League had taken notice. 31.1 points a night tends to that.

Love him, hate him, you had to respect the way the little scoring guard pinballed his way about the court. Few were more willing to put their body on the line for their team.

In his prime, Iverson scored an inordinate amount of his points in the paint, launching on careening drives to the basket that often ended with him flat on his back, another trip to the foul line in the offing, where he was a standout free-throw shooter (77 percent for his 17-season NBA career).

When at his best, he was a joy to watch. There were few players who could put the ball in the basket with such consummate ease. Iverson looked like a fish in water on the court, oozing comfortably throughout 48 minutes.

Like Garnett, it was bittersweet to see the passage of time slowly deprive him of the parts of his game that once made him so unique.

That explosive first step began to slow, that lift in his legs began (ever so slightly) to give way to a more lead-footed delivery. The ferocious trips into the paint became less a part of his game.

Still, the idea of an undersized scoring guard has since been replicated on thousands of courts since Iverson's heyday.

Point guards now don't think twice before shooting—guys like Brandon Jennings launch jumpers with abandon on a nightly basis. If they've got the ability to score, then why should their first inclination be to pass? Play to your strengths. If Iverson taught us nothing else during his illustrious career, it was that.

Both Garnett and Iverson now find themselves on the downslope of their careers. It is imperative that we remember them for more than their fiery characters—rather, their unequaled determination should be celebrated first.

But most of all, we gotta remember their swag.

So as we remember two men whose careers will surely work their way into the storied arena of basketball lore, we remember two players who, despite their obvious differences in style and game, combined to take common perception and turn it upside down.