Hero of a Generation

This season has already seen the retirement of some of the game's all-time greats, each accompanied with undying questions about his legacy. Where is Jason Kidd's place among the greatest point guards of all time? How should we view the injury-plagued yet phenomenal careers of Grant Hill and Tracy McGrady? But among the pundits and talking heads of ESPN and NBATV, the career of the recently-retired Allen Iverson is the most puzzling. Iverson was given his well-deserved recognition, no doubt, but all talk came with qualifying statements about how much greater he could have been, playing on raw talent and not honing his god-given ability. ESPN's professional troll Skip Bayless even went so far as to say that Iverson was a "waste of talent." Not to mention all his off-court troubles from casinos, to weapons charges and all the rest. But all these people talking at you from your television aren't giving you the whole story. For those who witnessed Iverson in his prime, especially the people of my generation, he isn't the frustrating, lazy thug that the adults in the media would like you to think he was. For an entire city, and maybe even country, of kids and teenagers alike, Allen Iverson is a hero.

Courtesy of NBC Sports

I knew a little about Iverson's legal troubles and of course his infamous "practice" rant growing up, but it didn't much matter. His size and style of play seemed just attainable enough for any kid that dreamed of playing basketball in the NBA someday, no matter how delusional it may realistically have been. As a kid, I wasn't aware of his "last one to the gym, first one out" reputation. You would never know watching him play. Iverson wouldn't be caught dead dogging it on the court. He played harder and wanted to win more than any athlete I have ever seen. We were too naive to see his imperfections, and perhaps too free to care. His greatness was beyond evident, but the fact that it coincided with the fantasy world of childhood made it that much sweeter.

When Iverson officially retired a few weeks ago, the talk amongst my friends, 18- and 19-year-old college students, was about how lucky we were to see Iverson in his prime; what we would give to see those mediocre Sixers teams one more time just to see the Answer in all his glory. The people of my generation talk about Iverson in the same glowing light that our grandfathers talk about Bill Russell or Wilt Chamberlain, even if he has half the credentials of those two basketball giants. His impact on the game can't be overstated. Every player you see today wearing a headband or a shooting sleeve or sporting infinite tattoos can thank AI for paving the way. How many players, hell how many people in this world, can say they touched an entire generation the way Allen did?

I can still see it now: 9-year-old Ben, running around the driveway with a cut-off sock around his arm thinking it's an arm sleeve, black headband around his head, Reeboks tightly laced, simulating a step-back jumper, pretending to step over an invisible Tyronn Lue. Those are the memories I'll cherish. Those are the memories Allen Iverson made possible.