Dr. Robert

Inspired by this incredible blog, which sets out to prove - in a wonderfully purple prose - that there is more than meets the eye when it comes to Allen Iverson, I have put in writing my own AI story. It is the God's honest truth as reported by my mans Smith, Phil and Paul, one of whom was there, and neither of whom are liars.

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I have a friend who played AAU ball with AI's club (though AI was slightly older and on a different team) back in VA. This friend of mine was a country boy, and honed his game in his back yard, alone, far out on VA's isolated Eastern Shore.

AI's high-school exploits were local legend. He showed up to every game late - cool, calm, and collected after cheefing out in his car in the parking lot. He began every game by stealing the ball from the opposing point guard, taking a couple of dribbles, and unleashing a thunderous dunk. He did this for the first few possessions of the game, and then, point made, refrained from playing defense of any sort for the rest of the contest, which he continued to dominate, due mostly to the fact that he was faster than everyone else - even when cruising around the court at half-speed. Once he deemed his team's lead insurmountable and grew bored he would proceed, to the crowd's delight and his coach's eternal consternation, to put on a dunk exhibition (windmills, 360s, etc...) on his own basket until he was finally removed from the game.

It must also be noted that in these games, as in his NBA games today in which he must exert a great deal more effort, AI does not sweat. Check it out next time you’re watching TNT. 48 minutes, OT, it matters not. Not a drop of perspiration may be seen on The Answer’s serious visage nor his slender, tattooed, frame.

My friend witnessed these exploits, and saw talented defender after talented defender get burned effortlessly by AI and his unreal speed. Out there alone on the Eastern Shore practicing for hours on end, my friend fantasized about guarding AI, about being the guy that would stay in front of him, about shutting The Answer down.

One day at AAU practice he got his chance. My friend’s team was scrimmaging with AI’s older squad, both young men were on the court, and Allen came off a pick at the top of the key and my friend rotated over to guard him. It was just like he had envisioned. AI dribbled at the top of the circle. My friend clapped his hands, bent his knees low, bounced on his toes, and concentrated on AI’s belt-buckle. He would not be mislead by fancy dribbles, jabsteps, or fakes of the ball or head. He would not be beaten.

AI continued to dribble. My friend continued to intensely maintain his textbook defensive stance. AI hesitated. AI crossed over. Bamf. AI disappeared. He did not “blow by” my friend. Nor did he “fake him out” or “beat him off the dribble.” He straight up ceased to exist and then reappeared at the rim laying it high off the glass over some poor big man foolish enough to jump.

My friend’s fantasy was not to be, but he was not ashamed. How could he be? He was but a man, AI was something else entirely.