I never cared much for Allen Iverson. He struck me as a souless, personality-devoid thugbot, like a difficult, adopted emo child being housed by a well-to-do family. I thought he definitely had talent, but to describe him as a role-model to a certain generation is ridiculous. On the charisma scale, he sits somewhere between a dead cat and a broken washing machine. So here's last weeks big non-news.
Its with a certain sweaty glee that I report on the latest checkpoint on his whistlestop tour to a drug fuelled, chokebatin' related death is his signing for Turkish club, Besiktas.
I'm not blind to the impact that Iverson had on the game. His existence is the NBA came at a time when streetball and AND1 were up and coming and a good crossover was just as, if not more important than a consistent jumpshot.
Just a season and a half ago he was averaging 26.4 ppg, 7.2 apg, while shooting nearly 46% from the field and nabbing 2.0 spg, but what mattered to Philly, Denver, Detroit and Memphis was that he act like a professional.
Whether it be turning up for practice late or not at all, missing team events or faking injuries, Iverson made his life more difficult by approaching any situation like a petulant child.
Below is his "practice" rant following his then latest absence from a team shootaround. I warn you, watching this will burn its way into your soul and refuse to leave:
About Me
- Jamie Barr
- A graduate of Sports Studies at Paisley University, which is about as rewarding as being the best dancer in the Spinal Unit.
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