A homage to Mr. Iverson

By Tim McManus

For better or worse, the direction of my life was dictated by Allen Iverson.

In the late high school/early college years, my attention faded from the sports world and zeroed in instead on things like cars, partying and girls (and if it was a good night, all three at once).

The condition worsened when I went up to Rhode Island for college: University campuses always have a way of making you forget that there's life going on outside their limits, and the isolation was compounded because New England is pretty sure that nothing exists south of Connecticut.

So there were a lot of obstacles, and I was way too content (and oblivious) to try and fight through them.

But things changed in the spring of 1999. I went to college with two of my best friends from Philly, who started throwing the Sixers into our conversations after they made the playoffs for the first time since '91. So one day we decided to turn off Dazed and Confused and throw on Game 1 of the Philadelphia-Orlando series. I watched AI as he spastically sped around the court like a water bug, diving and stealing and driving and falling but above all scoring. Iverson dominated, the Sixers won 104-90, and I was hooked.

A few days later, while laying in bed with my ex-girlfriend, she asked me, "So, what do you wanna do?"Amazingly, I replied: "Do you mind if I throw a game on real fast?"And with that, my passion for sports was completely rekindled.

I can tell you that on that day -- May 15, 1999 -- the Sixers dropped the Magic 101-91 in Game 5 to advance to the second round against the (detestable) Indiana Pacers. I have been fully aware of the state of every Philadelphia sports team ever since.

Two years later, I'd begin my career as a sports writer. And it was all because of one undersized man.

I bring this up because we are just days -- maybe hours -- away from Iverson's departure from this city, and no one seems all that passionate about it. And I find that strange because he has influenced the lives of every single person in Philadelphia, whether it be to a greater or lesser degree than his affect on mine.

The change he created was often tangible. From the city to suburbia, kids began wearing their hair in cornrows while rocking jeans that had enough room for two. The basketball courts were filled with guys wearing No. 3 and trying to pull off a crossover before flailing into the lane.

More than just his skills and style, Philly gravitated toward a personality that was sometimes arrogant and disarming but always genuine and captivating. His rants and at times suspect behavior pushed people away, but he'd pull you right back in with a shy smile or a Hulk Hogan-like hand to the ear.

The entire country was soon sucked in, forcing the NBA to embrace and market a star unwilling to fall into line and become a drone. They had to conform to a man that represented rebellion.

Behind Iverson, Philadelphia finally turned back into a basketball town and became the greatest place in the world to live in the spring of 2001. In my life, I've never seen a collective heart rise and fall in unison quite like that. At least for me, riding in the car was one of the highlights of my day because sports radio seemed so important and you couldn't go a block without seeing someone with a Sixers flag flapping out out of their window.

Even if you weren't a sports fan you were affected by this run. The town's mood changed upon a win or a loss, and it was impossible not to feel it.

No, the Sixers didn't win a championship that year, nor any year under Iverson. Yes, he hogged the ball and was aggravating a lot of the time.

Regardless, he's about the biggest ball of energy that ever charged through this town. He made Philly nationally significant in the hoops realm. He gave us a real-life Rocky, one that wasn't afraid to show off his flaws.

He gave us all something. And on behalf of the city, thank you, A.I.

*** This article originally appeared on July 3rd ***