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“What I think about Allen Iverson is in my heart,” Thompson said.
Thompson, who took a chance by offering Iverson a scholarship after the bowling alley incident, is protective of Iverson and wouldn’t be interviewed. But he recommended a discussion with Lorry Michel, Georgetown basketball’s longtime trainer.
She answered her office phone, quick to say that she doesn’t do interviews. But for Iverson, she’d make an exception.
“You go along life,” she said, “and you run into people. And some really intrigue you more, maybe, I don’t know. Or they just treat you differently.”
Michel underwent surgery for a brain tumor in June 2011. Amid the emails and cards was a note from Iverson. It wouldn’t be the last time he checked in. She said he remembers people and their paths; because his was so unlikely, he appreciates how others reached their goals. “He would see people for what they were,” she said.
Earlier this year, Michel contacted Iverson. She’d heard about the divorce and wanted to know how he was doing. Fine, he told her, and she chose to believe him.
Shortly before Michel was inducted Feb. 9 into Georgetown’s Hall of Fame, Iverson asked someone to point a camera at him and ask him about practice. The blurry footage would be sent to Washington and played during the ceremony.
He stood at a lectern, his hat crooked, and mimicked his famous rant.
“We talking about love?” he began. “Not Coach Thompson. Not the baddest guard that ever played at Georgetown. Not Alonzo Mourning. Not Patrick Ewing. Not Dikembe Mutombo?
“I’m supposed to be here talking about Georgetown. But we talking about love. We talking about love? Miss Michel? Oh, we talking about love.”
He paused.
“I love you. I miss you. Well-deserved congratulations. I love you. I can’t put it in words how much I do love you.”
‘With truth comes consequences’
On that evening in late March, Aron, the Sixers CEO, leads Iverson into the players’ entrance, through the Philadelphia locker room, and into a tunnel.
At 8 p.m., the lights are lowered, and flames blast from tubes. The announcer’s voice booms through the arena’s speakers: “A six-foot guard from Georgetown,” extending the syllables. The crowd erupts.
Iverson stands at midcourt, wearing a throwback Philadelphia Phillies warm-up jacket and dark sunglasses. He smiles and soaks in these seconds, cupping a hand around his ear the way he used to.
This is the closest Iverson will get to an NBA comeback. If the past three years have been this chaotic, what awaits him as he drifts farther from his basketball career – inching toward June 2030, when he’s eligible to receive what’s left of the Reebok money?
Moore has implored the Sixers to hire Iverson as a consultant. Friends and former teammates think he should travel, tell his story – the whole story, not just highlights like the arena’s big screen will show.
“Sometimes we don’t want to accept the fact that with truth comes consequences,” Moore says. “I just don’t think that he ever really grasped the fact that that existed. And maybe he never really accepted that fact because so many times, he didn’t have to.”
A moment later, Iverson retreats backstage and conducts a brief interview with Comcast, the team’s partner station. The reporter asks what’s next.
“I put it in God’s hands,” Iverson says, his voice cracking. “I’ve accomplished a lot in the NBA, and if the road ends here, then it does.”
He continues, looking contemplative, choosing the right words.
“And I’m not bitter about it. I don’t feel no type of way. I just understand that He helped me accomplish a lot of things in the NBA. I’ve done so many things that people thought that I couldn’t do . . .
“But at some point, it comes to an end. And regardless of however it comes — regardless if it’s retirement, injury, or whatever — at some point, it comes to an end.”
Then he smiles.
“Now, if I get a chance to play again,” he says, pausing at the thought, “I would love the opportunity.”
http://www.washingtonpost.com/sports...tml?ctab=all_&
Thompson, who took a chance by offering Iverson a scholarship after the bowling alley incident, is protective of Iverson and wouldn’t be interviewed. But he recommended a discussion with Lorry Michel, Georgetown basketball’s longtime trainer.
She answered her office phone, quick to say that she doesn’t do interviews. But for Iverson, she’d make an exception.
“You go along life,” she said, “and you run into people. And some really intrigue you more, maybe, I don’t know. Or they just treat you differently.”
Michel underwent surgery for a brain tumor in June 2011. Amid the emails and cards was a note from Iverson. It wouldn’t be the last time he checked in. She said he remembers people and their paths; because his was so unlikely, he appreciates how others reached their goals. “He would see people for what they were,” she said.
Earlier this year, Michel contacted Iverson. She’d heard about the divorce and wanted to know how he was doing. Fine, he told her, and she chose to believe him.
Shortly before Michel was inducted Feb. 9 into Georgetown’s Hall of Fame, Iverson asked someone to point a camera at him and ask him about practice. The blurry footage would be sent to Washington and played during the ceremony.
He stood at a lectern, his hat crooked, and mimicked his famous rant.
“We talking about love?” he began. “Not Coach Thompson. Not the baddest guard that ever played at Georgetown. Not Alonzo Mourning. Not Patrick Ewing. Not Dikembe Mutombo?
“I’m supposed to be here talking about Georgetown. But we talking about love. We talking about love? Miss Michel? Oh, we talking about love.”
He paused.
“I love you. I miss you. Well-deserved congratulations. I love you. I can’t put it in words how much I do love you.”
‘With truth comes consequences’
On that evening in late March, Aron, the Sixers CEO, leads Iverson into the players’ entrance, through the Philadelphia locker room, and into a tunnel.
At 8 p.m., the lights are lowered, and flames blast from tubes. The announcer’s voice booms through the arena’s speakers: “A six-foot guard from Georgetown,” extending the syllables. The crowd erupts.
Iverson stands at midcourt, wearing a throwback Philadelphia Phillies warm-up jacket and dark sunglasses. He smiles and soaks in these seconds, cupping a hand around his ear the way he used to.
This is the closest Iverson will get to an NBA comeback. If the past three years have been this chaotic, what awaits him as he drifts farther from his basketball career – inching toward June 2030, when he’s eligible to receive what’s left of the Reebok money?
Moore has implored the Sixers to hire Iverson as a consultant. Friends and former teammates think he should travel, tell his story – the whole story, not just highlights like the arena’s big screen will show.
“Sometimes we don’t want to accept the fact that with truth comes consequences,” Moore says. “I just don’t think that he ever really grasped the fact that that existed. And maybe he never really accepted that fact because so many times, he didn’t have to.”
A moment later, Iverson retreats backstage and conducts a brief interview with Comcast, the team’s partner station. The reporter asks what’s next.
“I put it in God’s hands,” Iverson says, his voice cracking. “I’ve accomplished a lot in the NBA, and if the road ends here, then it does.”
He continues, looking contemplative, choosing the right words.
“And I’m not bitter about it. I don’t feel no type of way. I just understand that He helped me accomplish a lot of things in the NBA. I’ve done so many things that people thought that I couldn’t do . . .
“But at some point, it comes to an end. And regardless of however it comes — regardless if it’s retirement, injury, or whatever — at some point, it comes to an end.”
Then he smiles.
“Now, if I get a chance to play again,” he says, pausing at the thought, “I would love the opportunity.”
http://www.washingtonpost.com/sports...tml?ctab=all_&
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