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Droppin' bombs/but I be peace and calm/any emcee that
disagree with me wave your arms.
-Rakim
Like Nas’ notebook in the hands of Elmer Fudd, Allen Iverson has become a work of art
that is, nightly, being abused. Allen is the rhyme. Not just any rhyme, but the rhyme off
the tongue of a lyricist supreme. If Rakim, the god, could have taken Follow The Leader
and turned wax into flesh, the result would have been Allen Iverson. So far this season,
the Answer, a.k.a. the Truth, has performed that sort of poetry in the lane, only to have
his verbs knocked around by large men with shot-blocking attitudes and his metaphors
rearranged by personal fouls. But still, more often than not,the lyric is completed. The
physical rhyme frozen in time. And we watch in awe because we know the art that was just
created out of chaos.
***
During last week's nationally televised game between AI’s Illadelph 76ers and the
Toronto Raptors, NBC put up a graphic illustrating the injuries the Answer has played with
so far this season. There were no less than six red dots on the telestrator, crisscrossing
injuries all over Allen’s body, including a partially-dislocated shoulder and a
bruised knee. Looking at his 5-11, 155-pound frame, you have to wonder: how much more
abuse can the gift take?
"It's very difficult to keep him out of the game," Coach Larry Brown told the
Philadelphia Inquirer last week. "He's taken so many tough hits. I just want him to
get well."
So do we. But how can you not want to see the Truth out on the court? Night in and night
out, dude gets abused like Russell Simmons' cell phone. Rocked like the WWF. Twisted like
a misunderstanding. Night in and night out, DirecTV shows anybody willing to watch some of
the greatest poetry you’ve ever seen get beat on like it stole an election. GW Bush
with a crossover.
But we can’t knock the hustle. Allen Iverson has become rawer than the Truth;
he’s now, as Beanie Sigel would say, the 'Troof.’ When he enters the lane,
seven-footers in his path, you know what the outcome will be. Most often Allen will do
something unnatural, like avoid the sweep of the seven-footer’s arms, then become
battered by seven-foot bodies and fall to the hardwood hard, while the ball sinks
devotedly through the hoop. Two points. And 1. Another rhyme written on crumpled
paper.
"Great players win, man. I’m not a great player." That’s what Allen
told a writer a few years ago. He was wrong and he was right. So far this season, AI is
looking like the best vote for the League’s MVP. Not even Fred Hickman could hate on
the Truth’s stats. And if heart were one of them, Allen would be averaging Hallmark
numbers. Cupid with a silk jumper.
"I have to keep playing," Allen told the Inquirer after a game in which he was
not expected to play but did. "My teammates depend on me to keep playing, like I
depend on them to keep playing."
Maybe it was the football. For those of you who don’t know the Iverson mixtape, his
life before he became platinum, Allen’s talents were spread out on a football field
just as much as they were laced within the baselines. During high school the Truth became
one of the nation’s top football prospects. Maybe the time he spent between hash
marks hardened him against the pain of nagging injuries.
Or maybe it was jail. Not the actual jail in which AI was wrongfully locked down in for 4
months behind charges that were later dropped, but the media jail that situation helped to
create. Throughout his career, Allen has been attacked by writers. Maybe all the drama
worked to his advantage? What if he fed off their hate and used it too grow stronger? What
if a dislocated shoulder ain’t nothing compared to the dislocation of your soul?
After that, every other injury probably seems minor.
At any rate, give Allen credit where credit is due. The 76ers are in the midst of a 12
road-game win streak and AI is at the forefront, averaging 28.5 ppg. There’s a
bandage across Allen’s chin to stop the blood from flowing out of a gash, and
there’s a long white sleeve on his right arm, a brace to help ease the pain of a
bruised elbow. And there is a grin on Iverson’s face because he knows about the
rhymes his body is about to spit - the one’s that will come off in a stutter but will
nevertheless be beautiful.
***
Rakim: I draw a crowd/like an architect.
We are watching something special. For all the talk the old school likes to put forth
about the lack of love for the game the new school has, here is an example of a cat who
loves the game enough to sacrifice everything for it. His body. His poetry. Everything he
has will become distorted on his way to the hoop. He’s like Rah Digga recording
lyrics onto an 8-Track. No matter how much abuse opponents put on him, the rhythm will
still hit 'em. It all comes down to (physical) lyrics of fury. It's Curtains. Every night
the 76ers step onto the court.
Imagine poetry coming off the tongue of a stuttering man, a man who has the gift but also
has the imperfection. He stu-, stu-, stutters the rhymes because they form gracefully in
his mind, but by the time they make the journey through his lips they’ve been
maligned by his speech impediment. Now take that image, that thought, and morph it into a
physical form. Put a jersey on that thought, white, laced with the number 3, and, in
smaller detail, the number 76. Tattoo the long slender arms of that thought, making sure
you put vital statements on each shoulder. On the left, 'Only the Strong Survive.’ On
the right, 'Hold My Own.’
Now take that thought you had and put Most Valuable Player next to it. Take it and picture
it with a huge trophy in its arms after this season is over with. Could it happen? The
world has already given this year’s League Championship to the Western Conference.
But something in your heart makes you want to root for the 76ers instead. After all
he’s been through, you have to want to see AI succeed.
When asked about his up and down relationship with Coach Brown, a smiling Allen Iverson
said this: "With all the turmoil we had with each other, now I want a chance to pour
a whole bottle of champagne on his head."
Like poetry being abused in the lane, the fate of those words holds the possibility for an
exciting Truth.
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