The Vagabond Years

There's an image that the Sixers used last year to sell tickets in their run to the playoffs. In it, Allen Iverson is in mid-air, having been faked out of his shoes by Andre Miller. Miller then moves under him on his way to the hoop, and Iverson falls heavily to the floor. In the shot, AI's in mid-fall, and it's really awful. The former face of the franchise, made to look more or less helpless, as the new order sweeps him aside.

If you hate AI, it's probably your red-meat fist pump moment for the New Sixers, the ones that made the city care about basketball again.

And I follow the laundry and admire the job they've done in making the team over and getting fresh hope in town.

But I hate the photo, of course.

Today, the Nuggets continued their drive to the bottom rungs of the NBA by shuffling Iverson off to Denver for Chauncey Billups, the homecoming Antonio McDyess, and some other pieces of the puzzle that are, most likely, beneath anyone's notice.

For the one-time MVP, it's a chance for a fresh start after an unsatisfying 20 months in the Rockies. The Pistons can cover for his defensive issues and benefit from his offense, assuming that he's hot and motivated; given that his contract is up at the end of the year, that's a reasonably good bet. Fantasy players will hate it a little, because Denver just runs and Detroit just won't, but in terms of real-world basketball, it's a defensible move for both sides.

Besides, if it doesn't work out, the Pistons can just go to Rodney Stuckey, who is their future, and see who shakes out from AI and Rip Hamilton. Neither is terribly enticing as they move to their decline years, but championship teams have done with much worse in the backcourt.

As for the Nuggets, I have no idea what they are doing, other than trying to drive Carmelo Anthony to drink and drive his way out of town and avoid the salary tax. McDyess is a good guy and story, but he's also old, can't jump, and a tweak away from hanging it up. Billups is overrated, aging, and won't have many opportunities in Denver to do what he does best -- which is to say, drive a team home with late leads through big shots and great free throw shooting. Oh well, at least Jason Kidd finally has a matchup in the West that won't make him look so decrepit.

And, finally, we go to the real reason why I'm moved to write... AI. My favorite basketball player ever is entering that Aging Star mode, where it's increasingly difficult to just root for him without sadness of What Might Have Been, or What Can No Longer Be.

There will be no End Of Career Ring for AI, no Erving-esque sobbing with the trophy that eluded him for so long. You know, the shot that makes you just hurt with happiness to see him hold it.

Instead, he will play for five to eight more years, for two to three more teams, with final numbers that will pop from any record book, along with the idiotic sound bite memory of "Practice."

Many will fail to realize that he was the best to ever play the game at his height in his era. No one outside of Philadelphia will remember the transcendent stab of righteousness we all felt when he stepped over Tyronn Lue in the Sixers' Finals win over Kobe, Shaq and Coach Phillip. Or the series against Toronto where he carried a city on his bony shoulders with 50-point nights and a conductor's ear to the faithful. Or how he took out a Bucks' team with three of the four best players on the floor (Glenn Robinson, Sam Cassell and Ray Allen) in seven amazing games.

Well, that's not right. Some of us will remember.

Good luck in Detroit, sir.