What’s The Answer?
Allen Iverson is the guy from the recreation center that is just better than everybody. No one has ever seen him working on his game, he never practices hard and he puts 30 points on whoever is guarding him come game time. He’s the guy from the neighborhood that no one calls by his God-given name. He’s Butter, the guy that launches and buries jumpers from near half court and never touches the rim. He’s Easy, who seems to move in slow motion on the basketball court, but can score at will against bigger, more athletic defenders. He’s Smooth, the lightning quick guard that darts between players in a blur, scoring and dishing the basketball mercilessly.
There’s something to be said the naturally gifted player from the hood. To this day, the most amazing basketball play that I’ve ever seen didn’t happen on the television or at a pro game. It was in a small gym on the east side of Houston. “Easy” was breaking down the right sideline with a defender in his left pocket. The basketball was thrown overhead towards the out of bounds line. Easy snatched the ball out of the air with his right hand, flung it around his back and the defender’s back, planted his left foot and spun past the defender right behind the ball. Before the ball took a second bounce, he caught it with his left hand, threw it to the ground once and took off. Easy switched hands mid air, arched his back, flicked his wrist, and finessed the ball into the basket over the outstretched hand of a trailing big man. You can’t teach a person to make plays like these. It is innate. Iverson wasn’t taught to do what he does. It came naturally. His crossover befuddled Michael Jordan; his speed and quickness with the basketball was unparalleled. He could score 30 points in his sleep, his ticket to the Hall of Fame is already punched, but how good could he have been?