Iverson reached the arena an hour before the game was to begin, and by then the perimeter of the court was surrounded by fans wearing his jerseys and carrying signs of devotion. Later he would liken their mutual passion to "a marriage," saying, "Fans have always appreciated my effort and how I come to play every night.
"That's all you want as a basketball player."
Which isn't true, of course. You want to play well and you want to win, and when one or both do not occur, you want to play elsewhere. Iverson has learned over the last 3 years that divorce is a bitch, too, that it takes its toll on you, too. It explains why he kissed center court, explains why, despite his late arrival, he signed about a dozen autographs as he walked back to the locker room after warming up. And it explains why he played nervously as the game began, leaving a few early bunnies well short.
Still, when the first quarter ended, Iverson's line read as follows: four points, three rebounds, two assists and two fouls. Eleven minutes, 59 seconds played. It was an impressive pace for a 34-year-old man 1 month removed from his last game. And it was a pace he simply could not sustain.
"My heart said yes, my body said no," he said repeatedly afterwards, his tiny frame draped over a tiny stool in the Sixers' locker room. Despite a month of inactivity and after only one practice with the team, Iverson logged more than 37 minutes in the Sixers' 93-83 loss to Denver. Somehow, he managed some moments, too, drilling a baseline jumper and feeding an alley-oop slam to Samuel Dalembert that pushed the Sixers' third-quarter lead to nine points.
