Exit Strategy

How do you stop doing what you were born to do?

It’s a question Allen Iverson, at the age of 35, is now faced with.

His devolution from devouring force to waning star must have been humbling in itself and something, it seems, he never really came to terms with.

Accepting that his playing days are pretty much over, however, is much more. It’s a death of sorts.

Seeing greatness stripped by time and injury at a relatively young age is a tragedy particular to sport. In no other field does genius have such a short shelf life.

And, to be sure, Allen Iverson was a genius.

To watch him in his prime was to witness a minor miracle. He was a hoops savant whose natural ability eclipsed any physical shortcoming, a bantam who poured in points over heavyweights.

What’s more, he gave a shit. He often said: “I play every game like it’s my last.” Standard sporting refrain? Yes. But coming from Iverson, it never sounded hollow.

The former Philadelphia 76ers star has stated he wants to return to the NBA next season, but there’s a decent chance the suitors won’t come calling given his age, limitations and firebrand reputation.

And, even if he does lace them up in October, don’t expect anything more than a fleeting, unsatisfactory stint.

Iverson once declared he would rather retire than come off the bench. Now it looks as if he has come to terms with his sporting mortality somewhat, saying he would “help any team that wants me, in any capacity.”

But is merely fitting in on a losing team or playing limited minutes for a contender really how he wants to finish his career? And do we, his fans, want to see him go out like that?

Whatever happens, if he plays or if he doesn’t, we won’t see a fitting end to his Hall of Fame career. His exit will be a fizzle in the ocean compared to the monumental impact he had on the league.

And what then?

While Iverson has always come across as smart, thoughtful and perceptive and could no doubt flourish in life after basketball, after hearing of his alleged problems with alcohol and gambling, you can’t help but think the worst.

For an athlete of Iverson's standing, walking away from the game - which he will do soon - is to walk into uncertainty, to lose a measure of self-identity and influence and, more vitally, it’s to stop doing what you were born to do.

How do you even begin to live like that?

Let’s hope Iverson figures it out. Fast.