From the time the Orlando Magic drafted him first overall in 1992, and he playfully feigned surprise by asking, “Who me?”, Shaquille O’Neal always understood that the way a man of his imposing size could win over people while destroying the opposition was to be the ultimate entertainer and showman. Four years later, Allen Iverson went first overall to the Philadelphia 76ers, determined to make sure that it would be one of the last nights he would ever have to wear a suit or do anything else that would make him uncomfortable; he wasn’t seeking anyone’s approval, only to exist.
O’Neal and Iverson entered the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame together on Friday night, both using nearly 30 minutes to mesmerize the audience with the unique styles that made one a successful pitchman and now television analyst and the other an icon beloved for keeping it way too real.
O’Neal, the more accomplished and decorated of the two, was given the coveted closing spot and used it to deliver a hilarious, well-crafted speech filled with timely one-liners, bleeped-out words on NBATV, clever quips and a few zingers – including a swift shot at longtime frenemy Kobe Bryant. Iverson fought through tears for an extended shoutout, made the first-ever enshrinement references to comedian Dave Chappelle and popular – and somewhat obscure – rappers from his playing days, and ended with a gut punch to those no longer in his inner circle.
Yao Ming, Jerry Reinsdorf, Tom Izzo and Sheryl Swoopes also got to bask in the three-hour induction ceremony, but the night was owned by the two legends who hogged the most time and attention; the two legends who shared nothing in terms of physical stature but whose personalities dominated so much of the era between Michael Jordan and LeBron James. That was evident from the night’s opening speech, when Yao, the towering Chinese big man whose career was unfortunately cut short because of recurring foot injuries, delivered a witty joke that referred to one stigma that Iverson has never been able to escape.
“When I heard I would be the first speaker tonight, I think maybe somebody made a mistake,” Yao said. “Don’t laugh, because I think this spot belonged to the great Allen Iverson. You know why? Because I need more practice than him.”
A box of tissue seemed necessary once Iverson got behind the lectern and got choked up thanking his presenters; his former college coach at Georgetown, John Thompson (“Coach Thompson [saved] my life.”); his longtime NBA coach with the Philadelphia 76ers, Larry Brown (“Once I started to listen … that’s when I became an MVP.”); and 76ers legend Julius Erving. But it was probably best that Iverson was forced to suck it up and not turn his moment into a sob session. Back in a suit for one of those rare instances, Iverson remained true to himself with words that played out like a cathartic freestyle that was short on stories but heavy on acknowledgements. He couldn’t name every family member, friend, coach, teammate or loved one – but he came close – and even slipped in the musicians who motivated him.
“I want to thank Biggie Smalls, Redman, Jadakiss, Tupac and Michael Jackson for being my theme music throughout my career,” said Iverson, who had to bring hip-hop to the Hall of Fame after already bringing it to the hardwood over a 14-year career that resulted in one MVP, four scoring titles and 11 All-Star appearances.
Iverson spent so much of his time refusing to conform or perform as anything other than the genuine article, yet his most memorable reflection involved the one player he praised for giving him “the vision” to become an NBA superstar. “You want to be fast like Isiah [Thomas], shoot like [Larry] Bird, move like [Charles] Barkley, pass like Magic [Johnson], be dominant like Shaq,” Iverson said, “but man, I wanted to be like Mike. I remember the first time I played against him. I walked out on the court and I looked at him. And, for the first time in my life, a human being didn’t really look real to me. You know what I mean? I don’t know if you all watch the Chappelle Show, but he talked about in a certain incident where somebody’s seeing Rick James. Like I literally saw his aura. It looked like he was glowing. I’m sitting there and I’m saying, ‘Man, that’s Michael.’ And I’m looking at him. I can’t stop looking at him. I’m looking at his shoes and I’m like, ‘Man, he’s got on the Jordans!’ It was my Mike. It was my idol, my hero.”
After blowing kisses, tapping his heart and repeatedly letting the adoring crowd know that he loved them, Iverson also reminded his admirers that this moment also belonged to them. The fans who defended his greatness in barbershops and beauty salons and stuck with him through all of his tribulations could proudly stick out their chests. “Now you can say: ‘Well, look, my man is solidified,’ ” Iverson told the crowd to more cheers.
Iverson was so captivating that it provided considerable pressure for anyone who came next, but if anyone were up to the task, O’Neal had no trouble playing the role of closer. In his nearly 25 years in the spotlight, O’Neal has had a firm grasp of marketing and self-promotion, of selling his own hype by creating his own nicknames and telling compelling stories complete with punchlines. On Friday, he made fun of others, took shots at himself, broke down his remarkable journey and shielded the potential for tears with laughter.
“I’d like to thank Nick Anderson for missing those four free throws in a row in my first Finals,” O’Neal said, reflecting on the Orlando Magic’s loss to the Houston Rockets in 1995. “I’m just playing, Nick, but when I was writing this speech, it’d be pretty funny if a terrible free-throw shooter criticized a bad one.”
O’Neal then had a little fun with his former coach, Phil Jackson. Lifting a folded-up piece of paper and simulating smoking a joint, O’Neal claimed that the aroma of “sage” gave him a contact high during a team meditation in the Los Angeles Lakers’ locker room. “I don’t know what sage is, but I know what it smells like. I’ve never been high before, but if this is high, I think I was it.”
After confronting Jackson afterward that perhaps an illegal substance was clouding him, O’Neal said Jackson replied, “It’s not. It’s the cousin of cannabis.” Never one to waste a joke or business opportunity, O’Neal announced that “starting today, Phil and I will be opening medicinal sage dispensaries across the U.S.”
Bryant sent a congratulatory message to O’Neal through social media this week and praised his former teammate and adversary during O’Neal’s introductory video. But O’Neal couldn’t leave the stage without making at least one dig at a player with whom he’s had a complex and rocky relationship. “I’d like to thank Kobe Bryant, a guy that pushed me to three titles,” O’Neal said, as cheers filled the building, “and then pushed me off the team and got me traded.”
O’Neal and Iverson played for a combined nine teams but were never on the same side, except for a few All-Star games. They gained a mutual respect for one another because both tried to dominate the only way they could – O’Neal through brute force, Iverson through sheer will. O’Neal claimed one of his four championship rings in 2001 against the only team Iverson could carry to the NBA Finals. The day before they became immortals together, O’Neal explained what made them so similar despite their vast differences: “We wanted to be perfect. We were trying to make history.”
One always aimed to please the masses, the other aimed to please the ones really who mattered to him. On the crowning night of their careers, not much changed.
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