5 - Game Three

PHILADELPHIA_115
DETROIT______104

Allen Iverson:
Minutes Played: 48 FGM-A: 15-263GM-A: 2-4 FTM-A 5-6 Rebounds: 3 Assists: 15 Personal Fouls: 2 Steals: 2 Turnovers: 3 Blocked Shots: 0 Points: 37

The next game is fought at home in Philadelphia. Allen Iverson has spent long nights at the Wachovia Center, standing at center court, training these particular nets, his voice echoing in the cavernous darkness. Early in the game Allen Iverson begins to speak to one of the nets. He calls to it under his breath, whispering in a pitch audible only to dogs and basketball nets. The net grows as large as the sea and the ball falls between its coasts like rain. No one else sees the net's expansion, because it is bashful and innocent and loves only Allen Iverson. Eager for his touch, the net calls back to Allen Iverson, mimicking his tone as best it can. The net says to him, "swish, swish, swisshh, swish, swissshhh." At the end of the first Quarter, Allen Iverson leads the Detroit Pistons 32 to 24.

In the subsequent quarters, Allen Iverson continues to converse with the net. He puts in a good word for his teammates and acheives fifteen assists. Chauncy Billups seems disoriented and takes only eight shots in the entire game. On his homecourt, with his well-trained nets, Allen Iverson defeats the Detroit Pistons, infuriating their headcoach Larry Brown. He said "We had some open looks, but when you're fighting for your life, your open looks gotta come from inside, not outside." Allen Iverson already knew that. That is why he left the press conference and returned to his home.

He kissed his mortal wife and his halfling son Deuce and his halfling daughter Tiaura and retired to his private room.

His daughter asked, "What's in Daddy's Secret Room?"
His wife said, "I don't know."
His son said, "Can I go in there?"
His wife said, "Maybe when you're older."

Allen Iverson took off all his clothes and slipped into a solid gold bath filled to the brim with milk and honey. It began to glow softly, rejuvenating him and removing the stress and strain of an unheard of 48 minutes of play. Allen Iverson stepped out of the bath and dried himself with a towel. Allen Iverson has 21 tattoos. One displays the names of his son and daughter. One says VA's Finest and refers to the Vague Areas from which he hails. One says Jewels and refers to his great love of emeralds, rubies and saphires. One is an image of a skull in an army helmet to remind him of the horrible atrocities he has both witnessed and committed in times of war. One says "strength" in Sanskrit, it is a souvenir from his first trip to earth a sanskrit-speaking king gave it to him after a great battle of which we have no recorded history. One says "Dynasty Radaz," the nickname that he and his two brothers invented for themselves after the toppled the empire of Glantar the Barbaric. There are many more tattoos. The most recent says "Hold my own" and Allen Iverson had it done when he left the Vague Areas and came to earth as a child in 1975. It is the only tattoo which he was not yet visible when he emerged from the womb of Ann Iverson. Allan Iverson puts on a pair of silk pajamas.

Allen Iverson picks up a ornate bronze telephone with a cord that ends abruptly in the middle of the room.

He simply says, "Father?"
"Ah, Number Three. I'm glad you called."
"How are you father?"
"Fire still courses through my veins of course."
"That's good to hear."
"I truly wish that you would come home."
"I'm happy with my life on earth father, you know that."
"Yes, I know, but I was looking at your sword hanging on the wall of the dining hall this afternoon and I became misty eyed. When my eyes condensed again, I said to your mother, Oh I do miss Number Three, he used to swing that blade with such grace."

Allen Iverson, known to those in the Vague Areas as Prince Lapino, remembers feeling the weight of The Answer in his hand, the cool silver hilt against his palms, the heft of the sword, the crisp ringing of the perfectly straight edge, the smell of demon's blood.

"I miss you too Dad, maybe you could come here, I could show you around."
"I don't think that's possible, things are heating up in the Vague Areas. War could come within this Century. The Fairie Brown is amassing a great army and threatening to invade us. Are you sure you can't come?"
"I don't have the time."
"You know full well I have considerable power over chronological matters. If you could just give me five sequential earth days I could arrange things so that you could wage war at my side for five hundred years."
"I know dad, but it's the play-offs. I really want to win the lustrous and radiant Larry O'Brien trophy this year. It would break my heart to disappoint the Philadelphia fans."
"Very well Number Three, you are 18 000 years old now, you can make your own decisions."
"I appreciate that dad. That means a lot to me."
"You know number three, The Fairie Brown's armies are well-trained and very determined. You know as well as I that as a strategist he is peerless."
"You can handle it Dad."
"Number Three, don't tell your mother or your brothers, but this time I am frightened." Allen Iverson drops the phone. Before it hits the ground it grows wings and flutters upwards until it is hovering beside his ear.
"Please come back to me son."
"I, I don't know Dad. I'll think about it."

Allen Iverson hangs up the phone. He leaves his secret room, kisses his son and daughter goodnight and crawls into bed beside his wife and high school sweetheart Tawanna.

4 - Game Two

DETROIT______99
PHILADELPHIA_84

Allen Iverson:
Minutes Played: 42 FGM-A: 7-243GM-A: 1-5 FTM-A 4-5 Rebounds: 1 Assists: 10 Personal Fouls: 3 Steals: 3 Turnovers: 3 Blocked Shots: 4 Points: 19

There is a Palace set amongst Auburn Hills on the outskirts of the Motor City and in this palace collosal gladiators engage in titanic clashes. On this night, The Philadelphia 76ers once again challenged the Detroit Pistons. Game Two began as a comedy of errors for both sides with steals and turnovers aplenty, but after four minutes these great warriors steeled their nerves and settled into a rhythm. At the end of the quarter Allen's Sixers led 23-20.

Things began to slip away in the second quarter. Early in the quarter the gargantuan Ben Wallace obliterated a shot by Samuel Dalembert. With his ape-like hand and forearm he reduced the ball to a Fine Orange Mist containing the occasional Orange Smithereen. By half-time the Sixers were down by 8 points. Because of his ancestry, Allen Iverson sees time a little differently than the rest of us do and he was able to read his team's eventual, but inevitable, loss in this particular contest. Accordingly he began to distribute the ball and involve his teammates, building up their confidence for their return home in the next game. He intentionally missed shots, hoping his team would feel he had let them down and that their own play would have been enough to win. At the end of the game, his 7-24 shooting reflected his shrewd strategy to convince his teammates that their loss had not been inevitable. Even the Piston's cunning and sharp-eyed coach Larry Brown, did not see through Iverson's ruse and took the victory as a sign of his teams superiority.

After the game he once again showered and changed instantaneously, like a flipping coin. He retreated to the same hotel room and locked the same two locks. He removed his fake ears with the same blade and took out his contact lenses, dipping them into the dew-filled cups of two lush roses.

On his desk lay a letter, written in an elegant flowing hand on seemingly ancient parchment.

Number Three,

You, my third son, are my youngest and most beautiful son and I long for your presence in my court more and more with each passing day. Your brothers Taure and Baure are strong and handsome, but they lack you delicacy and delightful sense of humour. Please return to me post-haste.

How are your sporting contests amongst the humans? I cannot believe that you still haven't tired of these childish endeavours. Please return and take up the mantle of your heritage and help me to wage war upon our neighbours.

With you in both Love and War,

King Regalus Redwood
Fairy of Red


Allen Iverson pulled a small inkwell and a luxurious quill from the desk drawer. The quill was formed from the plumage of a bird whose impossible beauty was only hinted at in the colours and textures of that single, full and perfect feather. The ink glowed a faint but luminescent purple in the darkened suite. He touched the tip of the quill to the opposite side of the already crumbling sheet of parchment.

Father,

Tonight's contest was difficult. We were on the road and I have not had sufficient time to train these baskets to adapt to my shot. For this reason, I was unable to reform our destiny through sheer force of will and my team has come up short.

I know that human sports seem infantile and trivial to you, but to me they are innocent and beautiful. By dolling out salaries from it's seemingly limitless treasury, the National Basketball Association attracts the greatest champions from all corners of this planet. These champions engage each other in tests of skill night after night playing with great determination and heart. Clashing ferociously, sparks fly and tempers grow heated and yet each night, at the end of forty eight minutes, all the contestants return to their locker rooms in one piece. They enter into a most willful and honourable competition and yet no one dies, no one is mauled and none of their womenfolk become weeping widows. How can you fail to see the beauty in this?

Yours truly,

Prince Lapino
Son Number Three of the Fairy Red

PS -- I'll call you after the next game, when I'm back home in Philly.

Allen Iverson folded the sheet of parchment, removed a gorgeous glimmering stamp from his bureau drawer and affixed the stamp to the letter. He held the letter in two fingers and it burst into flames, instantly reducing itself to a cloud of ash and smoke, which was swirled up into a tiny maelstrom and flew from the window to seek out his father's court.

After mailing the letter, Prince Lapino slipped between the sumptuous sheets and slept deeply, sunk under melancholy indigo dreams of empty castles and corpse-strewn battlefields.

3 - Game One

DETROIT______106
PHILADELPHIA_85

Allen Iverson:
Minutes Played: 47 FGM-A: 9-22 3GM-A: 4-8 FTM-A 8-8 Rebounds: 1 Assists: 10 Personal Fouls: 2 Steals: 4 Turnovers: 7 Blocked Shots: 1 Points: 30

Allen Iverson flies in a jet, taking his team The Philadelphia 76ers to meet The Detroit Pistons (who are the Defending NBA Champions) on their homecourt in The Motor City.

So began GAME 1.

Allen Iverson lead his team on a fast-paced initial charge which saw them up by sixteen points in the early goings of the contest! The 76ers burst onto the court like lightning, dribbling like howitzers and cutting like fighter jets. Suffice it to say they were out on the fast-break! However, as the game progressed, the Pistons slow and unyielding machinations began to resemble the massive steel goliaths which manufacture automotibles in their hometown and they ground the game to a stand-still, instating the crushing gravity of their half-court mastery.

Despite Iverson's heroic efforts and forty-seven minutes of untiring play, his team was defeated, primarily due to being out-rebounded forty-eight to thirty-five. Together the gargantuan twins Rasheed and Ben retreived twenty rebounds, with each of the Wallaces obtaining an even ten.

After the game, Allen Iverson changed from his courtwear to a stylish suit and tie with seemingly impossible rapidity. He also wore blue-suede shoes. He walked out into the cool Detroit evening and arrived at the luxurious and well-appointed hotel before any of his teammates. He entered into the sanctuary of his private suite and locked the door, using both the regular lock and the brassy deadbolt chain. Alone inside, he removed a gleaming, jewel-encrusted dagger from a desk drawer and cut off his own ears. There was no blood and, as he laid his ears upon the desk, it became apparent that these were prosthetic ears made from wax. He removed two golden pins from the two fleshy folds tucked into the curves of his regal cornrows. Unencumbered, his natural ears sprung to attention, revealing themselves to be long and pointed. Subsequently, he removed two contact lenses with the tip of his finger. His natural eyes glowed a ghostly blue in the shadows of the unilluminated hotel room.

Afterwards, Allen Iverson retired to bed. He slipped his naked body between the 300-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets which one only finds at the finest hotels. He closed his eyes and hoped for a deep and rejuvenating sleep so that he would be able to arise early and begin practicing for the next game which would take place in three days time.

2 - Who Is A.I.?

According to NBA insiders, Allen Iverson's officially reported height of six feet and zero inches is apparently slightly exaggerated. While six feet might seem tall, amongst the Ogres and Giants of professional basketball the man is more of an Earl Boykins than a Yao Ming. Knowing what I now know about Allen Iverson, it surprises me that more people did not pick up on the curious fact that his actual height seems to vary depending on who is measuring him.

Despite his miniature stature, this man consistently plays more minutes than anyone else in the league and has scored 40 points or more on 50 or more seperate occasions. He drives deep into the paint again and again, jabbing into the fleshy area beneath the net using his own body as a blade. Despite being repeatedly hacked, slapped, bumped and smacked by men twice his weight, he always bounces to his feet with astounding levity and resilience. Despite taking repeated lickings, he continues to flip-fly past the basket, delivering his 2 and occassionally 3 point payload with circus-like flicks of the wrist. Again, knowing what I now I know, I suggest to my readers, that this should have been a clue to his true nature. Knowing what I know now, I certainly cannot disagree with the colour commentators who often describe this spritely spark of a man as some sort of anti-grinch, whose heart is a couple of sizes too big.

This diminutive star of astronomical agility and seemingly infinite stamina will be the focus of this website and as I document the trials and tribulations through which he perserveres in his quest for success both on and off the basketball court.

1 - The Truth

Have you ever wondered how Allen Iverson achieves his seemingly inhuman feats? Have you ever wondered who this NBA superstar really is?

If you so, then you've found The Answer.

This website will document the Sixers Playoff Run 2005 and reveal the shocking truth about Allen Iverson's homelife.

I am the Right Honourable Matteus Von Mustard Esquire, a Billionaire Occultist and Expert on All Things Apocalyptic and I will be your tour-guide along this long hidden trail.