Latest news with #AllenIverson
Yahoo
4 days ago
- Sport
- Yahoo
LeBron James Says Ring Culture Is A Problem: "You're Telling Me Iverson, Barkley, And Nash Weren't F**** Unbelievable?"
LeBron James Says Ring Culture Is A Problem: "You're Telling Me Iverson, Barkley, And Nash Weren't F**** Unbelievable?" originally appeared on Fadeaway World. Winning is everything in the NBA, and even the legacies of the greatest NBA superstars can be reduced to an afterthought in the eyes of the community. For LeBron James, this narrative is the wrong approach to have about NBA basketball and exemplifies everything that's wrong with NBA discourse. Advertisement "I don't know why it's discussed so much in our sport and why it's the end-all-be-all of everything," said James on the 'Mind the Game' podcast. "You tell me Allen Iverson, Charles Barkley, and Steve Nash weren't f**** unbelievable? They can't be talked about with these guys because they won rings? It's like saying Peyton Manning can't be in the same room with Tom Brady or Mahomes because he only has one ring. They don't ever discuss that in their sport. Of telling me Dan Marino is not the greatest slinger of All-Time because he didn't win a championship., They don't discuss those things. Barry Bonds never won a World Series, and you can't sit here and tell me that he's not the greatest baseball player to ever touch a bat." There are countless examples throughout sports history of superstar athletes failing to meet expectations in the playoffs. The list includes baseball legends like Barry Bonds and former Dolphins quarterback Dan Marino. It also includes the NBA logo itself, Jerry West, who only won one championship despite nine trips with the Lakers. "Jerry West went to like nine straight NBA Finals and was only able to win one ring. And he's the logo of our league," said James. "So you can't sit here and tell me that, okay, because he only won one, the guy can't be in the same room with the guy who won two or three or four. Like, why not?" As a 4x NBA champion, LeBron has nothing left to prove as a player, and his legacy as a winner is already secured. As a 4x MVP, 21x All-Star, and 21x All-NBA player, he has already seen the ultimate success, and he knows what it takes to get there. Advertisement Sadly, the same cannot be said for most NBA players. Many spend their entire careers hoping to make a title run, and even some of the game's top performers (like Steve Nash, Charles Barkley, and Chris Paul) failed to capture that elusive Larry O'Brien trophy. Instead of discrediting their greatness or downplaying their achievements, LeBron wants to see the narrative shift. He believes that the game's top players should be celebrated and respected enough to look beyond the ring count. Unlike the MVP, statistical averages, or All-NBA selection, championships are not meant for individual recognition. Titles can only be won as a team, and many variables at play determine the outcome of a Finals series. For LeBron, what matters is whether the star can step up when it counts and come through for his team whenever they need it. Win or lose, a true superstar and leader will make their impact felt in many ways, and they deserve the proper recognition, even if they fail to ultimately win a title. Related: LeBron James Hints At Playing Longer Thanks To Encouragement From His Children This story was originally reported by Fadeaway World on Jun 17, 2025, where it first appeared.
Fox News
4 days ago
- Sport
- Fox News
LeBron James reveals true feelings on ring culture in NBA, how it affects all-time rankings
A large argument as to why most believe Michael Jordan still trumps LeBron James in the all-time rankings if their championship resumes. Jordan, of course, was undefeated in NBA Finals appearances. James is 4-6. But James, the NBA's all-time leading scorer, has constantly proclaimed himself as the greatest of all time. Well, he made it clear on his "Mind the Game" podcast with Steve Nash that rings should not be the end-all-be-all to the GOAT conversation. The NBA legends were asked by a listener why "ring culture" is "so much more prevalent in the NBA than in other sports," James said he "wish[ed] I had the answer," but he had a lengthy response. "I don't know why it's discussed so much in our sport and why it's the end-all-be-all of everything. Like, OK, 'You weren't a great player if you never won a championship,' or 'If you've won one, then you can't be in the same conversation as this person," James began. "I don't know, man, it's just like you sit here and tell me that Allen Iverson and Charles Barkley and Steve Nash are f---ing, wasn't unbelievable?" James said. "Like, 'Oh, they can't be talked about or discussed with these guys because this guy won one ring or won two rings.' It's just weird to me." James mentioned that the conversation does not exist in the same capacity in other sports, name-dropping Dan Marino, who he dubbed "the greatest singer of all-time." "Barry Bonds never won a World Series, and you can't sit here and not tell me that he isn't the greatest baseball player to ever touch a bat," James continued. "I just, I don't understand where it came from. I don't know where it started. We have to appreciate more of what guys have been able to accomplish, what guys have been able to do." James, of course, knew that the question largely surrounds his legacy. "A ring is a team accomplishment. And if you happen to have a moment where you're able to share that with your team, that should be discussed. 'This team was the greatest team,' or 'that team.' You can have those conversations. But trying to nitpick an individual because he was not able to win a team game or a team match, or whatever the case may be, I don't know where it started, but it's a long conversation, especially when it comes to me individually. It's so weird. It's never enough." Follow Fox News Digital's sports coverage on X, and subscribe to the Fox News Sports Huddle newsletter.
Yahoo
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
"I can't get so close to it, too, because of my competitive nature" - Michael Jordan on why he can't get himself to be a fan of any one player in the NBA
"I can't get so close to it, too, because of my competitive nature" - Michael Jordan on why he can't get himself to be a fan of any one player in the NBA originally appeared on Basketball Network. Michael Jordan isn't watching the game with rose-tinted glasses or holding a torch for any single player. The icon who helped shape modern basketball into the global spectacle it is today continues to keep an eye on the league, but not in the way most fans might imagine. Advertisement His relationship with the NBA has shifted, not cooled off, but transformed. From the moment he stepped away from playing for the final time in 2003, Jordan's connection with the game has remained rooted in admiration and respect but not in allegiance to personalities. Jordan's side of the game The Hall of Famer is a fan of many superstars like LeBron James and the likes of Kobe Bryant, Carmelo Anthony and Allen Iverson when they were still active. But he doesn't get too attached. 'I'm a big fan. I like to watch the basketball,' Jordan said. 'So I'm still a fan and I can't get so far away from it and I can't get so close to it, too, because of my competitive nature.' Advertisement His presence has evolved from being the fire on the court to becoming a measured observer with an ownership stake, front-office experience and the mindset of a titan who once dominated it all. While others look for a new 'favorite' player to follow, Jordan watches with a different lens, one sharpened by a history that demands no replacements. Over the past two decades, a parade of superstars has stepped into the spotlight, each one attempting, in some way, to carry the torch Jordan left behind. James entered the league with the weight of 'The Chosen One' stitched into his legacy before he played a single professional game. Already ascending in the late '90s, Bryant mirrored Jordan's intensity, footwork, and tireless mindset. Anthony was captivated by scoring bursts and pure offensive skill, while Iverson electrified crowds with raw energy, unapologetic swagger, and a crossover that became cultural currency. Jordan recognized them all. That competitive nature is the core of how Jordan approaches life after playing. During his prime, every possession mattered, every matchup was personal, and every championship was a war of attrition. Advertisement Getting 'too close' to the game now means seeing players through the eyes of a rival, not a spectator. It's why fandom, in the traditional sense, doesn't fit. He doesn't throw his support behind one name or build his evenings around one star's stat line. An owner's perspective When Jordan torched teams for 30.1 points per game across his 15 seasons (the highest career scoring average in NBA history), there was never room for neutrality. Competitiveness swallowed sentiment. That same instinct lingers now. It's why his admiration exists with boundaries. He has always stayed close to the game even after retiring. In 2010, Jordan became the majority owner of the Charlotte Bobcats (now Hornets), marking the first time a former player assumed majority control of an NBA team. That move deepened his relationship with the league and altered it entirely. Ownership became about stewardship, investment, and legacy. Advertisement 'Right where I am is the right place to be where I own a team,' Jordan said. 'Obviously I'm involved in a team but I allow them to be and let the game play in this era.' It's a delicate balance — being close enough to influence and far enough not to interfere. That posture comes with maturity and a deep understanding of cycles. Every era has its own rhythm and its own heroes. Jordan's doesn't overlap with this one. The players dominating today grew up idolizing him. But he doesn't try to pull them back into his orbit. From 2010 to 2023, under his ownership, Charlotte experienced limited on-court success — just three playoff appearances, none advancing past the first round. But Jordan's legacy was never tied to front-office wins. Instead, he focused on presence, visibility and carving a model where former players could transition into business leadership. Related: Michael Jordan once shared what separated him from other great players in the NBA: "I don't take the game so serious that it becomes the business" This story was originally reported by Basketball Network on Jun 15, 2025, where it first appeared.
Yahoo
5 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
"I don't think I should defend myself anymore, I'm done with that in my life" - Allen Iverson on why he's had enough trying to defend his public image
"I don't think I should defend myself anymore, I'm done with that in my life" - Allen Iverson on why he's had enough trying to defend his public image originally appeared on Basketball Network. During his career, Allen Iverson was always the subject of primetime debates, panel discussions and newspaper editorials. Advertisement Not because he lacked greatness — his Hall of Fame career is etched with MVP seasons, 11 NBA All-Star nods, and a lifetime average of 26.7 points per game — but because he insisted on being himself in a league still struggling with how to receive that. From the moment he stepped onto an NBA court in 1996 as the No. 1 pick, Iverson was not only contending with defenders on the floor but with coded language off it, fighting a decades-long battle against image politics that always seemed stacked against him. Moving on from narratives Just over a decade and a half after his last professional game, Iverson has made one thing clear: he's no longer interested in fighting a battle that never seemed to care about the truth anyway. Advertisement "At the age of 40, I don't think I should defend myself anymore," Iverson said in 2015. "I'm done with that in my life. I'm done with defending myself. I'm a villain to people that don't rock with me. I'm a superhero to the people that love me." Iverson isn't a man searching for closure. He's already lived it. The journey from a teen imprisoned for a bowling alley brawl in Hampton, Virginia, and later pardoned to one of the NBA's most electrifying stars was paved with both myth and misunderstanding. Even at his athletic peak, Iverson often found himself typecast. He was a cultural disturbance. That persona never sat easily with him, though he wore it anyway. Now, at middle-age, the burden of justification no longer seems worth lifting. In the years following his retirement, Iverson has mostly remained out of the spotlight, making select appearances at NBA events, tributes, and cultural panels, often greeted with a reverence that once eluded him during his prime. Advertisement This post-career embrace wasn't always inevitable. In 2010, just months after his final NBA game with the Philadelphia 76ers, Iverson faced rumors of financial distress, alcoholism, and alienation. None of these were ever confirmed outright, but the public frenzy spoke volumes about the appetite for sensationalism when it came to him. Iverson's stereotype There was never any doubt about Iverson's impact on the court. The Sixers legend played through pain, carried underwhelming rosters, and dragged Philadelphia to the NBA Finals in 2001, claiming the league MVP that same year. That season alone — 31.1 points, 4.6 assists, and 2.5 steals per game — told a truth far more honest than any back-page headline ever did. His image has always been at the center of discussion, not for lack of talent, but because he challenged the NBA's comfort zone. From his braids to his sleeve tattoos to the hip-hop beats that accompanied his walk to the locker room, Iverson carried himself like the neighborhoods he came from. Advertisement "It's just a stereotype," he said. "And then with my hair and the cornrows, people talk about it being a thug thing … I guess it's just [an] Allen Iverson thing, not agreeing with the fact that I wasn't going to try to look like somebody else instead of looking like myself." In 2005, the NBA implemented a dress code, widely interpreted as a veiled response to Iverson's influence on player fashion and identity. The league, concerned with its public image, required players to wear "business casual" attire when representing teams. Though not named directly, Iverson's name always hovered behind the press releases. What he was expressing wasn't rebellion; it was representation. His refusal to bend didn't stem from arrogance but from the understanding that, for kids who looked like him, saw themselves in him, and came from where he did, the power of authenticity meant everything. Today's NBA is filled with players whose fashion choices are praised as bold and whose ink and hairstyles are just as visible as their skill. The culture Iverson brought into the league now thrives unapologetically and is often celebrated. That evolution owes a debt to his stubbornness, to his resistance, to his refusal to conform. Advertisement Related: Allen Iverson on realizing he had to give up his football dreams: "I would always get emotional, tears coming from my eyes" This story was originally reported by Basketball Network on Jun 14, 2025, where it first appeared.
Yahoo
7 days ago
- Sport
- Yahoo
"I don't think I should defend myself anymore, I'm done with that in my life" - Allen Iverson on why he's had enough trying to defend his public image
"I don't think I should defend myself anymore, I'm done with that in my life" - Allen Iverson on why he's had enough trying to defend his public image originally appeared on Basketball Network. During his career, Allen Iverson was always the subject of primetime debates, panel discussions and newspaper editorials. Not because he lacked greatness — his Hall of Fame career is etched with MVP seasons, 11 NBA All-Star nods, and a lifetime average of 26.7 points per game — but because he insisted on being himself in a league still struggling with how to receive that. From the moment he stepped onto an NBA court in 1996 as the No. 1 pick, Iverson was not only contending with defenders on the floor but with coded language off it, fighting a decades-long battle against image politics that always seemed stacked against him. Just over a decade and a half after his last professional game, Iverson has made one thing clear: he's no longer interested in fighting a battle that never seemed to care about the truth anyway. "At the age of 40, I don't think I should defend myself anymore," Iverson said in 2015. "I'm done with that in my life. I'm done with defending myself. I'm a villain to people that don't rock with me. I'm a superhero to the people that love me." Iverson isn't a man searching for closure. He's already lived it. The journey from a teen imprisoned for a bowling alley brawl in Hampton, Virginia, and later pardoned to one of the NBA's most electrifying stars was paved with both myth and misunderstanding. Even at his athletic peak, Iverson often found himself typecast. He was a cultural disturbance. That persona never sat easily with him, though he wore it anyway. Now, at middle-age, the burden of justification no longer seems worth lifting. In the years following his retirement, Iverson has mostly remained out of the spotlight, making select appearances at NBA events, tributes, and cultural panels, often greeted with a reverence that once eluded him during his prime. This post-career embrace wasn't always inevitable. In 2010, just months after his final NBA game with the Philadelphia 76ers, Iverson faced rumors of financial distress, alcoholism, and alienation. None of these were ever confirmed outright, but the public frenzy spoke volumes about the appetite for sensationalism when it came to him. There was never any doubt about Iverson's impact on the court. The Sixers legend played through pain, carried underwhelming rosters, and dragged Philadelphia to the NBA Finals in 2001, claiming the league MVP that same year. That season alone — 31.1 points, 4.6 assists, and 2.5 steals per game — told a truth far more honest than any back-page headline ever did. His image has always been at the center of discussion, not for lack of talent, but because he challenged the NBA's comfort zone. From his braids to his sleeve tattoos to the hip-hop beats that accompanied his walk to the locker room, Iverson carried himself like the neighborhoods he came from. "It's just a stereotype," he said. "And then with my hair and the cornrows, people talk about it being a thug thing … I guess it's just [an] Allen Iverson thing, not agreeing with the fact that I wasn't going to try to look like somebody else instead of looking like myself." In 2005, the NBA implemented a dress code, widely interpreted as a veiled response to Iverson's influence on player fashion and identity. The league, concerned with its public image, required players to wear "business casual" attire when representing teams. Though not named directly, Iverson's name always hovered behind the press releases. What he was expressing wasn't rebellion; it was representation. His refusal to bend didn't stem from arrogance but from the understanding that, for kids who looked like him, saw themselves in him, and came from where he did, the power of authenticity meant everything. Today's NBA is filled with players whose fashion choices are praised as bold and whose ink and hairstyles are just as visible as their skill. The culture Iverson brought into the league now thrives unapologetically and is often celebrated. That evolution owes a debt to his stubbornness, to his resistance, to his refusal to story was originally reported by Basketball Network on Jun 14, 2025, where it first appeared.
