This story appears in the May 6, 2013, issue of Sports Illustrated. I’m a 34-year-old NBA center. I’m black. And I’m gay. I didn’t set out to be the first openly gay athlete playing in a major American team sport. But since I am, I’m happy to start the conversation. I wish I wasn’t the kid in the classroom raising his hand and saying, “I’m different.” If I had my way, someone else would have already done this. Nobody has, which is why I’m raising my hand. My journey of self-discovery and self-acknowledgement began in my hometown of Los Angeles and has taken me through two state high school championships, the NCAA Final Four and the Elite Eight, and nine playoffs in 12 NBA seasons. PHOTO GALLERY: Jason Collins through the years I’ve played for six pro teams and have appeared in two NBA Finals. Ever heard of a parlor game called Three Degrees of Jason Collins? If you’re in the league, and I haven’t been your teammate, I surely have been one of your teammates’ teammates. Or one of your teammates’ teammates’ teammates.

Now I’m a free agent, literally and figuratively. I’ve reached that enviable state in life in which I can do pretty much what I want. And what I want is to continue to play basketball. I still love the game, and I still have something to offer. My coaches and teammates recognize that. At the same time, I want to be genuine and authentic and truthful. Why am I coming out now? Well, I started thinking about this in 2011 during the NBA player lockout. I’m a creature of routine. When the regular season ends I immediately dedicate myself to getting game ready for the opener of the next campaign in the fall. But the lockout wreaked havoc on my habits and forced me to confront who I really am and what I really want. With the season delayed, I trained and worked out. But I lacked the distraction that basketball had always provided. The first relative I came out to was my aunt Teri, a superior court judge in San Francisco. Her reaction surprised me. “I’ve known you were gay for years,” she said. From that moment on I was comfortable in my own skin. In her presence I ignored my censor button for the first time. She gave me support. The relief I felt was a sweet release. Imagine you’re in the oven, baking. Some of us know and accept our sexuality right away and some need more time to cook. I should know — I baked for 33 years. When I was younger I dated women. I even got engaged. I thought I had to live a certain way. I thought I needed to marry a woman and raise kids with her. I kept telling myself the sky was red, but I always knew it was blue. I realized I needed to go public when Joe Kennedy, my old roommate at Stanford and now a Massachusetts congressman, told me he had just marched in Boston’s 2012 Gay Pride Parade. I’m seldom jealous of others, but hearing what Joe had done filled me with envy. I was proud of him for participating but angry that as a closeted gay man I couldn’t even cheer my straight friend on as a spectator. If I’d been questioned, I would have concocted half truths. What a shame to have to lie at a celebration of pride. I want to do the right thing and not hide anymore. I want to march for tolerance, acceptance and understanding. I want to take a stand and say, “Me, too.” *** The recent Boston Marathon bombing reinforced the notion that I shouldn’t wait for the circumstances of my coming out to be perfect. Things can change in an instant, so why not live truthfully? When I told Joe a few weeks ago that I was gay, he was grateful that I trusted him. He asked me to join him in 2013. We’ll be marching on June 8. No one wants to live in fear. I’ve always been scared of saying the wrong thing. I don’t sleep well. I never have. But each time I tell another person, I feel stronger and sleep a little more soundly. It takes an enormous amount of energy to guard such a big secret. I’ve endured years of misery and gone to enormous lengths to live a lie. I was certain that my world would fall apart if anyone knew. And yet when I acknowledged my sexuality I felt whole for the first time. I still had the same sense of humor, I still had the same mannerisms and my friends still had my back.

Believe it or not, my family has had bigger shocks. Strange as it seems today, my parents expected only one child in 1978. Me. When I came out (for the first time) the doctors congratulated my mother on her healthy, seven-pound, one-ounce baby boy. “Wait!” said a nurse. “Here comes another one!” The other one, who arrived eight minutes later and three ounces heavier, was Jarron. He’s followed me ever since, to Stanford and to the NBA, and as the ever-so-slightly older brother I’ve looked out for him. I had a happy childhood in the suburbs of L.A. My parents instilled in us an appreciation of history, art and, most important, Motown. Jarron and I weren’t allowed to listen to rap until we were 12. After our birthday I dashed to Target and bought DJ Quik’s album Quik Is the Name. I memorized every line. It was around this time that I began noticing subtle differences between Jarron and me. Our twinness was no longer synchronized. I couldn’t identify with his attraction to girls. I feel blessed that I recognized my own attractions. Though I resisted my impulses through high school, I knew that when I was ready I had someone to turn to: my uncle Mark in New York. I knew we could talk without judgment, and we did last summer. Uncle Mark is gay. He and his partner have been in a stable relationship forever. For a confused young boy, I can think of no better role model of love and compassion. I didn’t come out to my brother until last summer. His reaction to my breakfast revelation was radically different from Aunt Teri’s. He was downright astounded. He never suspected. So much for twin telepathy. But by dinner that night, he was full of brotherly love. For the first time in our lives, he wanted to step in and protect me.

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Multiple attempts to reach Iverson for this story were unsuccessful; Moore said Iverson has been told to avoid the spotlight. But more than 600 pages of transcripts and court documents from the divorce proceeding suggest that spurts of questionable behavior during his career weren’t just layers to Iverson’s character. They were warning signs.“For him to be as successful as he was, he had to be determined and have that little chip on his shoulder and that inner voice telling him, ‘Do it your way, Allen,’ ” Lynch said. “And that’s probably his downfall.”

‘Didn’t think about the future’

During Iverson’s prime, teammates accepted Iverson’s unique style, be it hangovers during some practices or his trademark single-arm sleeve. His response to a question in 2002 about missing workouts became iconic: “We’re talking about practice.” As long as his game was sharp – he was named MVP in 2001 and won four NBA scoring titles – they ignored all else.

Basketball was Iverson’s sanctuary, and he signed huge contracts: a six-year deal in 1999 worth $70.9 million and, four years later, a new agreement worth $76.7 million. Reebok signed him to a huge endorsement deal, including a deferred trust worth more than $30 million, a lump sum he can’t touch until he turns 55.

His play kept his shortcomings in the shadows, but at home, his behavior caused increasing worry. Tawanna testified that her husband was undependable and volatile. Alcohol intensified his flaws, she said, leading him to skip milestone events and stagger through others.
He hadn’t been present for Tiaura’s birth in 1994, and three years later, when Allen Jr. was born – they would call him Deuce – Iverson was “very intoxicated” and unable to drive her to the hospital, Tawanna told the court.

 

 

He supported family members and rarely said no to a request for money. McLeod, who occasionally went to the bar with Iverson’s entourage, says his teammate always paid the tab, no matter how much. “He never turned down anybody,” Brown said. “He was there to help everybody. He didn’t think about the future.” Iverson feuded in 2006 with the Sixers, who removed his likeness from the Wells Fargo Center before trading him to the Denver Nuggets, who later traded him to Detroit. When he became a free agent in ‘09, teams were reluctant to sign him.

Moore said he told Iverson to consider life after basketball. In November 2009, Iverson played in three games with the Memphis Grizzles before being released, and the Sixers brought him back for 25 games. In his final NBA appearance, Feb. 20, 2010, he scored 13 points in a 32-point loss to the Chicago Bulls. His career ended abruptly, without closure.

Said Nuggets Coach George Karl: “Finding his last chapter of his career never happened.”

“They don’t want you anymore”

Iverson kept living as if another contract was imminent, and Tawanna struggled to curb his spending. According to a bank statement submitted in the divorce, the couple’s checking account was overdrawn by more than $23,000 in July 2011. In a single day, $23,255.36 was deducted – at a diamond store, a hat shop, a steakhouse and a hotel.

Tawanna testified that her checks bounced that month when she paid for housing and electricity. She sold jewelry and Tiaura’s car to pay for household expenses, including school clothes and supplies. Before their home in Denver was foreclosed, Tawanna testified, she sold more jewelry at a pawn shop to pay toward debt. Iverson owed thousands to a Georgia home builder, was hit with tax liens, and his wages were garnished to settle a nearly $860,000 balance with a jeweler.

The public image for years had been of a bad boy tamed by his growing family sitting near the baseline. The truth was that Iverson was often an absentee husband and father. Tawanna testified that during a 2009 family vacation in Orlando, Iverson spent evenings with a friend while his family made plans without him. On the day they were to fly home, Iverson nursed a hangover in a van, lying on the floor with a foot draped on the seat. While their children saw a movie, Tawanna sat for hours with her husband, afraid if he was left alone the driver would take photographs.

Another time, she said, Iverson left his children alone in a hotel room during a weekend at a water park. Tawanna picked them up at 2 a.m., one of the kids still in her swimsuit, with no sign of Iverson. “I always thought that my kids needed their father,” she’d testify later. “And what I’ve learned is that they don’t need him if he’s going to be that destructive in their lives.”

Iverson kept waiting for NBA teams to call. Last August, Iverson’s son Deuce, now 15, enrolled in a Pennsylvania school and families were invited to group counseling. Tawanna testified that Iverson skipped most of the sessions, including a lunch with his son. During a meeting he did attend, the speaker told the children about success, and how Donald Trump had seized opportunities.

Iverson interrupted, telling them that he had been the man with money and fame. Then he said something Tawanna would remember.
“What are you supposed to do,” she recalled him saying, “when, you know, they don’t want you anymore?”

‘He deserves a better ending’

In February 2012, Moore sent Tawanna an e-mail: “THE BLUEPRINT FOR IVERSON RETURN.”

Iverson played in Turkey and briefly joined a team in China, but he believed he belonged in the NBA. One of Moore’s bullet points stood out: “No more drinking!” He also included an article on how to select an intervention leader. A subsequent e-mail suggested Iverson attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

Moore contacted NBA teams, but there was little interest. Besides, Tawanna had filed for divorce, and they spent much of last summer in court. He and Tawanna had been together since they were 16, prom dates and partners through challenges and triumphs.

“I love u,” Iverson wrote to her in a text message submitted in the divorce filing. “I miss your pretty face & I’m sorry! Ppl make mistakes!”

He kept making them. When he met with an investigator to discuss custody of his five children, he “smelled remarkably of alcohol,” according to the investigator’s testimony. Months later, during a scheduled alcohol evaluation, he again arrived with alcohol on his breath.

Iverson didn’t take the witness stand during the divorce hearing or publicly dispute his wife’s claims, and his deposition testimony was sealed. The judge awarded Tawanna sole legal custody, calling Iverson a “hindrance” to his children. He appealed, but it was dismissed last month.

In a statement, released through Moore’s office after the custody ruling, Iverson said the court was biased and its ruling “one-sided.”
A person close to Iverson, who spoke on condition of anonymity, said that half of the Reebok trust, established as Iverson’s rainy-day fund, was transferred to Tawanna as part of their divorce settlement. Tawanna’s attorney, John Mayoue, would not comment, and attempts to reach Tawanna for additional comment were unsuccessful.

After everything, Moore said, Iverson loves his children “more than life” and still has feelings for Tawanna. After the divorce went final in January, Moore restarted the NBA comeback effort. Iverson declined an offer from the Dallas Mavericks’ NBA Development League team, posting on Twitter that “it is not the route for me.”

Moore called Tim Grover, a personal trainer who worked with Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant. Grover said he spoke with Iverson, and they discussed a conditioning program. “Just get the muscles to get firing,” Grover said. In late March, Grover pulled out of the arrangement, telling Moore he couldn’t dedicate the time for training Iverson.

And that was that. It was over.

Brown called Iverson during the following weeks. The coach is still asked often about him, and when he visits college campuses, he sees players with cornrows and a sleeve on one arm – a generation of influence. “He deserves a better ending than he’s getting,” Brown said.

‘We talking about love’

Former Georgetown coach John Thompson Jr. was asked about Iverson last month. He was preparing for a radio broadcast before an NCAA tournament game at Verizon Center. “What I think about Allen Iverson is in my heart,” Thompson said.

Thompson, who took a chance by offering Iverson a scholarship after the bowling alley incident, is protective of Iverson and wouldn’t be interviewed. But he recommended a discussion with Lorry Michel, Georgetown basketball’s longtime trainer.

She answered her office phone, quick to say that she doesn’t do interviews. But for Iverson, she’d make an exception. “You go along life,” she said, “and you run into people. And some really intrigue you more, maybe, I don’t know. Or they just treat you differently.”

Michel underwent surgery for a brain tumor in June 2011. Amid the emails and cards was a note from Iverson. It wouldn’t be the last time he checked in. She said he remembers people and their paths; because his was so unlikely, he appreciates how others reached their goals. “He would see people for what they were,” she said.

Earlier this year, Michel contacted Iverson. She’d heard about the divorce and wanted to know how he was doing. Fine, he told her, and she chose to believe him. Shortly before Michel was inducted Feb. 9 into Georgetown’s Hall of Fame, Iverson asked someone to point a camera at him and ask him about practice. The blurry footage would be sent to Washington and played during the ceremony.

He stood at a lectern, his hat crooked, and mimicked his famous rant. “We talking about love?” he began. “Not Coach Thompson. Not the baddest guard that ever played at Georgetown. Not Alonzo Mourning. Not Patrick Ewing. Not Dikembe Mutombo? “I’m supposed to be here talking about Georgetown. But we talking about love. We talking about love? Miss Michel? Oh, we talking about love.”

He paused.

“I love you. I miss you. Well-deserved congratulations. I love you. I can’t put it in words how much I do love you.”

‘With truth comes consequences’

On that evening in late March, Aron, the Sixers CEO, leads Iverson into the players’ entrance, through the Philadelphia locker room, and into a tunnel. At 8 p.m., the lights are lowered, and flames blast from tubes. The announcer’s voice booms through the arena’s speakers: “A six-foot guard from Georgetown,” extending the syllables. The crowd erupts.

Iverson stands at midcourt, wearing a throwback Philadelphia Phillies warm-up jacket and dark sunglasses. He smiles and soaks in these seconds, cupping a hand around his ear the way he used to.

 

 

This is the closest Iverson will get to an NBA comeback. If the past three years have been this chaotic, what awaits him as he drifts farther from his basketball career – inching toward June 2030, when he’s eligible to receive what’s left of the Reebok money?

Moore has implored the Sixers to hire Iverson as a consultant. Friends and former teammates think he should travel, tell his story – the whole story, not just highlights like the arena’s big screen will show.

“Sometimes we don’t want to accept the fact that with truth comes consequences,” Moore says. “I just don’t think that he ever really grasped the fact that that existed. And maybe he never really accepted that fact because so many times, he didn’t have to.”

A moment later, Iverson retreats backstage and conducts a brief interview with Comcast, the team’s partner station. The reporter asks what’s next.

“I put it in God’s hands,” Iverson says, his voice cracking. “I’ve accomplished a lot in the NBA, and if the road ends here, then it does.”
He continues, looking contemplative, choosing the right words.

“And I’m not bitter about it. I don’t feel no type of way. I just understand that He helped me accomplish a lot of things in the NBA. I’ve done so many things that people thought that I couldn’t do . . .

“But at some point, it comes to an end. And regardless of however it comes — regardless if it’s retirement, injury, or whatever — at some point, it comes to an end.”

Then he smiles.

“Now, if I get a chance to play again,” he says, pausing at the thought, “I would love the opportunity.”

Damn.

BOTTOMSCOOP: He will get nearly $30 million in about 18 years. Let’s hope he can live nicely off of that at the young age of 55.

What do you think?

SCOOP: WAPO