Those Dreaded Bandwagoners

"No bandwagon fans!" Say it with me. "No bandwagon fans! We remember everyone. From Eddy Curry, to Eddie Robinson, to James F'n Edwards. You don't belong in the same seats as we do. What high school did Derrick Rose go to? And what is his favorite mid-afternoon treat? I betcha can't answer me those simple questions with your bandwagon-hoppin' ass."

As much as I'd enjoy engaging in luminous "discussions" such as the one above, I just can't. The notion of a bandwagon fan, and even more so, the hate directed towards them is puzzling. The Bulls have surpassed 60 wins for the first time since the 1998 Championship year. They've clinched the number one overall seed through out the playoffs. Derrick Rose is going to be this year's MVP. These type of accomplishments get a team noticed. With notoriety comes the dreaded bandwagon fans.

Let's first recognize the player/fan distinction. Rose, like MVP's who pull off at least one highlight-reel moment per game, has added some fans to an already extensive list. Basketball fans all over the country tune in to Bulls games to watch Rose play. They could care less about the team's success, although things get a bit murky because a superstar's individual success usually correlates with his team's success. I went through a similar infatuation period with Allen Iverson during his peak years in Philadelphia. I was an Iverson fan, thrust into rooting for the 76ers by default.  I wanted to see more A.I., and that meant the Sixers had to win.

These type of fans get lumped in with bandwagoners. Ironic in the sense that players don't truly build MVP cases until fans, analysts, and writers outside of their market start to embrace them. The Bulls fans who didn't want Rose/non-Bulls fans to sit at their table were the same one's claiming he got no respect from the media. I think that was a proper example of irony. If not, I give up.

Fans living in a state other than the one where their team is located are often categorized as bandwagoners. This can be true, but ignores the reality that people move away from home and take their fan allegiances with them. There are Bulls fan in California, New York, Texas, Florida, even across Europe and Africa. Some are from Chicago and others aren't.

But what about those who aren't from Chicago? Let's say for example they began rooting for the Bulls during the 1990s and have continued ever since. They didn't previously have ties the city or the organization but have since remained loyal to the franchise. We wouldn't call them bandwagoners--but at one point they were. They were originally attracted to the Bulls because they were winning/had star power, and whether they stuck by them or not, were on the dreaded bandwagon at one point.

Somewhere in Iowa little Timothy saw Derrick Rose on SportsCenter and pretends to be him when he plays outside in the front yard. He watches the Bulls from time to time, whenever they're on national TV, and notices they're really good. The state of Iowa doesn't have a NBA team, so the Bulls become his team. Little Timothy could have just as easily picked the Timberwolves, but they're not on national TV and don't have a player that makes the plays Derrick Rose does. Some Bulls fans want nothing to do with Timothy. They say he isn't a real fan because he didn't watch any of their games last year. He didn't have to suffer through Vinny Del Negro. He doesn't even know that we traded LaMarcus Aldridge for the God-awful Tyrus Thomas on Draft Night. He wasn't even alive to see the six Championships and would have been too young to remember the fallout of those teams.

Timothy will remain a Bulls fan for the rest of his life. 2011 happened to be the perfect storm of style, substance, and W's to lure him in. Timothy is a fictional character made up for the purpose of this post. But there are thousands of Timothys from all over the world. They're the new generation of Bulls fans and they had to start somewhere. Don't deny them. You're no more of a fan than they are. A 40-year old isn't smarter than a 20 year-old because they've lived 20 years longer.

An important element of the sports fan's experience is the communal bond. It's fun to interact with fellow fans on the Internet. Live games are much better when the venue is packed. Wearing the same colors, jerseys, and hats make us feel like we're part of something. But ultimately, being a fan is a singular experience. A team's successes, failures, and players over the years will mean something different to each person. Bulls fans who live to drop names like Ron Mercer and Khalid El-Amin are going to have a different perspective and understanding of this team's success than someone who began watching this year.

That singular perspective is why I'm surprised so many people care about bandwagon fans. What does this team mean to you? Why does it matter how anyone else chooses to enjoy this team? The Bulls gained some lifetime fans this year. They also gained some passing fans who will move on to the next team eventually. Like it or not, we're all in this together. I long for the day when fans realize they're not in competition with each other. Until then, enjoy these Michael Ruffin Spanish League highlights.

This Old Jersey

Somewhere in the back of my closet is an Allen Iverson blue Sixers road jersey, circa 2003. While I can't imagine a situation where I'd ever wear it again, I also can't fathom throwing it away. You see, that jersey is the only remnant I have left from the Allen Iverson era. Were Iverson's prime years worthy of being an era's namesake? Probably not, but I tend to think so.
In the year 2000, the Bulls were coming off an Eastern Conference worst 17-65 record and were unable to attract any of that offseason's premier free agents. Clearly, they were no good and weren't going to be any good for a long time.
I was in eighth grade an used to a winning basketball team. I grew up with Championships and really didn't appreciate how difficult they were to come by. I decided to invest my rooting interest into Allen Iverson and the 76ers that year. It helped that the 76ers were Championship contenders, but more importantly, Iverson's game was the most intriguing of anyone in the NBA at the time.
He was usually the smallest player on the floor, yet was the most athletic. He was a poor outside shooter, yet led the league in scoring five times. He may have been the most inefficient player of his era, and also one of the greatest. Now that's saying something.
In eighth grade we didn't speak of inefficiency. We preferred a more scathing term: "ball hog." Allen Iverson was a ball hog. I heard that for the entire 20-minute lunch period everytime I wore my Iverson jersey. I began to think my classmates were more enraged with Iverson attempting 30 shots a game than anything else. It didn't matter whether he made 8 or 17 of them. Thirty shots was too many, especially for someone as disliked as Iverson.
His somewhat deserved reputation as a chucker is one of the only aspects about his game people remember. He's more known for one/some or all of the following: cornrows, tattoos, being the main target of the NBA dress code, a high school bowling alley brawl, refusing to accept a bench role towards the end of his career, a homophobic rap song, and of course, "PRACTICE, WE TALKIN' ABOUT PRACTICE, NOT A GAME, NOT A GAME, NOT A GAME, BUT PRACTICE."
Translation: thug, trouble-maker, selfish, bigot, and lazy.
If those are lenses which you choose to view Iverson then that's on you. Many have tried to defend him and are usually unsuccessful because he is such a polarizing figure. If you have an opinion on Allen Iverson, you most likely aren't changing it now.
The point of this post was not to reflect on Iverson's basketball legacy or the legitimacy of the negativity surrounding him. I simply wanted to relate how I remember him, and one image sticks out above the rest.
Game 7 in Philadelphia of the Eastern Conference Finals. The Sixers defeated the Bucks 108-91 to advance to the 2001 NBA Finals. If someone asked me to show them a video that summed up Allen Iverson I wouldn't show them the infamous "Practice" video, or the overrated 1996 Jordan crossover, or one of his 11 career 50-point games. I'd show them Game 7, or as I call it, the perfect actualization of an Iverson-led team.
Iverson poured in 44 points on 17 of 33 shooting, including 4 of 6 from behind the arc. He was only a career 42 percent shooter,  31 percent from three, yet made a variety of difficult outside shots that game. He took is customary plus 30 attempts, but did so efficiently.
In my opinion, the best description of Iverson's game was written by FreeDarko founding member Bethlehem Shoals:

 No player before or since has so sincerely believed in one-on-one basketball as a means to victory, imagining it fully while others had been unwittingly dragged into it by their egos. Iverson wanted the ball in his hands until the last possible second and seemed resistant to the idea that anyone else on his team could implement his plan for a possession.

The 2001 76ers were structured around allowing Iverson to take full control of the offense. Every other player fulfilled their role, which rarely included any input on the offensive end. Aaron McKie guarded the bigger guard, in this case Ray Allen, and fed Iverson the ball coming off screens. McKie finished with 13 assists. Tyrone Hill crashed the boards and scored garbage points. He finished with 11 and 10. Dikembe Mutombo was the heart and soul of the Sixers defense. He owned the paint, grabbed rebounds at will and rejected shots. Mutombo had the game of his life: 23 points, 19 rebounds, and 7 blocks. If you were to draw up a perfect game for a Iverson-led team, this would be it.
With a 18 point lead and just under 40 seconds left, Sixers coach Larry Brown took Iverson out:      



Iverson ran across the court with his hand to his ear, imploring the crowd to raise their decibel level. That's the image I will always remember. At that moment, Iverson was embraced by his teammates, coaches, and the basketball world. A player who was never supposed to sustain any level of team success finally did. The Sixers would go on to shock the Lakers in Game 1 of the Finals, Los Angeles' only loss of the playoffs, but Iverson's Game 7 exit will always be the most memorable moment of his career for me.
When I hear things nowadays that Iverson is broke, gambled away all his money, and watching the All-Star Game alone at the bar, none of it surprises me. People revel in the supposed downfall of former athletes, especially controversial ones like Iverson.
It just seems wrong that Iverson is watching an All-Star Game. He surely would have been voted in again this year. I watched ten minutes of his inaugural game in Turkey and he looked like another average player, trying to make a living playing overseas. I had to turn the game off -- it was that bad.
Allen Iverson's NBA career is over but in those who could appreciate his unorthodox approach to the game, he'll live on. Iverson's impact may get tossed aside, but like my jersey gathering dust, it will always be there -- and that's the important thing.