Dear Kobe | By Allen Iverson
It still doesn’t seem real. You were my guy.
Dudes like me ain’t supposed to talk about this type of stuff. I’m about to tell you some real shit. Things I haven’t told anybody.
I don’t want to die. But, you know, nothing is for certain. And I’m tired of keeping quiet. So for whatever it’s worth … here goes.
How I ended up as a 47 year-old man with a bullet in his head and bag full of prescription medications may go all the way back to my...
Four years before I was on that plane with Hakeem telling me we’re going shopping for cashmere suits together, I was on the corner, selling drugs outside the Chinese joint.
Then I got a call from Miami, and I walked into the O.G. Pat Riley’s office, which is damn near the best thing that’s happened in my NBA career.