Ooooh, someone's gonna get fiiined.

As we head into this glorious long weekend full of stuffing, binging, and crying, I could go on and on about all I have to be thankful for. But since no one wants to read about my calf implants, let's talk about something we should all be thankful for: Allen Iverson. There's certainly no shortage of squawking announcers on television willing to praise The Answer as a scoring machine, yet his impact as a teammate still tends to get passed over like a college graduate on draft day. I'm not here to say that his blazers and button-downs will ever be able to obscure the cornrows and tats that David Stern's desired (read: white) fan base abhors, but that doesn't mean Iverson's overall play shouldn't be appreciated like a fine wine. Or at least a fine Sheryl Swoopes joke.

Poster-childish rants on everything from practice habits to dress codes regularly find Iverson on the wrong side of editorials about today's selfish star with no perspective. But the guy's just blowing off some steam. It can't be easy being one of the top three players in the league and constantly dealing with a roster filled with has-beens, never-weres, and Webbers. So for his part, he does what he can, treating scoring titles like Maxim Online NFL expert Cory Jones treats inebriated turkeys. Then there's the passing that everyone ignores. Iverson's assists per game have increased consistently over the last four seasons, leading up to this year's 8.3 per game. That's approximately four more than manchild LeBron James—who's approximately four feet taller.

Which brings up the real reason Iverson, despite all of his accolades, still doesn't get enough recognition for his game. This guy is the size of Earl Boykins, but plays with a heart the size of…well, Earl Boykins. When he's not scoring, the player who is dwarfed by half the refs in the league spends his time hustling after loose balls and racking up steals. It's that type of energy that rubs off on the rest of the team, and it's that effect that coaches love out of a team leader. Allen Iverson, team leader? It almost makes as much sense as Michael Sweetney, competitive eater.

So let's reserve the descriptives selfish, obnoxious, and fashion disaster for the Simpson sisters. Allen Iverson is a stand-up citizen who I'd gladly have over for Thanksgiving dinner. (So long as he goes through a metal detector first.)