This question practically challenged Iverson's basketball IQ.
Everyone thought Iverson would lose his temper, but he didn't.
He merely looked quietly at the reporter, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"A gap? Of course there's a gap." Iverson's voice wasn't loud, yet it reached everyone's ears clearly. "He's seven-foot-four, and I'm only six feet. He can stand there and solve problems with his height and wingspan. But every shot I take, every drive I make, I have to put everything on the line. That's the biggest difference between us. God decided that. I can't change it."
"As for changing my style?" He gave a cold laugh. "Why should I change? I'm me—Allen Iverson. This is how I play basketball. It's how I've played since the first day I stepped onto a court. You want me to post up inside like those big men? Or stand outside like a shooter waiting for someone to pass me the ball? That's not me. I'd rather lose playing my own way than win by imitating someone else."
His words rang with force, brimming with unmatched pride and confidence. Every reporter present was moved by what he said. It was as though they saw a lone fighter using his own way to battle a world ruled by giants.
"So, will your matchup with Li Fei continue? Do you think you still have a chance to beat him?" a reporter pressed.
Fire lit up in Iverson's eyes again.
"Of course!"
He answered without hesitation. "Losing this time doesn't mean I'll lose next time too. I don't care what kind of god he is, what kind of ruler he is. The next time I meet him at Madison Square Garden, I'll still do what I did tonight—tear out my heart and throw it onto that floor to