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While Larry Brown's resignation had NBA teams salivating over the prospect of landing the Hall of Fame coach, Philly was left at a crossroads, scrambling to find a replacement and wondering if Iverson truly is the answer to a 20-year championship drought. No player means more to their franchise than Iverson.

Critics cite his lengthy history of off-the-court problems, but there's no disputing A.I.'s heart and toughness. The guy is 165 pounds soaking wet and he consistently takes brutal punishment from the game's biggest behemoths. Still, Iverson led the league in minutes-played and steals, finishing third in points per game.

If Iverson retired tomorrow -- you know, to work at an orphanage, rescue kittens from treetops, or produce gangster rap albums -- the Sixers wouldn't just fail to make the playoffs, they could finish among the worst five teams in the league.

Say "Sixers" and you probably think of Allen Iverson. The point isn't that Iverson attracts more attention than his lesser-known teammates; he's the foundation the team bases its personnel and style of play around. Iverson is much more than the franchise's face.

But what do we really know about Iverson sans Larry Brown? Other than Iverson's rookie season, Brown has piloted Philadelphia for the remaining six years of A.I.'s career. Brown orchestrated an offense catered to Iverson and installed a defensive system which exploited Iverson's quickness, fueling Iverson-led transition buckets. A heaping helping of Iverson.

Brown's tenure in Philly will always be tied to his star player, just as Philly's on-the-court success -- rightly or wrongly -- was often attributed to their cantankerous relationship.

We know what to expect from Larry Brown. He'll preach defense and hustle. Give him a couple years at any level and he'll produce solid, winning teams. Then he'll leave and do it again. Grass is green and sky is blue. The intriguing question revolves around The Answer.

The Sixers organization seems content in playing their hand with Iverson -- for now. GM Billy King indicated that the team would remain largely the same, with the immediate priority hiring a quality coach, then, getting Iverson a consistent helper to share the scoring burden. Keith Van Horn, last season's "fix" for Philly's perpetual search for a second scoring threat, didn't fit the bill, unless consistently pulling your socks up really high and disappearing in the fourth quarter was part of the package.

I wouldn't be surprised if next season dictates Iverson's future with the organization. At the very least, separated from Brown, Philly fans will begin to figure out if the legendary coach got the most out of his star pupil. With two years remaining on Iverson's contract, Philadelphia might be forced to part ways if next season doesn't uncover the missing ingredient to elevate the team to the championship level.

Perhaps Iverson's career will parallel that of fellow Hoya great and top-pick in the draft, Patrick Ewing. The Knick teams of the Ewing-era were constructed around the dominant center, played tough D, made the playoffs, but could never muster the right mix to capture the ultimate prize. They were good, not great. Sounds familiar, huh?

Iverson will be 30-years-old when his current contract ends. Though no one can question his gutsy game performances, there are legitimate concerns about his lifestyle, preparation, and health. How long can his small body handle the effects of his fearless style of play? Will he be able to adapt his game once he loses some of the quickness he relies so heavily on?

Greatness in American sports is defined by winning championships. The sports media, even actual athletes, often refer to a career being incomplete without a championship coronation. I was surprised to discover that the NBA's "50 Greatest Players" list, selected in 1996 to commemorate the NBA's 50th anniversary, featured 12 players who at the time had never won the Big One (Charles Barkley, Elgin Baylor, Dave Bing, Patrick Ewing, George Gervin, Karl Malone, Pete Maravich, Shaquille O'Neal, David Robinson, John Stockton, Thurmond, and Lenny Wilkens. O'Neal and Robinson won championships in years following the vote). Almost 25% of the greatest basketball players of all time had never won the championship.

I've always been uncomfortable with the notion that star athletes somehow deserve an asterisk if a championship alludes them. Great players make their teammates better, but how can you put the entire onus of championship failure on a player who has little to no influence on the selection of his teammates? Championships are won by great organizations.

No one doubts Allen Iverson's skill and tenacity, qualities that put him among the best to ever play the game. The coming season will begin to ultimately decide whether A.I. can bring a championship to Philadelphia, if he'll finish his career elsewhere, and if he's destined to join the long list of professional athletes who never won a title.

The question still looms over The Answer. Great player or great champion?

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