I'm guessing Allen Iverson won't be throwing one of those all-night family get-togethers for the Philadelphia police anytime soon. Even though he should.

Thanks to them, Iverson's already magnificent box-office power is about to approach that exclusive velvet-roped corner reserved for the great athletes whose victories include at least one over The System. Never mind that they'll spend some families' annual income to have the backseat of their ride refitted with wall-to-wall speakers, and then roll through the bad part of town with the doors locked like everyone else. Any inkling that a Spree or a Worm or Braveheart's William Wallace (okay, he didn't install speakers on the backside of that Palomino) might've been attacked or punished too harshly by any sort of judicial system and survived it, and they're transformed into the average man's shining symbol of resilience and courage.

	Iverson's 'tude has infuriated authorities since he was a kid.

Maybe I'm reading this wrong, but all indications are that the 14 counts, including four felonies, are going to fall like the excess salt from a Philly pretzel. One completely unsubstantiated theory is that the cops had a longstanding grudge against A.I. and finally had a way to exercise it. Maybe Iverson, as has been rumored, had other run-ins that his star status and the 76ers' civic influence kept on the down-low and this, finally, was local authority's chance to crack back on him. The Man came down with both feet.

It's certainly not hard to imagine, but that sound you hear is called a backfire. Instead of casting Iverson as a scofflaw and diminishing his celebrity, the police have built him a platform that could lift him higher than ever. If you think Sixers fans loved that tatted blur of bones and cornrows for throwing himself over, under and through a whole forest of NBA stars twice his size, imagine his underdog appeal if he walks out of court after shaking off the threat of 50 years in prison.

That said, you can count me among those who wonder if Iverson's reckless lifestyle on and off the court is catching up with him. Not by making him visit the inside of a courthouse, but by diminishing his effectiveness. He and Spree have more in common than healthy tempers. Both are fundamentally unorthodox players who rely on extraordinary athleticism and competitive fire to make them special. Neither could do what the ol' bald guy in D.C. did, which is come back and still be mightily effective without being one of the fastest, highest-leaping, perpetual-motion players on the floor. When the wheels started to wobble, so did Spree's superstar status.

	Philly police may raise A.I. to a whole new level.

It's not hard to see the same happening to A.I. He missed a quarter of the season and led the league in scoring despite career-low field-goal (39.8) and three-point (29.1) shooting percentages. Credit him for playing through most injuries, but both their severity and frequency are mounting. You have to wonder how much his reluctance to practice or weight-train regularly or adopt a standard sleep-and-eat routine contributes to all that gauze and athletic tape he wears to hold himself together.

Maybe I'm all wrong about that. And maybe the Philly police can make the charges stick and A.I. will face the wrath of David Stern, which would mean missed games even if he isn't in jail. But if they can't, they better know they've done Iverson a huge favor. As should he.

Ric Bucher covers the NBA for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at ric.bucher@espnmag.com.