To Allen Iverson, All-Star weekend has become as routine as Thanksgiving and Christmas. Every year there are new experiences, all born from rituals and principles that have remained the same throughout generations.

When new All-Stars get to bond some with old All-Stars, a class Iverson graduated to about midway through the previous decade, that proverbial torch we're always hearing about actually exchanges hands. Maybe TMZ Sports will find a way to capture live video of the moment happening, but until then, you'll just have to imagine what it's like. Lives are touched. Believe it or not, like it or not, Iverson touches people the way few do.

That's why it's cool that he'll be in the mix again, the little man casting the big shadow, voted in as an All-Star starter for the 11th consecutive time. That's why he shouldn't entertain, even for a second, declining the honor bestowed on him by his fans. Suit up and get a new can of the WD-40 for those ailing knees.

The public beckons. Back by popular demand.

In the same year he felt he couldn't get on the floor with the Grizzlies, Iverson has been elected to line up in the Eastern Conference starting backcourt next to Miami's Dwyane Wade.

All that's missing is Don King popping out from his entourage, dropping his stogie to expose that toothy, maniacal grin and blurt out an "only in America!" 

Rest assured, if he shows up from Feb. 12-14 in Dallas, Iverson will be equal parts hero and role model, idolized and revered by fans, teammates and a rabid international media that stops just short of dropping rose petals at his feet and wiping the sweat off his brow.

This is the part of the column where I'm supposed to transition into how Iverson's inclusion is really another sign of the apocalypse, some gem of a hidden meaning about why this sends the wrong message to young America or how the voting system needs to be tweaked because fans are knuckle-heads, but that's not the immediate reaction that strikes me.

Fine. Kids, quitting on your team (twice for sure, three times if you count the end of the first Philly stint) is wrong, and isn't the type of behavior that should be rewarded.

But it says something that Iverson has established enough credibility among the masses to survive messy divorces in Detroit and Memphis and that brief retirement fiasco to still win a popularity contest.

And yes, it says that the state of Eastern Conference guards is pretty pitiful right now, but that's not what I'm referring to.

Maybe a nostalgia-carrying mosquito got into the house, but the chord Iverson's official inclusion struck in me was the realization that he's truly stood the test of time.

They say you don't know where you truly stand until you're no longer standing, but Iverson has already risen above all the drama in his life and come out on the other end unquestionably an icon.

Before enrolling at Georgetown as a teenager, Iverson was involved in a well-publicized bowling alley brawl that led to him spending a few months in a minimum security correction facility in Newport News, Va. As he entered the prestigious university to play in the Big East for the legendary John Thompson, there was no shortage of people predicting his eventual demise.

If we're not using kid gloves, there were probably observers questioning whether he'd make it to see 34 years of age, much less still be out there attempting to play at a high level.

As he's grown into a man underneath a microscope, there have been instances where Iverson has showed us his behind. He's had his brushes with the law, clashes with authority. He's made himself into the butt of what will no doubt be a timeless joke, questioning the practice of practice for the rest of eternity. But given the type of attention he received throughout the 90s and into this century, there's no question he could be perceived far differently than he is. If the practice rant is the lasting blemish on an otherwise sparkling career, isn't it safe to declare him a winner?

It's ironic that Gilbert Arenas, currently banished from the NBA, probably could've kept Iverson from an All-Star berth this season had he and the Wizards gotten off to a better start. Instead, his life has been thrown into chaos by a disaster that, kid gloves off, many back in the day would've probably expected Iverson to make.

A lot of people see Iverson as the face of the hip hop culture in the NBA. His critics will tell you he's the reason the dress code was invented, the reason shoot-first point guards are no longer running the U.S. in the Olympics and offer him up as the poster child for volume shooters.

Face it, there are people who have been around this game a long time who dismissed Iverson as a flash in the pan over 15 years ago. His durability has long been questioned, but he didn't wind up going the way of Damon Stoudamire, did he?

He didn't make an Arenas-type mistake, either. He's never choked Larry Brown or slugged Tyronn Lue. He's just done things his own way with a defiant grace, if grace can be consdiered defiant.

Isn't he the type of presence we want in an All-Star locker room, dispensing knowledge and providing influence? Younger players genuinely look up to him, many having locked him up among their first picks when they got their first taste of NBA Live.

Isn't he woven into the very fabric of today's game?

Years before T.I. was rapping about overcoming his size deficiency, A.I. was playing like he was 6-4 and getting over on the biggest of stages.

Iverson himself attributes his popularity to his lack of size, telling us a few years back that the idea of a little guy doing the things he's able to against far bigger obstacles simply transcends. He dropped that nugget in New Orleans at All-Star in '08, addressing why fans around the globe perennially show their appreciation for him through jersey sales and online voting.

And while I'm not down with utilizing the All-Star Game as a way to hand out lifetime achievement awards, fans voicing their support for Iverson during a season where most of the league turned their backs on him seems strangely comforting. Like him or not, he's entering his third decade thrilling the paying customers the way few others can and continues to beat the odds.

If Larry Brown is correct and this stint with the Sixers prepares him to better accept a lesser role that would be available for him on a title contender, Iverson may still have a chapter or two remaining in his career. However, there probably won't be another opportunity for him to start an All-Star game, which is why you should take a moment to appreciate history unfolding.

Ever watch a University of Cincinnati game and catch Oscar Robertson in the crowd, stuck in his own world cheering on the Bearcats? People who never even saw him play revere him, in awe simply because of the whispers and stories.

Iverson fits the bill as the Robertson of this generation, as unique a player as anyone who has ever come around in how polarizing a figure he's been. Wonder whether 10 years from now, we'll see Iverson cheering on one of his kids at Georgetown and get the same Big O feeling? Iverson, rocking a fedora with a Hoyas logo and matching bandana, watching one of his own playing for John Thompson's son...

That bug apparently got me good. Still, Iverson starting one more All-Star game? Why not? Every year there are new experiences, new lives to touch.

Tony Mejia is senior writer at Pro Basketball News. He can be reached at mejia@probasketballnews.com.