PHILADELPHIA – To much of the public he has entertained for more than a decade, he is “The Answer,” a blur of speed and skill that ranks among the very best of his generation.

To the league office in Manhattan, he is an occasional irritant but mostly a moneymaker, a man small in size whose unwillingness to alter his self-image has made him one of the National Basketball Association’s most identifiable brands.

To those charged with the task of incorporating his skill set into the fabric of their team, he is something far more complicated, a Rubik’s cube of ability, charisma and confounding eccentricities that vexed his original franchise for more than a decade and figures to do the same at his new address.

Indeed, to those who employ him, Allen Iverson is less “The Answer” than he is “The Conundrum.”

From the day he entered the league after two seasons at Georgetown in 1996, Iverson has been as close to a force of nature as one sees in organized sport. His breathtaking ability to elude defenders with the basketball and score in bunches is a rare gift that goes to the heart of the game. In an era when points became more and more precious, Iverson was a one-man antidote.

That he could do so at the size of 6-foot made him all the more appealing. Throw in an iron will and outsized heart, and you had yourselves a powerful attraction.

Iverson’s insistence on staying true to his roots only enhanced his reputation to his core constituency in the working community. This was not an athlete who went corporate and suddenly began dressing in $2,000 suits. Iverson accepted fame – he typically made himself available for post-game sessions with the media and was willing to accept responsibility for losses – without shaping his public persona to fit a Madison Avenue suit’s idea of what it should be.

And yet, for all of that, Iverson was a riddle to his employers. That was true the day the 76ers drafted him and remained so through his apparent final game in the team’s uniform in Chicago on Dec. 6.

Many of the traits that endeared Iverson to this community – independence, defiance, pride – also worked against him in his relationship with his franchise.

It began with a most basic question – is he a point guard or a shooting guard? That no consensus was ever reached would suggest that he is neither, at least not in the classic sense. Hall of Fame coach Larry Brown used him as both, before ultimately concluding Iverson was better served off the ball. When Jim O’Brien arrived in 2003, he moved Iverson back to the point. Maurice Cheeks, who knows a little something about the point-guard position, began by playing him there before eventually sliding him to the other guard slot.

In the grand scheme of things, the position at which one is listed on the program isn’t a major concern. But in this case it offers a glimpse at how much of a hoops puzzle Iverson has been to his coaches.

He has been no less of a question mark to those in the executive wing, primarily Brown and Billy King, during his stint in Philadelphia.

Though it often comes directly from the coaching cliché catalog, there is much truth in the sentiment that teams are never more effective than when their best player is also their preeminent leader. Iverson’s talent demanded he be viewed as Philadelphia’s leading man. His apparent reluctance to embrace the elements of that task beyond the three hours at the arena on game night were a drag on his franchise and reduced his potential impact on his teammates.

Iverson’s response to a question about his practice habits after a playoff exit in 2002 will go down as one of the most memorable press conference moments of all time. As evidenced by that reaction, he never fully appreciated the link between his approach to the dirty work of this sport and its affect on others. In this respect, Iverson evokes the image of another Hall of Famer whose immense skills never translated into championships – Barry Sanders. Though there was a great contrast in their respective styles, they were alike in their independence and unwillingness to appreciate how their daily work habits were watched and often emulated by their teammates.

Of course, it also would be fair to point out that their respective organizations, the Sixers and Detroit Lions, engaged in a seemingly perpetual search to surround their signature talent with a superior supporting cast. Both were criticized when their efforts did not produce the desired results. Yet there is another way to look at that – perhaps it was a more formidable task than anyone appreciated.

In the 76ers’ case, it was not for a lack of effort. When Iverson got to Philadelphia, he was paired in the backcourt with Jerry Stackhouse, a top 10 pick in 1995. When that failed, Stackhouse was shipped to Detroit, where he would become a leader on a Central Division champion. The next significant talent brought in to serve as Iverson’s ostensible sidekick was Keith Van Horn, a 6-10 forward who later was part of two NBA Finals clubs in New Jersey and another in Dallas. He was found wanting as well.

Next to try was Glenn Robinson, a former All-Star in Milwaukee who in 2001 was key to a Bucks team that reached the Eastern Conference finals (where it ironically fell to Iverson’s Sixers). The “Big Dog” was offered as the solution before he was unceremoniously sent packing. Most recently, Philadelphia rolled the dice on Chris Webber’s long-term contract by acquiring him from Sacramento. No dice on that one, either – the Sixers made one first-round playoff appearance in 2005 and were left out last season. And we haven’t mentioned other accomplished players who did not mesh with Iverson early in their careers, Larry Hughes and Tim Thomas.

That might not be an All-Star lineup, but it is filled with players who were quality second or third options in other cities before or after coming to Philadelphia. And while Iverson cannot be held responsible for the failures of others, it suggests that his need to have the basketball impacts those imported to assist him with point production.

There was another element in this, too. Those athletes who demonstrated a capacity to prosper alongside Iverson – Aaron McKie, Eric Snow, Dikembe Mutombo, Kenny Thomas – saw their value here rise higher than it probably would have elsewhere. Each possessed significant limitations in their games, but the fact they were stylistically and temperamentally compatible with the leading man gave them value here because filling in around Iverson had proven so complex. The Sixers rewarded them in the good times with long-term deals, only to see their shortcomings shine through as the years went on.

The one season in which the Sixers did compete for a title was in 2001, at a time when the balance of power in the league tilted heavily westward. In a year in which Iverson earned his most valuable player award, Philadelphia outlasted Toronto and Milwaukee in seven game series and neither of those were vintage NBA playoff units. The Lakers easily dispatched the Sixers in five games in the Finals. That rush of success was a harmonic convergence of Iverson, an exceptional coach (Brown), and role players such as George Lynch, Tyrone Hill and Snow who toiled on the glass and in the defensive trenches.

Attempts to recreate the magic generated only modest success. Hill and Lynch sought more money when they became free agents and went elsewhere. Snow and McKie began to wear down and eventually moved on. And none of the new pieces fit nearly as well as the old did. Once Brown left for Detroit after the 2003 season, the downward spiral accelerated.

Now the Sixers and Iverson have agreed to end their partnership. The city of Philadelphia, forever wary after watching its local franchise unload three of its greatest stars – Wilt Chamberlain, Moses Malone and Charles Barkley – in lopsided deals, has resigned itself to a period of darkness. Few are convinced a turnaround can come quickly with a roster of mismatched parts that was built with Iverson in mind.

What we know for sure is that history will one day render a verdict. Iverson’s iconic status is secure. What is less certain is how the basketball community will assess his time here. Was he a brilliant showman stifled by management’s efforts to supplement his gifts? Or was he a transcendent soloist who confounded not only the organization, but one of the top basketball minds of his time (Brown)?

There are as yet no easy answers to that conundrum.