The specifics on Iverson’s post-basketball existence have, rarely, been great. There have been problems with his family, and problems with alcohol and problems — enormous, shadow-throwing, life-swallowing problems — with money. Much has been written about it, including a book by Kent Babb of The Washington Post. Iverson’s life, for too much of the time since he left the NBA, has been ugly.

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“He has hit rock bottom, and he just hasn’t accepted it yet,” former 76ers teammate Roshown McLeod told Babb in 2013.

So, the ingredients are there — crisis, regret, maybe denial — for a messy 30 minutes at the podium. Could just as easily be a messy 30 seconds, too. Nothing with Iverson has ever been predictable or simple. For fans of basketball and fans of the man himself, it’s always been compelling, and it’s often been great. Here’s hoping that’s what comes to pass when he steps up there, somewhere between Yao Ming, Shaquille O’Neal and Tom Izzo.

“I’m scared of (the speech) because I know how emotional I am and how I feel about the people that I love and that love me,” Iverson said when he was named a finalist in February. “So I have no idea (what I’ll say).”

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Induction speeches don’t need to be hagiographies. Sometimes they are, and that’s unavoidable — but the best of them are rooted in truth, a cruise-ship window into the speaker’s career and personality. Michael Jordan’s speech in 2009 — the non Crying Jordan portions, at least — comes to mind; he closed with the sort of brand-centric, commercial-ready sloganeering that made him … Michael Jordan.

Before he did that, though, he went through an uncomfortable, borderline insane airing of grievances against, among others, guys he played with in high school.

It seemed to spill out of him. It lasted longer than it should’ve. It wasn’t necessarily pretty, and certainly not the Jordan Brand or “Space Jam” version of the man himself, but it was real. That realness made it worth our time. And there are few superstar athletes, for better or worse, who’ve walked the earth any realer than Iverson. He showed up on stage in February in chains, Reeboks and a Yankee hat. Anything else would’ve looked weird.

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Iverson’s heart, and his refusal to be anything other than himself, is what put him here in the first place — his quickness made him one of the best little men in the history of the league and one of the few best guards of his generation, but something less tangible made him truly memorable. It’s the same stuff that, by all accounts, is the root of his personal problems.

He’s authentically himself, at all times, and sometimes he’s an authentic mess. That quality going to make the first weekend in September must-see, if nothing else. Whatever Iverson’s speech evokes isn’t going to be wholly positive. It can’t be; he’s had too complex a career and life to whitewash. That’s fine. The truth is better anyway.