Allen Iverson delivered a heartfelt concession speech Tuesday night.

"Whenever we need stops, try to cut into the lead, whenever we get the lead down a little bit, they score on us," said Iverson, the Philadelphia 76ers superstar, visibly showing the frustration of trailing the Detroit Pistons 2-0 in the first round of the NBA playoffs.

"If we don't get stops, we can't beat them," wailed Iverson, who should have used a white flag instead of a towel to wipe away his sweat.

Iverson was not only conceding to a superior opponent that won a championship a year ago and is on a mission to defend its title. He was also conceding to a style of play that separates the Pistons from their peers.

In a league overrun with guaranteed contracts and bloated egos, the Pistons defy the norm.

When Tracy McGrady of the Houston Rockets buried the winning jumper in a playoff game against the Dallas Mavericks, he graciously thanked his "supporting cast" for making it all possible.

Welcome to pro basketball in the 21st century.

McGrady, who led the NBA in scoring two years ago in becoming the youngest player to average 30-plus points per game since the NBA/ABA merger in 1976-77, wouldn't last a week with the Pistons.

Iverson might last less than a week.

The me-first mentality of athletes such as McGrady and Iverson, tremendous talents who struggle to master the concept of team play, permeates pro sports.

It's partly why America has fallen out of love with the NBA.

The Pistons didn't come together by accident. Team president Joe Dumars assembled a group of players from winning college backgrounds who were constantly told they weren't good enough.

Compare that with the influx of players who enter the NBA directly from high school, or who have been buttered up like a slice of bread since adolescence.

Dumars' personnel brilliance simplified things for coach Larry Brown, who has convinced the Pistons to play championship basketball with a rare blend of togetherness and unselfishness.

Shooting guard Richard Hamilton and small forward Tayshaun Prince attended Connecticut and Kentucky, respectively, where they both won national championships.

At the NBA level, however, they faced skepticism. Hamilton was considered too "soft;" Prince was - and remains - skinny enough to hula-hoop with a Cheerio. Both players, for all their supposed warts, are now on the brink of stardom.

Center Ben Wallace led Virginia Union to the Division II Final Four, but wasn't drafted because he played for a small school and couldn't shoot (he still can't hit the broad side of a barn, but he's an intimidating rebounder and shot-blocker).

Power forward Rasheed Wallace (North Carolina) and point guard Chauncey Billups (Colorado) left college early for the NBA. However, each player bounced from team to team before finding his niche in Detroit.

Billups, last year's finals MVP, played for five teams in his first four NBA seasons. He butted heads with Brown at first. He'd lost the ability to trust because he had been traded so often, and was determined to play an individual game instead of a team game.

Billups is now a believer in the Pistons brand. "Everybody can't be us," Billups said.

Too bad.