Allen Iverson Jr. had enough.

As his father held him in his arms, photographers clicked off hundreds of shots. But Little Deuce wasn't impressed. He rested his small cornrowed head on daddy's shoulder and let out a yawn. His eyelids got too heavy for a two-year-old this late in the evening. So while the father talked about defensive pressure and home-court advantage, the son went to sleep.

Allen Iverson Sr. seemed almost as relaxed as his boy. Game 2 hadn't been over for 20 minutes, yet it was as if it had been over for 20 years.

He chuckled when asked about the heated exchange he had with Kobe Bryant right before he left the game. He was amused when a reporter asked him if Tyronn Lue and Derek Fisher deserved credit for containing him.

"Are you fatigued at all?" I asked him. "Man, fatigue ain't nothin' but army clothes," he replied.

Everyone laughed and he did, too. He tilted his head to the left ever so slightly when he answered questions, smiling often. There was an overwhelming sense of calm about him.

What gives? Actually it's very simple. Iverson fights basketball battles to the death. He now realizes that if you lose them, you don't actually die. At least not tied 1-1 you don't.

There's just no use in huffing and puffing over the sketchy officiating or the lack of respect given the Sixers. Iverson realizes that it's not worth wasting precious energy on. Take a cue from Little Deuce and you'll feel better in the morning.

On the way to the team bus, there was Deuce, still sleeping in his father's arms. Still trying to turn daddy's No. 3 Iverson Eagles jersey into his own personal blankie. Iverson sees me and gives me dap. "Catch you in Philly, Chuck," I say.

He nods his head and continues toward the bus. You better believe it.

Chris Palmer covers The NBA Life for ESPN The Magazine. E-mail him at christopher.palmer@espnmag.com.