Varying exit strategies part of sports figures' arduous journey

Roy Jones, Jr. got his clocked well and properly cleaned in the first round Wednesday by an Australian named Danny Green in an attempt to be the first boxer to hold belts in nine weight classes. Roy Jones was once great, he is now 40, he can retire whenever he wants, and this is still pretty much beneath him.

And Allen Iverson just signed with the Philadelphia 76ers. My feelings run pretty much along the same lines.

Roy Jones Jr. lasts just two minutes against Danny Green. (Getty Images)

These are interesting days for the know-when-to-say-hello-know-when-to-say-goodbye crowd. Bobby Bowden got shoved out at Florida State but will be allowed as many victory laps as he'd like. Many people are unhappy that he didn't get to choose his time, place and method of departure, but just as many think he stayed too long at the dance.

Jones didn't need a ninth belt. Nobody would think less of him for not getting it, or more of him had he won. Maybe he needed the money because that's how boxing works, but in terms of cementing his legacy, well, the IBO world cruiserweight title wasn't going to matter much.

And Iverson, who is some form of a shadow of his former self (it's hard to know, since he's played so little in the last year and change), is back in Philly where his largely fabulous pro career began. Only he's on a bad team that isn't going to get any better because he's returned. General manager Ed Stefanski, after all, introduced him by saying he would be a fine replacement for Lou Williams.

Let that last sentence roll around in your head a moment. There. Done? Good. Let us proceed.

Athletes and coaches perform for many reasons -- money, glory, cash, championships, contracts, pride, familial security, respect, wealth, the need to compete and, in case we forgot to mention it, money.

Along the way, they also perform for the right to someday choose the departure date of their choosing, with a full nationwide retirement tour, gifts they don't need in the other 29 venues, and a network gig.

That's the hardest one to pull off, because they are working largely in a difficult profession where one knee injury can mean a lifetime of high school coaching. In addition, they are working for unsentimental and even bloodless people who will pay large amounts of money for their skills but will also regard them as tools on a carpenter's belt. You replace what you have to replace when you have to replace it, and the old one gets chucked in the bin.

So the ones who hang on play rather a dangerous game. Either the money's grown short, or the need for attention is still too strong, or the love of the job is too intoxicating. Or maybe, in some cases, the fear of not having it runs too strong and deep.

We don't know where Iverson or Bowden fit here. Boxing being what it is, we suspect we do know where Jones fits, but that may just be a Pavlovian response to the end of the trail almost every boxer reaches.

But they're not going out with the 29-city, six-month tour, or the rocking chairs, or the standing ovations for a job well done. They're just fighting against an inexorable tide that always wins. In Bowden's case, that fight is actually over, and he is now Bowden Emeritus.

In a more sentimental world, they'd get those tours because their work says they deserve them. In a more practical world, they'd have seen it coming and acted sooner.

But no, this is what it is. Jones fighting in Sydney and going down in one round while chasing an honor nobody else really would have noticed. Bowden getting in one last Emerald Bowl before he becomes a pundit without portfolio.

And Iverson replaces Lou Williams.

The debate about how much each had or has left in the tank is a pointless one, because that's never the argument. It's about who wants to pay for what's in those tanks. What we have here is three guys who seem to have stayed longer than they should have as defined by our ideas of what a glorious retirement ceremony should be. We hope they're still happy with their lives, yet we wonder if they really are.

And then we move on to the next thing because, well, that's how we roll, too. Time stops for a moment, and then it starts again.

Ray Ratto is a columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle.