Allen Iverson is a great basketball showman. He’s not a great basketball player.

For a decade, Iverson has delivered stupendous theater in Philadelphia, but his one-man show often sinks to a display of selfish basketball.

Iverson is a good bet for 30 points every night. Attractive? Sure, as long as you want someone who takes 30 shots.

He’s a wonderful circus act, the little man who shows no fear of the giants lurking in the lane, but at this point of his career he’s not the man to transform a team.

He won’t deliver a championship.

He’ll deliver disaster.

The Denver Nuggets are among a long list of teams – the Clippers, the Warriors, the Timberwolves and the Heat, among others – that yearn for Iverson’s services.

Iverson has dominated NBA news for the past week after the 76ers grew weary of his whining and banished him.

Colorado isn’t the place for Iverson’s resurrection. The Nuggets should avoid the temptation to trade away young talent – Nene, J.R. Smith – for Iverson.

This one-man mutiny is not worth his price tag – $17 million a season. He’s an unrepentant gunner. He has little use for practice, an attitude he has advertised loudly. He has gone to battle against all of his NBA coaches, including Maurice Cheeks, the classy current leader of the 76ers.

No doubt, the man has talent.

I go way back with Iverson. In 1994, while covering a Syracuse-Georgetown game in suburban Washington D.C., I saw this blur whiz by me.

It was Iverson.

He’s the quickest player I’ve ever seen. He’s fearless, taking his skinny 160-pound frame into the lane to do battle with anyone. He has earned a cult following because of his thrilling style.

But Iverson has never fully blended his intense belief in self with an equally fervent belief in his teammates. He’s so enamored with his wondrous skills he refuses to listen to the advice of his coaches.

The greats – Michael Jordan, John Stockton, Magic Johnson, Tim Duncan – are or were utterly in love with victory. Iverson resides among the near-greats. He remains, always, utterly in love with himself.

The Nuggets have wandered down this road before. They’ve looked to the East for fast fixes and instead brought chaos to Colorado.

In 1979, Denver traded Bobby Jones, the ultimate team player, to the 76ers for the moody, outrageously talented George McGinnis. Larry Brown, then the Nuggets’ coach, believed McGinnis would serve as the final piece of a championship team.

Brown was wrong. The Nuggets won 47 games with Jones in 1978-79. They swooned to 30 wins with me-first McGinnis in 1979-80.

Recent history has been ugly, too. In 2004, the Nuggets traded three first-round draft picks to New Jersey for the right to overpay Kenyon Martin.

The Nuggets ignored Martin’s reputation for clashing with teammates. They wanted a tough guy to help them muscle to victories.

Martin has cussed out his coach, tangled with fans and limped around on a gimpy knee. He’s delivered precious few victories.

Iverson offers the same empty temptation. He’ll sell tickets. He’ll sink improbable shots that will look terrific on the late-night highlights. That’s what showmen do.

But he’s not worth $17 million per year. Iverson’s best days are behind him. He’s sure not worth Denver players whose best days lay ahead.