You saw Creed, right? As you may know, the actor who plays Adonis Creed in the hit 2015 film is named Michael B. Jordan. He’s famous, so when people think of Michael B. Jordan nowadays, they rarely mistakenly think of the Chicago Bulls legend dunking from the free throw line in a pair of Cement 3’s. He’s Michael B. Jordan (or “Yo, Creed!” probably). His fame—even more than the well-placed middle initial—has allowed him to escape the unfortunate coincidence of being named after a Hall of Fame basketball player.

Not everyone is Michael B. Jordan. There are definitely kids named Michael Jordan in high school right now who’ve had entire lunch rooms erupt in laughter after a Crying Jordan Snapchat filter was slapped on them. Some people, regardless of success or money, are still at the mercy of their names—names that someone else made famous.

Seems rough. But imagine how rough it would be for those on the wrong side of a celebrity name if there was a hit song that made things even worse. 

Post Malone’s 2015 single “White Iverson” did just that. It intentionally told the story of the singer ballin’ out and playing by his own rules—and at the same time unintentionally put the spotlight on any Caucasians who happen to share a name with the Philadelphia 76ers great. How does it feel to be a white person named Allen Iverson in a post-Post Malone world?

There was only one way to find out: We spoke to four white guys named Allen Iverson. We asked them about the song. We asked for their best stories. We asked them about practice. We learned that thirsty women used to cold-call hotels hoping to reach Allen Iverson the basketball player and instead ended up getting the 10-year-old son of an insurance guy. The only thing we didn’t do was get permission to use their photos.

Life in America is weird. It’s even weirder when strangers recite the “Practice?” rant to you.