Last month, when a Georgia judge seized the bank account of Allen Iverson in order to pay out a substantial debt for an unpaid jewelry bill amounting to $859,896.46, the mass media assumed it meant he was broke. Reports claimed he’d gutted $150 million in earnings over his 14-year career.

From what I’m told, the number is more like $250 million. Let’s not forget A.I.’s numerous endorsements, specifically Reebok.

However, hold the bankruptcy proceedings. He is far from insolvent, at least in the real world, if not in harmony with his “nothing in moderation’’ lifestyle. Someone who cared a great deal for Iverson and grasped the extent of his habits, loyalties and generosity protected him to some degree from financial ruination, at 36, at any rate.

A person with a firm grip on the situation informs me Iverson has an account worth $32 million, a principal he is prohibited from touching until 55. In the meantime, it feeds him $1 million annually.

At 45, Iverson is eligible to start drawing on an NBA pension that maxes out at 10 years of active duty, or take whatever’s there as a lump sum. He will be entitled roughly to $8,000 per month ($800 per x 10).

If at all possible, Iverson will issue a restraining order against himself until he’s 62 or so. At that time, I’m told, his lump sum will be between $1.5 million and $1.8 million, or he can elect to take monthly checks of approximately $14,000 per.

Busted or “in the chips,’’ it’s distressing we’re driven to dissect Iverson’s fiscal fitness and downright depressing we’re discussing his career in the past tense.

Was Iverson really that bad an hombre for the whole NBA to turn its back on such a crowd-pleasing talent? I can name 10 teams without exhaling that would be better off with Iverson starting or subbing. What’s more, their fan bases would get a whole lot more entertainment bang for their misspent buck.

You just knew this was going to happen. During a recent Knicks’ front-office meeting/conference call with scouts, interim general manager Glen Grunwald thanked Isiah Thomas and Allan Houston for “making us aware of Jeremy Lin.”

What do Grunwald and acting Blazers GM Chad Buchanan have in common? Both their team owners, James Dolan and Paul Allen, respectively, are the actual GMs.

Those of us who were worried Lin might not be ready or mentally tough enough to withstand Carmelo Anthony’s unremitting demands for the ball are now at parade rest. Whatever Lola wants, Lola didn’t get.

In the second half, Lin improvised on a designed play for Melo and took a shot himself. A timeout ensued, and Melo followed Lin to the huddle, barking at his back. Turning his head to reply as he kept walking, Lin sternly let Melo know he didn’t want to hear it.

Next to the Legends’ Brunch, which annually honors the host city’s history (Shaquille O’Neal boycotted the event, perhaps sensing he might get booed), my favorite get-together during All-Star weekend is the party thrown by the players’ union. This time they got busy by themselves.

That raised rampant speculation of friction between executive director Billy Hunter and association president Derek Fisher. Supposedly, they haven’t spoken since the lockout was resolved.

“That’s absolutely untrue,” Hunter responded. “We spoke by phone last Friday and we email each other almost every day.”

As far as the party pooping out, Hunter said, “We went along with what the majority of players wanted and they wanted to rest. Their bodies are so beat up from playing the high-speed schedule, they preferred to relax at home or on a beach somewhere rather than come to Orlando.”

In the sphere of sports jurisprudence, “Charles Being Charles” ranks right up there with “Manny Being Manny.”

More often than not, what Barkley says is both beyond the pale and, for reasons known to people brighter than me, above punishment.

Spokesman for a league and one of its cable nitworks despite spewing myriad malignant drivel over the years, and matching it in action, Sir Cumference proposed the other day on radio that “20 percent of the fans should be shot.”

Beautiful!

The same week an Ohio high school student opens fire in a cafeteria — three dead, two others injured — this licensed idiot opines that NBA fans who don’t agree with him ought to be used for target practice.

This from a league already flaunting a franchise (changed its “violent” nickname from Bullets to Wizards) that housed its own version of Pistols at Dawn.

Where’s the reckoning from any one of Barkley’s so-called bosses . . . the NBA, TNT, Weight Watchers?

Failing that, can we at least get a mea culpa from the Round Mound of Regurgitation?

Fat chance.

A special half-century High Five to Wilt Chamberlain, for it was 50 years ago tonight that he turned Hershey, Pa., into Century City against the Knicks (Philly Warriors 169, Knicks 147).

Wilt’s 100 points goes down as his finest (clothed) achievement. Ironic the Golden State Warriors return this evening to Philly where, in honor of Wilt’s greatest feat (20,000 purported conquests, no kids), members of the Obama administration shall pass out contraceptives.

Tony Parker won the Skills Challenge. “That’s not to be confused with Jerome James, who won the Skillets Challenge,” cautions column castigator Frank Drucker.

“Even prisoners are enjoying the lionization of Lin,” notes column chondriac Richie Kalikow. “Hence, Charles Mansanity!”

Most difficult job in sports, underlines column contributor Irwin Sirotta: “Shaq’s closed-captioning typist.”