The Majestic Orneriness of the Memphis Grizzlies

Grit & Grind looks nice on a rally towel, but sloganeering doesn't really become the Memphis Grizzlies. They play in a multi-billion dollar league, and so of course they're commodified to death—"I don't bluff" is a beautiful bit of shit-talking; We Don't Bluff is just an excuse to sell shit—but something about turning Zach Randolph or Tony Allen into half-willing brand spokesmen just doesn't sit right. It's not them, but it's also not the Memphis Grizzlies.

As a franchise, the Grizz are what they need to be in order to make their bottom line sparkle, but as an actual collective of basketball-playing human beings, they seem about as real and uncynical as sports get. There is a lived-in carefreeness about them. They're sipping club soda at the bar, 18 sober years and three marriages into adulthood. They might not be living their best lives, but they're relatively at peace with it.

After years of exuding this type of comfortable oldness, the Grizzlies are now genuinely old. Of their four-man core of Z-Bo (33), Allen (33), Marc Gasol (30), and Mike Conley (27), only one is likely to have better days in front of him. At this point in their lifespan, each season is an exercise in managing strains and sprains, trying to get everyone ready and keep everyone healthy for the playoffs.

Unfortunately, that doesn't appear to be the case as the Grizz head into their first round series with the Blazers. Allen is rehabbing a hamstring injury that kept him out for the final nine games of the year, and Conley has missed the past four games with a foot problem. Dave Joerger said on Wednesday evening that both players are too banged up to play under any circumstances, and they might not be back for the beginning of the playoffs. On top of that, Marc Gasol is playing through an ankle issue that's noticeably hindering him. This is what happens to aging teams. As the mileage accumulates, so do the chances that everything will be derailed by a few ill-timed ailments.

It's a shame the Grizz and Blazers will oppose each other in an Attrition Bowl of a series. Both squads looked at different points in the season like they could have been title contenders, but they've both slowed down considerably since suffering some crummy injury luck. (For Portland, Wes Matthews is done for the year with an achilles tear, and LaMarcus Aldridge, Nic Batum, and Arron Afflalo are all screwed up to various degrees.) Of these two limping, unlucky teams, the Grizzlies are the ones who have a prayer of getting themselves right and making a deep run. Matthews isn't coming back anytime soon, which dooms the Blazers, but it's not out of the question that Conley and Allen could make full recoveries before the second round starts. Getting there won't be pretty for Memphis, but that's not their style, anyway.

We should hope they can manage it, because the postseason Grizz are great fun. Even if their injuries sink them and they lose in six to Portland, they will flame out with characteristic provocativeness. Allen, clad in a tastefully against-type charcoal number, will get tossed from Game 3 for repeatedly yelling this is the playoffs, not fuckboy season! at LaMarcus Aldridge from the bench. Z-Bo will use his sawmill worker strength to knock a driving Dame Lillard on his ass. Marc Gasol will show up one night in an Andre the Giant-style single-strap jersey. Scuffles will abound; trash will be talked. It won't be the blood and fire of Clippers-Grizzlies, because nothing else is quite so perfectly pissy, but it will be contentious, because contentiousness is what the Grizz traffic in.

But they can't and won't do so forever, or even for very long. Given their ages, Conley and Gasol will carry on for a while yet, but Randolph and Allen are on the verge of falling off. This crew could be mounting its final remotely plausible championship push, and at the very least, they deserve the opportunity to throw everything they've got at a Golden State squad that will probably outclass them. Anything less would be undignified and unfair. And also considerably less enjoyable than the alternative. Who doesn't want to see Memphis hit Steph Curry and company with the full force of their realness? The Warriors would have to live up to their name, and this delightfully tough Grizzlies team would get the viking funeral they have earned.