Empty the Bench

So this is what Allen Iverson’s career has come to: a sideshow attraction on a floundering franchise that views him as nothing more than a means of selling a few more tickets to a small, generally disinterested fanbase.

In just one year, the first-ticket Hall of Famer and longtime NBA fan favorite has first been reduced from a high-scoring perennial All-Star to a coveted expiring contract, then to an unwanted, unrestricted free agent, and finally to leftover late-summer scraps.

He’s been treated like an ugly dog hiding under the dinner table begging to lick what’s left on otherwise empty plates. In this case, that plate has manifested itself in the form of a one-year, $3.5 million deal from the Memphis Grizzlies, which amounts to a nearly $17 million paycut from what he was paid last year as a “member” of the Detroit Pistons.

The move feels begrudging on both sides: this certainly isn’t the home Iverson had in mind, and nobody would characterize the Grizzlies’ wooing of Iverson as “hot pursuit;” it’s more like hopeless resignation to the inevitable. They were one of the few teams with money to spend on Iverson, so they threw two sheets to the wind and spent it.

I know—it’s hard to feel bad for a multi-millionaire like Iverson who’ll pull in more money this season that most people will make in a lifetime. The dollar amount isn’t really the point, though… and honestly, it never really is in professional sports; everybody knows that funny money is the norm in this industry.

No, witnessing Iverson’s move to Memphis in the twilight of his storied, if controversial, career is just one of those things that makes you feel empty inside. Like waking up on Monday morning and trudging to the office, realizing it’s not a good thing to wish away the next 8 hours of your life but doing so anyway. Or watching a customs official talk down in demeaning tones to an arriving international visitor just because English isn’t their first language. It’s a disappointing feeling, like someone’s poked a hole in the value system you’ve fastidiously clinged to for years. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end for superstars like Allen Iverson, right?

I don’t think I’ll be catching many Grizzlie games this season (not that I or the vast majority of the global population would anyway). Watching Iverson stride onto the court in drab Grizzlie grey and blue for the first time is not something I consider entertaining—it’ll be depressing and deflating, especially if/when he starts stealing valuable minutes from promising youngsters still very much in development like Mike Conley Jr. and O.J. Mayo.

Along with good-intentioned high-flyer Rudy Gay (and, I guess, second-overall pick Hasheem Thabeet), these players have to be considered the cornerstones, or at least building blocks, of this directionless franchise, and they deserve better than to be saddled with the overweight baggage of Iverson and recent acquisition Zach “Black Cancer” Randolph.

The upcoming season should be about them, not Randolph and Iverson—but you know where this is going:

Bad team that’s going to lose a lot of games, relatively inexperienced head coach, unsupportive ownership, poor attendance, apathetic fans… it’s a recipe for disaster in Memphis, and it won’t be long before Randolph decides he’s going to get his at any cost and Iverson’s good-soldier tune (“God chose Memphis as the place that I will continue my career. I feel that they are committed to developing a winner and I know that I can help them to accomplish that. I feel that I can trust them.”) turns sour.

It’s literally a sad state of affairs in Memphis. Forget bobblehead or replica jersey nights at the FedEx Forum this season—they’re better off giving away Zoloft.

Allen Iverson Photo Credit: Icon SMI

Related Reading:
- Is Grizzlies GM Chris Wallace Clinically Insane? Or is His Owner Just Insanely Cheap?
- Is Allen Iverson Still a Difference Maker?