Chris Herrington | Memphis Commercial Appeal

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Nikki Boertman, The Commercial Appeal

The 9:01 is a daily column on all things Memphis.

Good morning in Memphis, where there may be baseball, but first ...

Let the record always reflect that Tony Allen’s path to Memphis folk-herodom -- to becoming a transformative on-court force, beloved teammate, and fan fetish object -- began a month before the phrase “grit and grind” was ever uttered, on the very night that a teammate missed a game because Allen had blackened his eye on the team plane over a card-game dispute.

Tony Allen, man.

It was Tuesday, January 4, 2011, at FedExForum, against the Oklahoma City Thunder. Allen, recently signed away from Boston, had been in and out of the lineup, playing a dozen or fewer minutes 18 times in the season’s first two months, including a smattering of “did not plays,” the decision of a coach who didn’t know quite what to make of him.

With that aforementioned teammate, O.J. Mayo, out with “bronchitis,” Allen had a longer leash this night. By my count, he missed five layups, one entirely uncontested after a steal. After a while, there were loud groans across the arena whenever Allen touched the ball.

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It was in the middle of this stretch that I first came up with the “5/5 Rule” for Allen: That if there were more than 5 seconds left on the shot clock and he was more than 5 feet from the basket he absolutely should not shoot.

This was also a night where Allen made two late threes, following one, a flagrant violation of the 5/5 Rule, with his own take on the Antoine Walker shimmy. He blocked Russell Westbrook at the rim, bottled up Kevin Durant on a deciding defensive possession, and made a few thousand new fans. It was our first witness to the full spectacle of “trick or treat” Tony Allen. Writing late that night, I christened it The Tony Allen Game.

A rematch a month later rendered it The First Tony Allen Game.

The Grizzlies had no business winning in Oklahoma City on February 8. It was the second night of back-to-back games, on the road, against an elite team, after having played poorly the night before. And the Grizzlies were playing without both Mayo and Rudy Gay. But Allen, returning to the state where he played his college ball, would not be denied. He scored a season-high 27 points on only 12 field-goal attempts, to go with five steals, three blocks, zero turnovers, and another brilliant late-game defensive possession guarding Durant.

Then he took to the stage, such as it was, for the sideline soliloquy that launched the greatest era of Grizzlies basketball, not to mention a Memphis cottage T-shirt industry.

At the time, it was as much about performance as phraseology, and the best, if largely forgotten, moment — Marc Gasol interrupting Allen for a little head tap of deep gratitude — is unspoken.

Exactly two months later, back at FedExForum, the team, this team, would clinch its first playoff berth together, against the Sacramento Kings, and while Sam Young sealed the game at the free-throw line, Allen would bend down at center court, his head to hardwood, soaking in the accomplishment.

The moment when the "Grit-and-Grind" Grizzlies clinched their first playoff berth. pic.twitter.com/QzSuzjBiAk — Chris Herrington (@HerringtonNBA) September 12, 2017

The rest is history, and now it’s officially over.

When the Grizzlies tip off their 2017-2018 season against the New Orleans Pelicans, Tony Allen will be in the building, but in a Pelicans jersey. Yesterday, after a free agency that lasted longer than anyone expected, Allen signed down river, with a division and playoff rival, for what appears to be a one-year, veteran’s minimum contract.

Unlike with Zach Randolph, there’s no cover of a contract offer too big to match. Tony Allen will play elsewhere this season, rightly or wrongly, because the Grizzlies did not want him.

One wonders: Will the royalties Allen is surely owed from continued organizational use of the words “grit” and “grind” count against the salary cap?

Zach Randolph may, to this point, have been the “greatest Grizzly,” but Tony Allen was and is the more rare figure, the role player who became a certified superstar within the Memphis metro area.

On the court, on the sidelines, in the locker room, on social media: Tony Allen turned being an NBA player into a kind of lunatic performance art, and in Memphis he found a deeply appreciative audience.

When he was in a groove, when his antennae were up, eyes in FedExForum instinctively turned to Allen whenever something interesting happened, even if he were on the bench. The moment wasn’t complete until we watched Allen’s reaction to it.

He’s the only player I’ve ever seen decide to get a steal and then go do it. There were times where his defense was so disruptive that games crumbled into chaos because of it. Times when the moment demanded it and he forgot about his balky knee to rise up for a thunder dunk or to snatch a rebound from a bigger player’s hands.

You also remember how helplessly, pointlessly he would dribble between his legs after an offensive rebound. The yes-no-yes tension when Allen was alone in the open court, or beyond the three-point line, with the ball in his hands.

Tony Allen was a wild ride.

Tyreke Evans has replaced Allen on this year’s Grizzlies roster. One night at FedExForum, I saw Allen jump out on Evans to feign defense, only to turn his back, muttering “he wit us,” and head back towards the rim, off of which Evans then clanked a jumper. “He wit us” sounds apocryphal, but it happened, at least that once.

Tony Allen gave us an unforgettable flex over a prone Zach Randolph, a foot in Chris Paul’s face, and a wagging tongue at Steph Curry.

they can never take this away from us pic.twitter.com/AfIjc0fKCt — hannah segui (@LilHannahS) September 11, 2017

Tony Allen gave us First Team, All Defense, and he told us about it.

He gave us a signal of celebration and a dance to go with it. Sometimes he even put some extra funk on it.

He gave us triumphant flexes and crouching struts and elaborate ball fakes.

He gave us postgame interviews with two iced knees and a plush, blue bathrobe. He gave us airborne towels.

He gave us live-tweet accounts of fender-benders with middle-aged ladies (“She called her goons. Lol.”) and channel-surfing adventures. (I tend to leave news-breaking to others, but my greatest Grizzlies scoop was first reporting the existence of @aa000g9.)

He gave us his own glossary: “He Wit Us,” “The Ibakas of the World,” “Turn the Water Off,” “Thirsty Dog,” “Milk That Horse.” “#9 When You Need Him.” "All Heart. Grit. Grind."

He gave us timeout-huddle walkabouts, muttering to himself, sometimes through the middle of dancing kids.

Has a player ever cared so deeply while so lacking self-awareness? Tony Allen was - no, is -- basketball joy personified.

That’s what he gave us, essentially: Joy. We give him eternal thanks and a forever home, far beyond basketball, if he wants it.

Additional Reading:

Happening in Memphis Today: Barring a rainout (which seems likely at the moment), the Memphis Redbirds' Pacific Coast League championship series against the El Paso Chihuahuas begins tonight at AutoZone Park. ... The Outflix Film Festival continues at FedExForum.

The Fadeout: “Ante Up” is a 2000 single by Brooklyn hip-hop duo M.O.P. It’s an anthem about robbing people who have the temerity to flash expensive jewelry in your poor neighborhood. They mean it literally. Metaphorically, it seemed to fit an underdog player for an underdog team who at his peak had the highest steal rate seen in the NBA in more than 20 years. On the court, Tony Allen was most definitely a thief. His unofficial anthem: