SAN FRANCISCO — The defeat was palpable. Tangible. Engulfing.

In the mood of Warriors owner Joe Lacob. In the tone of Warriors coach Steve Kerr. In the disposition of Warriors superstar Steph Curry. In the silence of the Warriors’ heartbeat, Draymond Green.

Perhaps most concerningly, though, Golden State’s defeat was conspicuous in the absence of agitation elsewhere.

The locker room was far from lugubrious following an indicting 114-98 loss Tuesday to the weary and mediocre Miami Heat. The Warriors concluded a six-game homestand with another listless effort. Flummoxed by the zone defense and sheer grit of Miami. The Warriors played like a team with no belief, no fight, no pride.

Their offense was so anemic, another strong showing from Curry was of little impact. Games like this — 31 points, 8 of 17 from 3 — once felt like a tidal wave to opponents. Lately, it’s been the minimum needed from Curry just to keep the Warriors in games. Draining water from a sinking ship with a Solo cup.

Especially with Jonathan Kuminganow out, the Warriors’ hopes, so it appears, rest on launching prayers from behind the arc. Their offense, their season, has become a Hail Mary. What do we have here now? Do you want to ride or die?

Death is to do nothing. To accept this reality being fashioned.

“We can’t be front-runners,” Trayce Jackson-Davis, the second-year big man, declared postgame. “We gotta dig in. We gotta find our soul. That’s what Draymond kinda said, it was our soul that we’ve lost. We’ve lost our spirit. And we’ve got to get that back. We’ve got to play tough basketball. We’ve got to play with confidence. Stick shots. And play hard on the defensive end of the floor. I think if we do that, we find our way back.”

This team needs a trade in the worst way. Three of them, perhaps, to reconfigure this roster. But one to fight for the preservation of who they are and what they’re about.

The Warriors want one, for sure. And it would cost them. Desperation levies a tax. But the price of doing nothing might be greater. This isn’t just a season on the line. The pride of a proud franchise is on display.

This type of play influences a culture. This type of vibe comes with ramifications. They’ve tried all the lineups. They’ve manipulated the rotations. A scheme can’t make up for what they’re missing.

When the Warriors have been in this position before, they always had something to look forward to — the return of Klay Thompson, the development of young players, the greatness of Curry and Green to get them over the hump. Now, it’s all on the Lacobs and general manager Mike Dunleavy Jr.

As their 12-3 start disappears on the horizon, they’ve morphed into something wholly unimpressive. This team now wilts under the weight of expectation. This team doesn’t fight fire with fire. This team can be flat-out … weak.

“It is glaring how bad we can be at times,” Curry said.

One of the signs of resilience, and how the Warriors lack it, is in layups and free throws. For all the talk of 3-point shooting being abundant, the best teams can do both.

The Warriors are 21st in shots made in the restricted area, 21st in field goal percentage in the paint, 24th in free throws attempted, 30th in free throws made, 13th in transition points, 23rd in percentage on open 3-pointers. All the easy points seem to evade them.

Kerr called it a personnel issue. They just don’t have players who can thrive in the painted area. While spot on, that’s perhaps too easy of an answer, as they are capable if not proficient. It’s not all a capacity issue.

When it gets tough in basketball, resolve dictates imposing your way for a closer shot. Manufacturing points by getting to the line. Imposing yourself on the game. Picking a fight. Yell at each other. Do something.

“There’s no room for feeling sorry for ourselves in the NBA, in life in general,” Kerr sermonized. “We can’t let disappointment dictate our approach to the game. We have to do the opposite. We have to bring more fire. We have to outcompete our opponents when things aren’t going our way. That was what was most disappointing. … I just felt like everybody was down. We didn’t have a competitive spirit. If you don’t have that, you have nothing. So we’ve got to find a way to build that back up.”

It’s not that they’re soft or incapable or unworthy. Nothing like that. They are disappointing because it’s the opposite. They have talent. They have strength. The potential is there, conceptually.

Yet, they are critically flawed and hopelessly committed to their weaknesses.

It was clear at the season’s opening the Warriors would suffer from not having a bonafide No. 2 star next to Curry. But it’s even worse than many thought. The league is more wide open, more skilled, than ever. The Warriors’ collective skills are below average. Their collective IQ doesn’t come close to making up for it. Neither does their cohesion. And it’s becoming the norm for them not to fight their way through it.

The Warriors can’t do nothing.

“The deeper you get into it,” said Curry, who’s been through this a few times now, “you hate having that kind of deja vu. So you’re trying to not allow your mind to go there. … But it’s frustrating. When you experience winning, you hate losing even more because you know what it takes to get there. And if you don’t have the answers, it’s a rough feeling … especially when nights like (this) happen.”

On Tuesday, Lacob brooded in council with Dunleavy outside the Bridge Club in Chase Center. Kerr was so bothered, he refused to praise the individual performance of Jackson-Davis, who had 19 points on 9-of-12 shooting. Curry, clearly deflated on the sidelines, added another track to his developing album of press conference truths. Green, the loquacious one, declined to talk to media after the game, saving his words for the team. Even he knew a public explanation would ring garrulous.

But what was noticeably absent was any spirit of resilience. Their response to defeat was defeated.

No guts appeared wrenched from losing. No anger brewed from the embarrassment. No impassioned rallying cries. This isn’t giving the vibes of a team trying to save something greater than their own season. And how could it?

“There’s always comparisons to the ’22 season,” Curry said. “This team hasn’t done anything. So the confidence can wane if you’re missing shots, you’re feeling the pressure, you’re feeling like everybody’s trying to do a little bit too much to try to get over the hump. Trying to maximize the minutes you have out there and when you have a bad minute or two, you start maybe overthinking a bit, getting a little down on yourself. We’re all kind of a victim of that at times. I don’t know, that’s just been the pattern with our group.”

This team isn’t it. Everyone in the organization can feel it. They’re all aware of the need to change. Nothing’s golden about the state they’re in. Nothing’s precious about the mettle they’re showing.

Will they go out like this? Feebly. Willingly. Boringly.

That kind of defeat can linger.

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