The pain is very real, coursing through my blue and orange veins. In most cases, for most teams, there is some hope. For me, now, there is none.

My Yankees at least took until the playoffs to croak.

My Knicks were DOA before game one.

NBA franchises rise and fall at the whims of GMs and overpaid superstars, and no one is exempt from that sudden, horrible tumble downwards, when you get to hang out with Denver and Golden State and Cleveland for a bit.

But not the Knicks. Not the team that packs the Garden every night for 10 years. Not the only show in a town addicted to someone winning. Jets suck? Go Giants. Mets have two future Hall of Famers and still can’t win? At least the Yanks have four and do. And it’s not like crossing the Hudson and cheering for the Nets is an option; wearing a Kerry Kittles jersey can get you committed and cracked across the head.

No, not the Knicks. Not the team that, prior to last year’s 82-game preview of this season, posted only one losing record in 12 years.

No, not the Knicks, the only team in a league saturated with uninspired defenders and listless nightly play that actually makes a serious commitment to team defense.

No, not the Knicks, the squad that climbed into the NBA Finals behind Latrell Sprewell, Allan Houston, and an aging, bearded LJ and his four-point plays, but mostly thanks to cauldron bubbling over with heart.

But, as the Knicks have realized in the past season and seven games, even a Garden full of desire can’t bring you wins in the NBA anymore, unless you’ve got the players.

And damn, do the Knicks not have them.

When you start 6-foot-8 Kurt Thomas in the pivot, 6-foot-7 Clarence Weatherspoon at four and 6-foot-5 Shandon Anderson at three, calling the team undersized is akin to calling Walter Hudson stocky.

Size does come off the bench, though, embodied by the imposing 7-foot frame of full-time bumbler Travis Knight, whose scoring average of .9 points per game this year is about as attractive as his sweat-ridden jet-black mop.

The best thing Weatherspoon ever did for the Knicks was winning game seven of the Eastern Conference semifinals for New York in 2000 — by missing the final shot while he still wore a Heat uniform.

Sticking with the big men, Othella Harrington does display a soft touch inside to accompany his soft play under the boards, but when you’re a seven-footer from Georgetown in New York, you’d better be 25 and named Patrick Ewing.

Amidst New York’s frontcourt woes, guard play may be the only saving grace for the Knickerbockers.

Allan Houston: best jumpshooter in the league (that’s right, Jesus Shuttlesworth). When he knows he’s the man, he dominates games. No Ewing, no Spree, and Allan’s got 26 points, four assists. He’s logging 41 minutes a game, though, three more than his career high, and he’s burning out during fourth quarters.

And don’t forget about, oh wait, I guess that’s it.

Until Sprewell returns from a hand injury suffered while using his yacht’s wall as a heavy bag, it’s pretty much all Houston. But he’ll get some help.

Thomas is experiencing a career renaissance after regaining the form that led him to the NCAA scoring and rebounding titles his senior year at TCU. He can shoot, he can post up, and despite his short stature, he guards the hell out of seven-footers. But when your big who plays biggest isn’t even big, you’re in big trouble. And no matter how hard he tries, Thomas will never be able to shed his unfairly branded “thug” label and assume star status. He’s a hustler, a worker, and a lot better athlete than people realize. But he’s just not a star.

The Knicks are hoping that star will be Lee Nailon, another TCU boy, the one who never got his chance in Charlotte. He’s 6-foot-9, athletic and can flat score. Jumpers, post moves, filling the lane on the break, he does it all. Even though he’s got the size, he doesn’t take care of the Knicks’ big man problems — he’s not a rebounder or a shot blocker, but if he can score, it might give the Knicks that third option once Spree returns.

Of course, Spree could be gone even before he’s back. Management is fed up with his childish antics, and the last thing this team needs is distractions.

And when you stop and think about a Spree-less Knick squad, you realize that Houston, Thomas and Lee Nailon can carry an entire team about as well as Britney Spears can carry a tune. And they’re not half as good-looking.

I’m not one to give up on my teams. I rode Buffalo through four Super Bowl fiascos, never counted my Islanders out during some of the leanest years in professional sports. I say as long as you can put five guys on the floor to counter theirs, you’ve got a chance.

But not with these Knicks. Even if Houston, Nailon and Thomas combine for 60 every game, that’s only 60 points, and they don’t give Charlie Ward six points for passes anymore.

Will they win some games? Yes. Will they shock some top teams like they did to Sacramento? Absolutely. Will they match last season’s total of 30 wins? God, I hope so. But, no matter how hard I strain my eyes and read between the lines, I just don’t see it.

But guess what? This year, there’s a prize for being atrocious.

Ever hear of LeBron James?