Although it’s a good bet Ralph Waldo Emerson didn’t know too much about basketball, I’m still convinced that he was referring to this year’s NCAA tournament when he penned his famous line “hitch your wagon to a star.”

Supporting casts are nice, role players certainly essential, but it’s all too clear, in this long-awaited week of the Final Four, that their respective superstars are the reason the wheels haven’t yet fallen off the wagons of Texas, Syracuse, Marquette and Kansas.

Texas is probably a six seed without the brilliance of T.J. Ford. Kansas would miss 36 points a game if they lost Kirk Hinrich and Nick Collison. If Carmelo Anthony decided to skip his stellar one-and-done year at ‘Cuse, Jimmy Boeheim wouldn’t be two wins away from securing his first national title. And sans the sublime Dwyane Wade, Marquette is nothing more than another C-USA pretender like Louisville and Memphis.

So who’s the best of the bunch? Let’s toss out Collison and Hinrich; when they form together, like Voltron, they’re near indestructible. But on their own, neither can match the talents of the other three.

T.J. first. Texas has some nice players: Brandon Mouton showed he could score for real against UConn, lighting up Calhoun’s Huskies for 27. James Thomas is a bear on the boards. Royal Ivey shuts down top perimeter players like they were grade-school kids. But it all works because of T.J.

“Special” is the word you hear describing Texas’ tiny point, and there’s really no acceptable synonym. He’s a once-in-a-lifetime player. He makes the passes other points never could, even if they pulled a Zack Morris and momentarily froze the competition. His kickouts to Mouton are every bit as brilliant and perfect as his dump-downs to Thomas for jams. It’s confidence those passes inspire. The ‘Horns figure if they catch a pass from T.J., they must be in perfect scoring position. And they usually are.

It’s more than just the assists, though. T.J. possesses unmatched quickness with the ball, both in the open court and drive to the hole. When MSU’s Chris Hill laid off him, T.J. broke out his supposedly questionable but always timely jumper. He had a date with the floor seemingly every time downcourt, but his 165-pound frame only got stronger each time he hit the deck. T.J. is the definition of intangibles, which I guess makes those always-enigmatic qualities just a little easier to grasp. Maybe they should call them T.J.’s.

Now Wade. He put up a triple-double in the Golden Eagles’ shocking devastation of Kentucky — 29 points, 11 boards, 11 helpers — but just reeling off his stat line doesn’t begin to encapsulate the complete control the junior had over the contest. Wade either scored or assisted on 22 of the Eagles’ 31 field goals. Listed at a generous 6-foot-4, he rejected four Wildcat shots. And don’t forget how the supremely smooth, exquisitely explosive Wade threw down at least five scintillating dunks, igniting the near-home crowd at the Metrodome whenever the Eagles needed a boost.

Athletically, no one left in the tourney matches Wade. Not even close. He makes hammering home a reverse jam from outside the key seem as routine as school-lunch pizza on Fridays. His first step seems like three. He’s got NBA moves the guys already in the league haven’t even come up with yet. Yes, T.J. may be the reigning king of the assist, but Wade’s inventiveness with the ball once he drifts skyward and draws a cadre of defenders makes Marquette’s massive but marginally skilled big men Scott Merritt and Robert (I’m sorry Miss) Jackson look like Shaq around the bucket.

And, of course, Carmelo. Now, let me first say that I am in favor of everyone from Eddy Curry to D. Miles getting at least one year of NCAA seasoning. Hell, even KG probably would have developed more quickly in the NBA with one season of college hoops under his belt. But when I saw Carmelo drop 27 and snatch 11 boards against Memphis — in his first college game — I wondered what the hell this kid was doing without a supersized contract and an NBA headband.

Then I realized that probably nobody, with the possible exception of Pearl Washington, has ever looked more perfect in the ‘Cuse orange and blue. He just fits. As a freshman, the team is his, and he knows precisely how to work it. He shoots when he should, never defers when he shouldn’t; he knows when to drive, when to post, and when to move the ball.

Carmelo’s skills are unquestionable; his inside-out throwback game allows him to score in more ways than any other player in the nation. His stroke is pure to NBA range; he crashes the offensive glass; his strength, quickness and body control make him unguardable in the post; he’s even the rare player who takes, and hits, midrange jumpers consistently. But Carmelo’s not some Eddie Griffin-type cancer, a ready-to-leave stud eating away at a team with some serious potential. He manages to be the consummate scoring superstar without ever overshadowing his teammates, whom Carmelo realizes he needs as much as they need him.

How to choose between the three players, all so complete? T.J. is clearly the most gifted passer, Carmelo the unstoppable scoring force, Wade maybe the most well-rounded of the tremendously talented trio.

I’m going with Carmelo. It’s his year, and he knows it. When you’re slated to be the No. 3 pick in the NBA draft, staying in college seems downright silly. But the scent of stacks of cash just around the corner hasn’t distracted Carmelo thus far, and there’s no reason to believe he’ll just pack up his gear and wait for draft day now, in the Final Four.

Carmelo is so self-aware and yet so self-effacing. He’s plenty cognizant that Syracuse’s best shot is this year, with him, yet he’s always so willing to place himself second to the squad when he needs them, and then switch seamlessly to first and foremost when they need him.

I picked ‘Cuse to reach the final, but I had ’em falling to Arizona, whom Emerson never would have picked, because despite the Wildcats’ ridiculous assortment of individual talent, didn’t have a true star.

The Orange sure do, though, and I’m hitching my wagon up to Carmelo, my mello.