So the Giants are good. No, not good. Great. Spectacular. The Giants are George Foreman at his best. Step, step, punch. Step, step, punch. Get punished or bail out, you’ve no other option (unless you’re the Browns, apparently).

And the Jets are good, too. We’ve been through this, and we’re still not totally believers, but, you know, first place.

The Knicks? Kinda good. Surprisingly good. It actually seems like not just one, but two people involved with the day-to-day operations of the Knicks — Mike D’Antoni and Donnie Walsh — might know what they’re doing. That’s weird, and we’re not quite sure how to handle it.

We root for all these teams because we’re dutiful New York sports fans. But as comedy writers, it’s killing us. Bad teams are much funnier than good teams. Where are we to turn for our comic relief? The Nets? Please. Hockey? Who cares?

Even the Red Bulls are good. We hate soccer because nothing ever happens, but it’d at least be nice to fall back on some Juan Pablo Angel jokes if need be. But no.

So we’re left with the Mets’ bullpen, a fraying punching bag we’ve already beaten the stuffing out, and the Yankees’ payroll, bloated like CC Sabathia but perhaps eventually as effective.

Oh, conflict. Part of us loves this. Part of us hates this. All of us just hopes the Starbury thing keeps dragging on and on and on, because at least that lunatic’s good for a punchline a day.