By Jay Zo

We're only a few days away from contentment or chagrin -- a few days from knowing, at the least, what direction the barnacle-riddled boat that is your hometown New York Knicks, is pointed in. Not that the draft will definitively fill our sails with the good wind we require, but it is the first tick of the barometer in another offseason of question marks blooming over heads, rumor clouds, and possibility fronts sponsored by your friendly, neighborhood franchise-in-trouble.

Thoughtfully palming my new rock (a Spalding -- and no, not a gimmicky "Infusion." They want to charge you an extra fifteen bucks for a flimsy, plastic nub and a tube, as if we needed this. All you have to say is "Reebok Pump." Don't believe the hype.) as I ponder the draft, attempting to predict player potential or front-office moves, a comparison with weather forecasting springs to mind. All are apocryphal practices involving a combination of sky-gazing, number-crunching, tape-reviewing, and hand-waving, though the sweaty palms and expletives are usually reserved for the hoops executives, not to mention the milktoast platitudes and last-minute deals with the devil.

As fans, we're forced to take it. This ain't no democracy, kid. We have to rely upon our particular team's doyen of personnel as if they were the oracle at Delphi, all the while swimming the public pool of palpable doubt hoping that thing floating in the water ain't nothing more than the sweatband of your new all-star power forward.

For Knicks fans especially, without knowing the intentions of the not-so-divine triumvirate of Dolan, Layden, and Mills (or Jeff Nix, if you want, maybe throw in Don Chaney as the Holy Ghost), we can only hope that somewhere in the dim basement backroom of Scott Layden's mind there crouches something akin to a plan. And maybe that's all we ask for -- some scenario, some blueprint that will lay the foundation for a worthy return to a title run. Thus far, I haven't been convinced he has a plan of any real substance, in light of his previous moves. From the Glen Rice trade to the drafting of Eric Chenowith, he appears to be content with nothing more than paper-based panaceas, stopgap solutions for problems that demand more significant remedies.

The Knicks are not alone. There are other teams in the league equally, if not more, adept at masterful floundering or obsessive tinkering (see Portland, Denver, Golden State, and, until recently, the Grizzlies). Even when there is some semblance of a cohesive plan, the results are mixed (a la New Jersey vs. Atlanta). What's evident though, is that the plug-and-play protocol that marked, and admittedly preserved, the Knicks' fourteen-season playoff run, is no longer sustainable. It ain't workin', people. Get over it.

There's no more Ewing; no more Oakley; no LJ; no droopy-eyed, Diet Coke-clenching Van Gundy; no point guard; no playoffs; let's move on.

Perhaps we should burn them in effigy at mid-court of MSG to finally shake the specters of Playoffs Past that flutter over the organization like unused tickets. I get the feeling that upper-management is still running the team as if a virtual Dave Checketts or phantom Ewing were still punching in. Maybe it's just our memories of them, and the fact that we have no new vision to replace them with, that has us and this team staring into the perennially playoff-less abyss.

Which brings us, invariably, back to the draft, version 2002, or "Knicks Offseason Limbo Part Deuce," if we take last year's debacle as the signal of our entrance into roundball purgatory. The importance of this draft is without question. Sports pages have been bombarding us with player analyses and mock drafts since May. Message boards have been blowing up with the possibilities thanks, in large part, to the compulsions of fifteen to twenty-two year old males and that gene that makes them dream of the perfect trade, the perfect team, which, if scientists could place, probably resides somewhere between the genes that control drooling and baseball card collecting and that gene that makes cleavage irresistible.

With GMs and scouts alike lauding the depth of this draft, the top half of the first-round is especially intriguing, as picks one through ten offer a number of solid, if not potentially spectacular, players. The Knicks, in the midst of this grab-bag at number seven, have several options.

Mike Dunleavy's official commitment to staying in the draft means some quality kids will drop into the Knicks' eager arms. Take your pick: Memphis little big man Dajuan Wagner, Maryland's muscled, yet untested four-man Chris Wilcox, UConn's offensive demon Caron Butler, versatile, inside-outside Jayhawk Drew Gooden, JuCo star Qyntel Woods, or if you're thinking international -- Brazilian Goodwill Games-monster "Nene" Hilario, or Georgian-born Italian Leaguer Nickoloz Tskitishvili. There are other supposedly "safer bets" like Stanford center Curtis Borchardt, or not-so-safe, but upside-dripping gambles like high-school power forward Amare Stoudamire. There's also the possibility of moving up, or moving down, or jettisoning the pick altogether via trade (e.g. in a package deal for Cleveland's Andre Miller, as has been circulated in the media). Either way, somebody of substance should be available, preferably of substantial size, or at least, impact.

Doing a quick survey of some of the latest mock drafts on the Net -- of the ten I checked -- Chris Wilcox was selected on five, with Dajuan Wagner and Curtis Borchardt each chosen twice, and Caron Butler bringing up the rear with one. We'll have to wait till the 26th to see how representative these mock drafts are, and whether or not Danny Ainge will be eating crow (he predicts Borchardt).

The second round is a toss-up, as it usually is, with its fair share of sleepers and potential steals. Kentucky's Tayshaun "Built like a Chicken Wing" Prince, Maryland's Juan "Can I get some Love? I just Won a Championship and an MVP Trophy" Dixon, thirty-year old, ex-con Lee "Just Give Me a Chance" Benson, and a motley troop of guards including Cincy's Steve Logan, ABA-via-Fresno State's Tito Maddox, Michigan State's Marcus Taylor, and Fordham's Smush Parker could be available when the Knicks pick 36th, not to mention the typical assortment of well-named, obscure, foreign imports like Zaur Pachulia, Lazaros Papadopoulos, and Mladen Sekularac.

Everything ultimately hinges on whether the Knicks keep the pick, or as custom and tradition dictate, trade it for -- what these days is tantamount to a curse -- a "veteran." Lamar Odom, Stephon Marbury, Bonzi Wells, Glenn Robinson, are among the names churned out by the rumor mill. Although a number of these players would be very helpful in bringing the Knicks back into contention, high picks in a deep draft are a rare and cherishable commodity. It'd be a shame not to utilize the opportunity.

If Scott Layden screws this up, he'll be burned at mid-court of MSG, and not in effigy.

This year's draft promises variable doses of rapture and disappointment. It might sweep us up for a few hours. Set us down in new territory. Or kick us to the curb and leave us for dead. It can't offer anything that can make up for the year this city has had, other than the prospect of a fresh start. Perhaps in that way, the team, once again, parallels the place. Nothing would be more fitting. No matter the results of the draft, or even what happens during the rest of the summer, you'll find me hanging onto The Cage at the West 4th Street courts, watching true New York ball at its finest as some fresh-faced youngbuck throws it down, lighting it up, along an avenue that once lay under the gaze of the Twin Towers and still bears the mark of the memory of that shadow.