They have not arrived in the nick of time, because that time is long gone, and there is no Fountain of Youth that can help Jason Kidd turn back the clock to when he was Deron Williams or prevent Marcus Camby from resembling a fossilized Anthony Davis.
They are the Knicks of time.
But they will help.
Kidd, with his championship pedigree, can play point guard from memory when he isn’t rushing over to the oxygen tent on the bench, teach Jeremy Lin how to be a pro, how you lead, how you pace yourself, teach him all the tricks, all that. And for the 20 minutes or so a night his 39-year-old legs will be asked to endure, he will command Carmelo Anthony’s attention and respect, even in crunch time.
“I think the more guys touch the ball, the better off we’ll be,” Kidd said.
Camby can rebound and block shots when he isn’t asking Kidd for the oxygen mask, cover for Amar’e Stoudemire’s defensive lapses, or J.R. Smith’s. And for the 20 minutes or so his 38-year-old legs will be asked to endure, he will remind no one of Eddy Curry and allow Tyson Chandler to rest enough to curtail his technical foul propensity.
But the Knicks of time riding in on their graying horses should not be confused with any cavalry that will enable the Knicks to overcome LeBron James and the Heat on their way to the franchise’s first championship in (gasp) four decades.
Because unless Mike Woodson can somehow channel an inner Red Holzman, or Doc Rivers for that matter … unless Anthony can stop being a ballstopper who didn’t exactly remind Phil Jackson of Michael or Kobe … unless Stoudemire’s knees and back can stop betraying him and he can resist the urge to punch out friendly fire extinguishers … the sobering reality is that yesterday’s press conference in Greenburgh is certain to be met with a king-sized yawn by LeBron and Dwyane Wade and the Boys of Spring.
Best-case scenario: It should enable the Knicks to keep the Brooklyn Nets in their place, even their new place, as long as Dwight Howard doesn’t end up along Flatbush Avenue. It could enable James Dolan to rain confetti from the Garden rafters at the end of a first-round playoff series, at the very least, and perhaps reap a revenue bonanza comparable to what the Rangers just gave him.
It’s the best Glen Grunwald could do.
“Marcus is a great leader and is still a great shotblocker, and Jason is still a great point guard,” Grunwald, the Knicks’ GM, said.
Except there are no great 39-year-old point guards, not over 40 minutes. And expecting Jeremy Kidd, or Jason Lin, to all of a sudden morph into one, is a reach. As is this yesterday from Kidd:
“And that’s what we’re measured on: win ballgames and try to win a championship, and I think we have everything to be able to do that.”
I Kidd you not.
The Knicks are where they are today because of a pair of regrettable earth-moving thunderbolts: Isiah Thomas taking his talents here and James taking his to South Beach.
It doesn’t mean you stand still and concede a second ring to The King and his court. Not around here. Not at these obscene ticket prices.
A lot can change between now and next June. Injury, health, fortune, etc. Miracle seasons come out of nowhere in sports. Camby, a self-proclaimed Knick at heart, was nearly part of one 13 years ago at the Garden, when Patrick Ewing and Latrell Sprewell and Larry Johnson and Allan Houston were his sidekicks during a period when the rivalry with the Heat had become so heated that it was not uncommon for a Knicks head coach (Jeff Van Gundy) to be clinging to the leg of a Heat center (Alonzo Mourning).
“I know I can play the game without having to be a sky jumper and jumping over the rim,” Camby said.
The Knicks got a little older with the Knicks of time. They also got a little better. Kidd and Camby didn’t come here to be any Sunshine Boys vaudeville team. And they can look at it this way: If they had signed with the Nets, we would be calling them the Brooklyn Codgers.
steve.serby@nypost.com