This is a lesson everyone learns when they sign on for New York City: Even when you’re supposed to be an underdog, you’re an overdog. Even when nobody identifies you as a dominant team, everybody revels in your misery.

Los Angeles gets that a little. Chicago. Lately, Boston has attracted its share of this. Call it the Revenge of the Flyover States.

“Nobody ever feels sorry for Goliath,” Joe Torre once said, when the Yankees’ disabled list was especially crowded, and it’s certainly a credo that his successor, Joe Girardi, can live by in a spring when every day seems to invite bumps, bruises and bloodshed into the Yankees clubhouse.

Then we have the Knicks, who this evening will kick off the seminal stretch of their season, five games in eight nights, all of them on or near the left coast, most of which will finish after you’ve gone to bed on worknights, a peripatetic journey through Oakland, Denver, Portland, Los Angeles and Salt Lake City.

By this time next Tuesday, we will all have a better sense of where the Knicks are in the Eastern Conference, whether their mission of finishing with the No. 2 seed is sustainable, if they can maintain their Atlantic Division cushions on the Nets and Celtics. They will do all of this without the services of Amar’e Stoudemire, we already know that. It’s anybody’s guess when — or if — Carmelo Anthony will rejoin the fun.

It is a hell of a time to be short-handed. Nobody ever feels sorry for Goliath, even when Goliath has gone 40 years without a championship, as long as there’s a “NEW YORK” stitched across the uniform jersey.

“We can’t sit and sulk,” Mike Woodson said the other night.