This was a few days after the Nets finished off the first humiliation of what has become a summer filled with more slapstick than a Marx Brothers film festival. This was a few beats after the Celtics had wiped the floor with the Nets, wiped them out of the NBA playoffs in four straight games.

This was Sean Marks, formerly the self-appointed Minister of Culture for the entire sport of basketball, reaching into his old bag of tricks to describe his newly calibrated vision of Brooklyn basketball.

“I think we know what we’re looking for,” Marks said. “We’re looking for guys that want to come in here and be part of something bigger than themselves, play selfless, play team basketball, and be available. And that goes not only for Kyrie [Irving], but for everybody here.”

There was more.

“We need people here that want to be here, they’re selfless, and they want to be part of something bigger than themselves. And there’s an objective and a goal at stake here, and in order to do that we’re going to need availability from everybody.”

That was Sean Marks, on May 11.

This was Sean Marks 104 days later, on Tuesday:

“Steve Nash and I, together with [owners] Joe Tsai and Clara Wu Tsai, met with Kevin Durant and Rich Kleiman in Los Angeles yesterday. We have agreed to move forward with our partnership. We are focusing on basketball, with one collective goal in mind: build a lasting franchise to bring a championship to Brooklyn.”

And thus have the Nets made the ever-tricky shift from Marx Brothers to Three Stooges.

And yes, they are easy enough to identify: the owner, the GM, the coach. Since June 30, they have stared at the impossible-to-play hand of Durant demanding the ultimate Catch-22 trade, understanding there is really no such thing as fair value, and have been determined to make sure they weren’t played for fools.

For their troubles, Durant began to walk his formerly firm stance back earlier this month — on the condition that Nash and Marks be fired. That, like almost every other scheme Durant cooks up off a basketball court, went over about as well as a Metallica cover band at a baptism.

And now, everyone moves forward.

Maybe it will be Tsai’s duty to email the lyrics to Durant, Irving, the remaining Nets, and everyone else on staff for what now, surely, will be a weekly sing-a-long.

“Someone’s crying lord … Kumbaya …”

I mean, sure, tell me that’s an absurdity. But have you seen the way things have played out in Brooklyn? Have you seen the way the men in charge of the asylum keep insisting the inmates will be held at bay, and keep getting rolled flat like Kevin Bacon in “Animal House”?

This has been the most laughable basketball saga we’ve ever seen — and for the love of Super John Williamson, we’re talking about the NETS here!. The Nets have been the home office for basketball burlesque since 1967, and somehow they just keep getting better. They ought to have their own wing in Springfield, Mass., at the Hall of Fame.

With one room devoted entirely to this summer.

Yes. This is precisely the way to build a lasting franchise. Maybe someone in the NBA would argue the point with them, but the rest of the league is buried in guffaws. Give this to the Nets: They never, ever disappoint.

Look, yes, there is an upside of sorts here: With all the clamor and clutter, it’s easy to forget how much fun Durant and Irving are to watch when they are playing at their peak. Ben Simmons is a vast unknown that could still surprise. The Nets will win some games. They will remain — as long as the band stays back together, anyway, and as long as the Knicks remain the Knicks — the standard bearer for pro basketball in New York.

But the idea that this group is going to tiptoe past Boston, Milwaukee, Miami and Philly — for starters — in the East, let alone planning a parade down Flatbush Avenue next June (or any June)? Well, it’s like buying a PowerBall ticket.

Sure, you may win.

But I wouldn’t quit your day job.

Not that Nash and Marks will have to worry about that the first time the Nets lose four in a row — or the first time Durant’s ego spends some time in the trainer’s room. He has Joe Tsai’s cell number, after all. He isn’t afraid to use it.