The Buttfumble had quite a run.

From the moment Mark Sanchez ran into Brandon Moore’s hind quarters on Thanksgiving night, almost five years ago, the Buttfumble has been the perfect symbol of Jets futility. From Nov. 22, 2012, onward, anything you’ve needed to say has been encapsulated by that one play, in front of 79,008 at MetLife Stadium and a national audience.

It’s almost incidental that Steve Gregory ran the fumble back for a touchdown, that the Pats walloped the Jets 49-19 (scoring 35 points in the second quarter alone against the great defensive mind of Rex Ryan despite possessing the ball for barely three minutes). No. The moment Sanchez and Moore collided, it was all over. It has been viewed, at last count, 17 gazillion times (give or take) on YouTube.

It may take a while for Marshawn Lynch’s sideline dance on Sunday to take a similar foothold in the national consciousness, but for the Jets it should drop immediate anchor: THIS is the face of the Tank of ’17. This is the surcharge of Sucking for Sam. This is what happens when you are no longer a professional football team but a professional vaudeville troupe, traveling city to city to bring aid and comfort to teams and to fans who still view the outcomes of games as matters of civic urgency.

This is what happens when you become a joke.

Worse: a punch line.

Worst: a living, breathing bye week.

Look at Beast Mode go, go, go. Look at how happy he is. Look at the joyful roar of Violator and Toozak and the other 54,000 Raiders fans.

THAT is what the Jets are now.

“It felt good,” was how Lynch, the NFL player of the fewest words since Duane Thomas, summed up his revved-up dance-a-long to the rhythm of “I’m Really From Oakland” — which, in fairness, he is. His coach, Jack Del Rio, loved it. His teammates were delighted by it.

The Jets?

Not so much.

“It irks my ever-living nerves,” linebacker Jordan Jenkins said, the best and saltiest of the observations out of the Jets locker room. “When I saw it happening, it was infuriating. That [ticked] me off. I’m an old-school guy. I don’t like when things like that happen. That was embarrassing, losing like that and having Marshawn dance like that.

“Great player, but seeing that happen, that should infuriate the whole team. It should infuriate everybody, and we should have a good response coming into next Sunday.”

It should. And for a real NFL team, it might. But what are the Jets supposed to do? They played 60 minutes of football and didn’t lay a finger on Oakland quarterback Derek Carr. That’s literal by the way: They didn’t register one quarterback hit all day. That’s almost impossible to do playing 11-on-11.

The amazing thing is that ALL the Raiders didn’t dance, the same way it would be amazing if playing the Jets this Sunday at MetLife won’t inspire all 53 Dolphins to get up and boogie at some point (rumor has it that Jay Cutler cuts a mighty fine rug), the same way it would be stunning if facing the Jets doesn’t stir joy among everyone they play against.

Think Kevin Bacon at the end of “Footloose”:

“LET’S DANCE!!”

“We’re upset because it seems like he was rubbing it in our face,” Jets nose tackle Steve McLendon said. “But he’s winning, man. He can do whatever he wants to do.”

It didn’t seem that way, Steve. Take another look. Lynch might not have looked quite that happy if they’d dumped a wheelbarrow full of hundred-dollar bills at his feet rather than turn the volume at Oakland Coliseum up to 11. The better to enjoy the punch line.