When Phil Jackson borrows from Harry S. Truman — one President to another — and says, in his annual address to Knicks fans, “I never took a jump shot, never made a substitution but the buck stops here,” he is, of course, bastardizing the famous saying that adorned Truman’s desk and often tumbled off his tongue.

If Truman were to have used that phrase as Jackson did, it would have gone something like this: “I never actually dropped those bombs, but the buck stops here.” Or: “I didn’t actually pack Gen. MacArthur’s boxes for him, but the buck stops here.” Or: “I technically never gave anyone Hell, but the buck stops here.”

There isn’t supposed to be a preface. And the funny thing is, one of the last times Truman actually uttered his most famous expression, he unwittingly used it more with greater context on Phil Jackson behalf than it ever would have occurred Jackson himself to. In an address to the National War College on Dec. 19, 1952, a month and a day before he would leave office, Truman said:

“You know, it’s easy for the Monday morning quarterback to say what the coach should have done, after the game is over. But when the decision is up before you — and on my desk I have a motto which says, ‘The Buck Stops Here’ — the decision has to be made.”

Not in Phil Jackson’s world, it doesn’t. In that sanctimonious sanctuary, Jackson can steal a phrase that sounds good, recite it early in a 49-minute press conference, and then spend the final 48 or so minutes proving he has absolutely no intention of adhering to either its meaning or its spirit.

So after declaring the buck stopped with him, Jackson immediately proceeded to pass the buck to his coach, Jeff Hornacek; and to his outgoing point guard, Derrick Rose; and to his owner, James Dolan; and to Knicks fans themselves; and to the devil media; and (somehow) to the Chicago Bulls, entering Year 19 of their own rebuild; and to the silent, egregious forces that caused the injury-prone, 31-year-old center he signed to a $72 million deal to spend his first year as a Knick injured and aging.

And, of course, to Carmelo Anthony.

Those are a lot of passed bucks, not nearly as many wasted bucks as Dolan already has spent on Jackson, but, then, he still has two more years to catch up. Maybe the next time he addresses his public, in another 365 days, he can paraphrase John F. Kennedy: “Ask not what the Knicks can do for you, ask what the Knicks can do for me and my legacy as a genius.”

The one thing that is clear from Jackson’s clumsy valedictory Friday is this: There is a better chance Richie Guerin will be a Knick at the start of training camp than Anthony.

“We have not been able to win with him on the court at this time,” Jackson said.

“It’s probably better to have him somewhere he can win a championship,” he added.

More: “Obviously, this hasn’t worked out, this partnership together. It didn’t click with this team.”

Lastly: “Holding the ball is not a criticism. That’s what he does. That’s pure fact.”

Carmelo Anthony is a smart guy. As Harry tells his friend Jess in “When Harry Met Sally”: “What do I have to do, get beaten over the head? If she wants to call me she’ll call me. I’m through making a schmuck out of myself.” Of course, he then sings “Call Me” into Sally’s answering machine. Hopefully Melo doesn’t know the lyrics.

What he has to know is this: It’s time. And when this happens, wherever it happens, then there really will be about 95 percent fewer options left for Phil Jackson to identify as a fall guy. And by then, he’ll have no more bucks left to pass. His cover will be gone, his favorite voodoo doll in a different city. Without Melo to blame all of his troubles on, it will be harder to invent strawmen.

Not that he won’t try. Surely, to borrow from Nathan Hale, Jackson will only regret that he has but one hold-the-ball forward to lose for his basketball team.