Bob Myers didn’t study film at UCLA; he was a business-economics major. Still, he likes to use cinematic terms to describe the world he now occupies.

“The comeback story is the best in America,” Myers said over a recent lunch. “This is ‘Rocky III,’ and we just got knocked out by Clubber Lang. We’re not ready for the fight.”

“We,” in this scenario, are the Golden State Warriors. Once dominant and dynastic, the former champion is now flat on its back on the mat. Will the Warriors stagger to their feet, Rocky-style?

“I think it’s going to be fun to watch us pick ourselves up,” the Warriors’ general manager said.

Fun and intriguing for Myers and the hard-core Warriors fans. Maybe not so fun for the folks who hopped on the bandwagon and now are financially committed to seats at Chase Center. Or for the national audience. For the past five seasons, the Warriors have been a must-see Christmas Day game. This holiday, ABC is stuck with Houston at Golden State, a dud of a mismatch that few will feel compelled to interrupt their festivities to watch.

In a few chaotic months, the beautiful masterpiece that Myers built over several years has come crashing down. The Warriors do nothing in the usual way. Their five-year run of dominance was completely abnormal by NBA standards, and so is the way it has been upended.

“Nobody could prepare for the abruptness or the degree of it,” Myers said. “We were at the top of the mountain. Instead of walking back down, we got thrown off the top.

“Now we’re at the bottom, with broken limbs.”

But Myers isn’t licking his wounds or feeling sorry for himself. In a strange way, despite the team’s 7-24 record, he’s newly energized.

“That was exhausting,” he said of the Warriors’ five-year run. “That constant spotlight. I don’t think you’re supposed to go to the Finals five years in a row. Health-wise, physically and mentally, it’s draining.”

Now, the spotlight is redirected, but Myers’ job has become more complicated. It is more like it was eight years ago, when he was first tasked with assembling a winning team.

“When I showed up, we dumped all the puzzle pieces on the table,” Myers said. “There’s Steph Curry, he’s a corner piece. That was the only one we knew. Then we sifted the pieces, put them together.

“Then Kevin (Durant) comes along and for the last three years the puzzle was done. Don’t touch it. Don’t knock it off the table.”

In other words, Myers didn’t have much to do. Now he does.

“How are we going to fix it?” he asked. “For me, selfishly, I’m looking forward to that part.”

Myers has been busy scouting. He’s not tipping his hand on whom he might be looking at, where he might go overseas, or what the team may do at the trade deadline. He will, for the first time in five years, have plenty of time to prepare for the draft. His team will not be playing in June. Or May. Or even late April.

The end of the Warriors’ dynastic run was painful for everyone. Myers was mentally drained: Anyone who witnessed his emotional news conference the night that Durant tore his Achilles in Toronto could see how raw Myers’ emotions were.

“It was just too much,” he said. “In life, you get overwhelmed with emotion. I didn’t have the energy to get up in front of anyone and be different than how I felt. In sports, I guess we guard against showing emotions.”

Two days later, when Klay Thompson went down with a knee injury and Myers went into the locker room with him, he felt “kind of empty inside.”

“There was a kind of numbness,” he said. “And it’s still going. You want to look up to the sky and say, ‘We got it! We’ve been humbled. What else do you want?’

“This is sports. It doesn’t have to be rational or logical or fair. If you’re in it long enough, you’re probably going to get both sides of it.”

For Myers, the move from Oracle Arena in Oakland to Chase Center has been a comfortable one on a personal level. He and his wife live in Presidio Heights with their three daughters, ages 9, 7 and 1. Being able to zip home to pick up the girls from school or take a turn with the little one before a game is a life-work balance upgrade.

His demanding owners are understanding of the team’s predicament. Joe Lacob wants to win, but he’s realistic.

“He understands processes,” Myers said. “He’s built companies from the bottom up. He’s not irrational in his expectations.”

Myers and co-owner Peter Guber sometimes talk in cinematic themes. The parallels between entertainment and sports are obvious: an assemblage of stars and role players, a director, a producer, a large crew to put together the production and reveal the dramatic arc.

“Every season is a story,” Myers said. “Every movie has to have conflict to overcome. It makes the final story more appealing.”

The Warriors’ final story remains to be told. Is this just a pause, and like the “Rocky” series, more championships and hardware will come? Or is Myers in for a lengthy rebuild?

Whatever the case, he’s learned not to take anything for granted.

Last season, Myers invited another sports executive to sit with him during a game. When it was over, the man leaned over and shook Myers’ hand and congratulated him.

“For what?” Myers asked.

“You guys won the game,” the man said. “Congratulations.”

“And I said, ‘Oh, yeah, yeah, right,’” Myers remembered.

“It’s not like that anymore. You have to fall down to appreciate standing up.”

And how Myers helps the Warriors pull themselves up will be fascinating to watch.

Ann Killion is a San Francisco Chronicle columnist. Email: akillion@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @annkillion