The Golden State Warriors didn’t just bungle their post-dynasty transition; they delivered a masterclass on organizational self-sabotage. And now, once again, they’re paying the price for falling in love with their own ideas and sense of greatness.

The Warriors are tipping off their season Wednesday, and by the time you’re reading this, they might’ve already played that opener in Los Angeles. But that doesn’t matter because that one game isn’t particularly germane to what’s actually happening with this team.

Kristaps Porziņģis isn’t walking through that door for the Dubs. Last week they said he might be, but he’s not. Every single piece of information that has been leaking out for the last few weeks points to one conclusion: the Unicorn is done, if not with the entire NBA, then almost certainly with the Warriors at age 31.

When you take into account everything that has gone on here, isn’t it just picture-perfect? Isn’t this exactly how things should go for a front office that was too afraid to make big moves, too afraid to move on, and too afraid to do anything other than maintain the status quo? This feels like proper punishment.

Here’s what the Warriors did this summer after convincing Steve Kerr, Draymond Green and Steph Curry to stick around: They made a draft pick and gave Porziņģis $20 million at an auction where there were zero other bidders. They did it because they were high on their own supply. They were convinced, despite the Boston Celtics (a very well-run organization) and Atlanta Hawks (ehhh) saying “no, this won’t work,” that they — and only they — could fix the Porziņģis situation.

Sure, the idea of a rim-protecting, sweet-shooting big man makes all the sense in the world, especially next to Green in the frontcourt. But ideas need to turn into action, and they traded and then re-signed a guy with a mysterious, debilitating illness who’s still clearly dealing with it.

Let’s acknowledge how much this sucks for Porziņģis. There’s a human element to this, and even though we barely know the big man in this market, you have to be gutted by this circumstance for him. He’s a 7-foot-3 man dealing with an autoimmune disease that makes you constantly lightheaded and dizzy if you move around too suddenly — that’s brutal.

It also sucks for the Warriors. But at least they have somebody to blame: themselves.

Never forget how Porziņģis came to the Bay. He was traded for Jonathan Kuminga. Why was Kuminga traded? Because the Warriors had a distressed asset they dramatically overvalued for years, hoping against hope he’d reach his ceiling, until the situation boiled over and they swapped him for another distressed asset with Atlanta.

Two in the bush is better than one in the hand, right? (Wait, that’s not it … )

The Warriors’ front office reluctantly gave up on the dream of Kuminga, so they went and traded him for a new one: the dream of Porziņģis. At least with Kuminga, it was a mentality thing. Tigers might not change their stripes, but there were moments where you thought it was all going to click. But this is a physical thing. It’s hardly binary, but you can’t just talk through this issue.

And even when reality is coming and punching them right in the face, again, the Warriors are still buying into their own hype — their own, now unsubstantiated, genius.

How are the Warriors spinning this gut-punch of news that Porziņģis might retire? They’re trying to pawn off their disastrous decision as a good one: It’s super easy contract to trade — thank goodness we gave him all that money, otherwise we wouldn’t even be able to move him!

Except they can’t trade him. Who’s going to look at Porziņģis amid all this and say, “Yeah, we’ll take him”?

No, the Warriors will now have to pay a tax on top of the already too-large bill to correct a decision that was made just a few months ago. All those future draft picks they didn’t touch to help improve the team over the last few seasons? They might just use a few to rid themselves of Porziņģis, who is nothing more than a trade exception to this team unless a medical breakthrough happens.

It’s not as if Porziņģis is just another guy on an HMO, either — he’s in a region with some of the best hospitals in the world; someone playing for the most valuable NBA franchise. And yet, the Warriors are right back where they started with him, only a few games and millions lighter in the pocket.

When you’re not bidding against anyone and you keep running up the number on a guy that you believe only you can fix, you look like fools. You double down on that when you suggest that this was the plan all along.

I feel for Porziņģis, I really do.

But I certainly don’t feel any sympathy for this Warriors’ front office, which clearly hasn’t learned a single lesson the last few years have delivered.

And it all leads to this season, which didn’t exactly have folks buzzing in anticipation, looking over before it even started.

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