Newser no match among these gals

MY MOM loves to tell this story: I was 3 and wearing cat ears, a tail and a bow tie when I brought down the house at the Palisadium in Cliffside Park, N.J. I was putting on the Ritz with other tots from Miss Alice’s Dance School when I had my moment in the spotlight: I twirled my tail and did my shuffle over and over as the crowd roared and Miss Alice had to come scoop me off the stage.

That was the first and last time anyone was impressed with my dancing.

So no, I didn’t think I had a real chance to be the Nets’ new spin machine.

But I thought that if I showed some of that same Ritz spunk from my childhood I might make an impression, just not the kind that would send me to the hospital across from Barclays Center, where the winners will be dancing.

And being a Jersey girl who moved to the city, I thought I might have something in common with the Nets as they make the leap across the stream.

When I stepped out onto the court, flexible women were scattered from sideline to sideline, net to net. My pink Ombre sports bra fit perfectly in the bubble-gum spectrum. I had done my hair and makeup, too, plenty of hairspray. The similarities ended there.

I went in for a stretch near a girl in a neon crop top with the words “Choose Love” written across.

“I’m Jasmine,” she said. “People call me Jazzy.” Hi, I’m Spazzy. Within two minutes of the warmup routine the 350 experienced dancers around me were doing pirouettes and kicks.

They lost me at “now turn.” I kicked myself off the court and decided to be my fierce self on the sideline.