Equal parts hope and organizational envy accompany the emergence of a franchise regenerator like Jeremy Lin of the New York Knicks.

Even when hope butts up against poor odds — like a poker player holding an ace with only the river card still face down — there remains the unlikely possibility that a languishing franchise will land someone like Lin to turn around the entire operation. It is that hope of finding a star who has slipped through the cracks that keeps many a fan base fastened to their season tickets.

This sudden awakening of the optimistic spirit is as much a sparkling facet of fandom — finally, we’re going to be something special — as it is a reprieve for the coach, team president or general manager whose job security was in question.

If Linsanity lasts — it will for a while at least, as long as the 6-foot-3 Harvard-educated point guard continues to play solid and not even spectacular basketball; we’re talking New York, after all — then Knicks coach Mike D’Antoni will last right along with it.

How much can one player impact a franchise’s everything? Ronn Torossian, CEO of 5W Public Relations in New York, is a branding strategist who predicts Lin can change the face of the Knicks, from a dysfunctional, overpaying but underperforming mess into a global “good guy.”

“More than even a basketball story, he is a pop-culture story,” Torossian said of Lin, who has wowed the NBA by becoming the first player in league history to have at least 20 points and seven assists in his first four starts. “He looks like the guy who anybody thinks he can beat in basketball. It’s too soon to tell if he’s the real deal, but right now, he epitomizes the American dream.”

But Lin’s Q-rating burst in the Big Apple also creates a longing in other cities that do not enjoy the same benefit of discovering, often by dumb luck, a potential franchise savior. Organizational envy comes from watching a team like the Knicks, or the Minnesota Timberwolves with Ricky Rubio or, to a lesser extent, the Cleveland Cavaliers with Kyrie Irving, instantly improve — on the floor and at the ticket counter — when that one player comes along to save the day.

If you are a fan of the Blue Jackets — sudden impact is not reserved only for the NBA — there is a tinge of jealousy that comes from watching another team’s fortunes improve because of one player. If only we had drafted Thomas Vanek, Ryan Getzlaf or Shea Weber in 2003 instead of Nikolay Zherdev.

The Jackets did, of course, get a taste of the grand possibility of it all when goaltender Steve Mason managed an award-winning first season that ended with him winning the Calder Trophy as the 2008-2009 Rookie of the Year. At the time, Mason delivered needed positive public relations to the team and, more important, appeared to be a foundation upon which the organization could build. Instead, he became a tease, a trust-him-at-your-own-risk disappointment.

So nothing is certain. But, oh, to enjoy that rare instance when something uncertain comes to wonderful fruition. Is that not the dream of every wannabe athlete whose career in organized sports ended ingloriously in the eighth grade? It is as completely human for a 14-year-old boy to dream about turning from athletic nobody into superstar somebody as it is for him to stare into space while picturing himself dating the most gorgeous girl in his class.

That is the appeal of Lin and those like him, including New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady, who lasted until the sixth round of the 2000 NFL draft and has helped turned the Patriots into a power. Brady got the glory and the girl.

Those in need of a franchise turnaround share similar thoughts. If only something this Lincredible could happen to us.

Rob Oller is a sports reporter for The Dispatch.

roller@dispatch.com