Imagine you’re Bud Norris. The No. 1 pitcher on the worst team in baseball. The highest-paid athlete on an Astros’ roster worth far less than any other club in the game. A talented, confident righthanded starter whose name has been floated so often in trade rumors that part of your life becomes retweeting fans who advise you to stay off Twitter during MLB’s annual winter meetings.

Keep imagining you’re Norris. Then understand you have only two options.

No. 1: Shut down, turn into a clubhouse malcontent and wait until general manager Jeff Luhnow finally calls to say, “I’m sorry, Bud, but you’ve been traded.”

No. 2: Actually be Bud Norris.

Because this is Norris since spring training started: upbeat, silly, focused, intense, hilarious.

Norris has become the anti-loser. In a sports world filled with wildly overpaid semi-stars and average athletes milking guaranteed contracts, he earns his good money ($3 million for one year) while rolling through the Astros’ clubhouse with a Cheshire Cat …