[scene - Joey Dorsey hanging around the Rockets' locker room after Game 1]
Joey Dorsey: [to no one in particular] Yo, yo, yo... what's up, bitches?
/entire Rockets locker room ignores Dorsey
[continued… warning, language is NSFW]
Dorsey: I said "yo, yo, yo... what's up, bitches?!!!" Why is everyone looking so serious? We won last night! Kobe tried that Chris Brown shit on Shane and we weren't having any of it! And yet everyone seems so morose. What the...?
Yao: Mr. Rookie, sir, what do you mean by "we"? I do not recall seeing the name "Joseph Dorsey" in the box score. Whereas the evil Laker organization attempted to turn my knee into dust at most inopportune time... and I refused to accept the status of pain and put myself back in the game.
Dorsey: say what? You just put yourself back in the game? How did you do that? I've been dealing with a little injury, too. Maybe if I just put myself back in the game that magic oriental stuff that healed Yao will rub off on Joey.
Yao: No magic. Strong in mind I am. Even Keith Jones tried to hold me back. I refused his treatment. Game too important.
Dorsey: Keith who? Who is Keith Jones?!?
[Shane Battier overhears the conversation in the trainer's room and steps away from watching DVDs of Three's Company]
Shane Battier: Joseph, certainly you know who Keith Jones is. He's our team trainer. He's been with the Houston Rockets for many years. He is well respected. Even the United States Congress respects what Mr. Jones has to say. We are lucky to have him working for us.
Battier: Oh, my dear! Joseph, you absolutely must go talk to Mr. Jones. I thought you had been working with him to help overcome your plantar fasciitis!
Dorsey: Hey, don't make fun of my planter's fat-shoe-itis! It's not my fault! It's been jacking with my game all year. No gorilla dunks during game means no gorilla fucking 'dem skanks after the game. Joey can't take it anymore.
Battier: I beg of you, good sir, please go talk to Mr. Jones. His office is right around the corner.
/Dorsey (still confused) leaves and goes to knock on Keith Jones' door.
Keith Jones: come in!
Joey Dorsey: [enters office] Yo, you're the trainer? I thought you were the guy who got chicks from the audience for McGrady. The two of you always seem to spend a lot of time together...
Keith: No, Joey, I've been the trainer for the Rockets for twelve years now.
Joey: Twelve years? Hey, wait a second... are you the reason the Rockets hadn't been to the second round since 1997? Your "training" has held us back!
Keith: Joey, that's rather insulting coming from a rookie who played all of three games this year. Besides, you haven't made any effort to come see me and rehab your foot injury. I could have been helping you all this time.
Joey: Well, I'm just here to announce that I'm going to play in the next game.
Keith Jones: I don't understand, Joey. For one, I'm not the coach and I don't make those decisions. Besides, you are still injured and I can't clear you to play yet.
Joey: Fuck that noise. Yao told me that he hurt his knee and you didn't want him to play last night. But he just ignored your bitch ass and went back into the game. And he dominated. And we won. So I'm here to tell you that you aren't stopping me. Joey's gonna play, and by-golly, Joey's gonna gorilla dunk that shit! Just like Yao, Joey's injury gonna be magically healed. Then Joey goin' out on the town to "heal" some ho's afterwards. Joey got just the magic potion for the right girl.
[Joey glares at Jones and walks out ot his office back into the locker room]
Joey: [again, to no one in particular] "I'm back, bitches!"
/again, the entire locker room ignores Joey Dorsey
Joey: Man, fuck this... I said "I'm back, bitches!" We can beat the Lakers now!
[Brent Barry steps away from checking out Lindsay Lohan on wwtdd.com and ambles over to Joey Dorsey. Barry fakes a behind the back pass to Chuck Hayes on the way.]
Brent Barry: Dude, did you say something about "bitches"? You goin' out to party tonight? Dude, take me with you. I hear Lindsay Lohan isn't a lesbo anymore. And since her sister isn't old enough yet... well... damn I love the Internet. Seriously, how awesome that we get to play the Lakers? The Portland groupies were polite and all, almost too polite, but this is Hollywood man! I've been playing Motley Crue's "Girls Girls Girls" on my CD player ever since we landed!
Joey Dorsey: What are you talking about? Who is the Muddy Crew? What's a "CD player"? And who is this Low-hand bitch you're blabbering about? Is she some stripper who does crazy tricks with her cooch? You know, ping pong balls and shit? Hmmm, the Dorsey Fin be up for that... where can we find her? Joey needs to see some girls tonight. Make some new friends. $20 and 3 minutes at a time.
[Joey suddenly stops and starts frenetically shaking his head]
Dorsey: No, no, no. I must focus. Gotta get on the court. Must play. Yao can do it. So can Joey. Buzz me later, white boy, we'll hit the town fo' sho'.
Barry: [has headphones back on, doesn't hear Joey... walks off]
Dorsey: I must go talk to Mr. Coach Hackman. He must understand my plight. My personal quest shall benefit him as well. He will let Dorsey play. Oh, wow, just the thought of a gorilla dunk in the playoffs is arousing!
[Joey knocks on Rick Adelman's door. Adelman is asleep. Joey knocks harder and then opens the door and walks in. Adelman's desk is covered with peeled off beer bottle labels and back issues of King magazine. No game plans or notes are to be found anywhere.]
Dorsey: Yo, coach, wake the fuck up! Joey has an announcement!
[Adelman is startled but wakes up... groggy.]
Rick Adelman: Who are you? What do you want? Leave me alone!
Dorsey [annoyed]: What do you mean, who are you? I'm Joey Dorsey, bitch! Gorilla-dunking king of the court! You've been holding me back all year. And not paying me my accrued bonuses. But that's okay. Joey's got a proposition for you.
Adelman: I don't want you to buy me a prostitute, Dorsey. I'm okay.
/Dorsey looks around the office...
Dorsey: Clearly you are not okay, but I don't care. No. I'm here to tell you that Joey is going to play Wednesday night. No longer are you going to keep fuckin' up my mojo. Joey gonna get his game on.
Adelman: You aren't ready. You are still injured.
Dorsey: Funny, that's what McGrady's pimp tried to tell me, but Yao said he ignored that guy and just went back in the game last night. And he dominated. Joey is going to do the same thing. And Joey will win. Problem solved, bitch.
Adelman: It doesn't work that way. I'm the coach. You are the player. You only play when I tell you to.
Dorsey: The fuck you say? It never worked that way with Coach Calipari. Joey say he want to play, Cal gets the hell out of Joey's way. And Memphis won!
Adelman: Actually, if I recall correctly, you lost the Championship Game to Kansas last year. That shit cost me $50,000. And you wonder why I can't go to Vegas today on our off day!!!??? Get the hell outta here!
Dorsey: Yo, gambling is wrong coach. Only gambling Joey does is whether or not to wrap up li'l Joey when gettin' busy. Joey likes to gamble that way. But why you gotta bring up that game, Coach? You know that hurts my feelings.
Adelman: I'm your coach. I am not here to care about your feelings. I'm here to call plays. And you are the one who is supposed to run them. But since you aren't going to play tomorrow, you don't have to worry about that.
Dorsey: From what I hear, you don't exactly call many plays. And if you do, there's only one play you gotta call: "Dorsey Gorilla Dunk. Two points." Keep it simple and shit. Then we win. Then Joey go celebrate with da ho's.
Adelman: Uhhh, okay, fine Joey. I will think about it.
[Brent Barry walks into Adelman's office]
Brent Barry: Dorsey, come on... we goin'? TMZ.com says that Lindsay is at this bar. I'm gonna feed her vodka. I won't even need roofies this time!
Dorsey: [looks at Adelman] This ain't done, Mr. Hackman. I'll be back tomorrow. [Looks at Barry] No roofies, huh? Damn, I love Hollywood!!
/Dorsey and Barry leave.
Adelman: Holy shit, that was close. Maybe I can get Mr. M.I.T. to send Dorsey back to the D-League. That was a peaceful week. And maybe Morey knows a good bookie out here... hmmmmmm.