Thank the lord for Roland Beech and 82games.com.  Otherwise, I really don't know what I would do with my free time.

I went treasure hunting for some obscure Rockets statistics and found the following three to be particularly compelling.

1. Hayes/Scola tandem has much higher effective field goal percentage than Landry/Scola

Really?  We actually produce better on offense with the Chuckwagon instead of Carl Landry?  That's odd.  Perhaps it's due to usage, but you'd still think that Luis Landry, accompanied by Brooks, Battier, and Ariza, would have a higher eFG than .364.

2. The second-most used unit is significantly worse than all the others.

Maybe we shouldn't play our worst unit so often.  Clearly, our defense struggles when Brooks, Hayes, and Ariza are all off of the floor.  Also: collectively, Rockets are better defensively with Dave Andersen on floor than Chuck Hayes.  Weird...

3. Shane Battier has the worst plus/minus on the team, as well as the third-worst Def rating (opponents points per possession while on the floor).

Well, Battier does play a good chunk of minutes and guards the opponent's best player.  But wow - this is pretty stunning.  Then again, +/- is a pretty flawed statistic in many, many ways.

There - your Wednesday fun post is finished.

More photos » by Pat Sullivan - AP

13 days ago: Oklahoma Thunder's Etan Thomas (36) tries to block a shot by Houston Rockets' Chase Budinger (10) during the first half of an NBA basketball game Friday, Nov. 6, 2009 in Houston. (AP Photo/Pat Sullivan)

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Chase Budinger: 6-10 FG (2-4 3pt), 16 points, 3 rebounds, 2 assists and 1 block tonight.

sing it again, rookie beyotch!!!

   
[scene:  Daryl Morey at the office hard at work reviewing box scores, 100 page spreadsheets and his own super-secret player ratings formula.  It's his version of coffee and the morning paper... ]

Daryl Morey:  [looking at the Rockets/Lakers box score]  F--king refs!  How do we not get a single free throw attempt in the fourth quarter on our home court?!?!  F--k!!!

suddenly the phone rings.
[Morey looks at his caller ID - the number is 213-SPORTS-G]

Morey:  *sigh* [answers phone] What do you want, Simmons?  I'm kinda busy right now.

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You'd think the plague of injuries would stop at T-Mac and Yao.  But according to the Sbnation.com box score, it gets worse.

Wouldn't the Adelmans, Dunn, Sikma, and Turner make one hell of a starting five, though?

[scene:  Rockets practice on Homer Simpson's favorite day of the year:  cut day]

Joey:  Oh yeah!  Good day today.  After today, I never have to see the likes of any of you b*tches ever again.

[Joey dunks the ball with no one guarding him... tries to rip the rim off... then glares in the direction of Romel Beck, Garrett Temple and Will Conroy.]

*warning:  language NSFW after the jump*

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Yup, I've got a court date in Houston.  No, not for trafficking drugs or attempted assault on Brian Cook, but instead... for speeding tickets.  Two of them.  And one was in a school zone, in which I was going 39 mph.  One more mile per hour and I would have been a felon.  Would you take me seriously if I were a convicted felon?  I certainly would: haven't we built up some sort of trust in the past year?

Anyway, as you may have noticed, I've been on hiatus for a while, and will be for the remainder of the preseason.  October is a busy time of the year for me in Columbia, and the fact that I can't view preseason games isn't helping anything.  However, come October 28th, when you're looking for a recap of the win over Portland on opening night (knock on wood), you won't be disappointed.  Unless you think my writing sucks.  Then you're out of luck.

I'm starting to get a little bit concerned. 

Pops Mensah-Bonsu played a hell of a good game last night against the Raptors.  David Andersen has showed he's at least competent in the rebounding and shot-blocking department.  Chuck Hayes certainly isn't going anywhere.  The Rockets can't just cut Brian Cook because they'd be eating too much $$$ (though this is an option if Les Alexander can afford the $3.5M hit).  We all know that Luis Scola and Carl Landry are secure in their roles in the Rockets' frontcourt.  And more and more it looks like Chase Budinger is going to stick with the team and continue the great tradition of tall token white guy shooters for the Rockets.

That leaves seven players that would compete for playing time in at the C and PF positions.

That also means a certain Joey Dorsey might be on the outside looking in.  It's already been a topic of discussion among the beat reporters.  Dorsey hasn't been getting regular minutes in the rotation.  Not even in the pre-season.  He certainly didn't get much run last year (his faulty foot injury did not help matters).  Is it really possible that Dorsey gets cut in the next two weeks?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

This may truly put me at a loss for words.  Whose alternate personality could I possibly take over if there are no antics involving the Dorsey Fin to write about?  Pops just doesn't strike me as inherently funny and it would almost seem cruel to have a parody version of Chase Budinger for me to mock incessantly.

I'm crushed.  Maybe I should start a "Please don't cut Joey Dorsey" petition?  Who is with me?

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(The following may or may not be completely fictional.  Like really, really fictional.)

It's the first day of training camp at Toyota Center.  Players enter the locker room jubilantly and greet fellow teammates.  Aaron Brooks and David Andersen discuss pick and rolls while tying their shoes.  Kyle Lowry gives Chuck Hayes a friendly love tap.  Jack Sikma shatters a mirror.

Suddenly, everything turns silent.  Each player stops what he is doing and looks up as Brian Cook walks into the locker room.  He is ten minutes late, and is wearing a shiny new Rolex on his wrist.

"What's up fellas?  Good work day, eh guys?" says Cook with a goofy smile on his face.  Nobody responds.  Cook passes by Joey Dorsey and shoots him a dorky Arthur Fonzarelli smile while nodding his head.  Joey flips him the bird and goes back to his Hustler.

Cook, in trying to get to his locker, accidentally knocks over Brent Barry's Scrabble board.  "Sorry, bro," he says, and walks off, somehow still smiling.  Barry yells, "Drat!" and scrambles to repair the game.  And yes, he was playing himself.

Cook takes a seat in front of his locker next to Luis Scola.  He looks at Luis with a stupid grin on his face.  Scola does not look back.

"Hey Luis - how's it been?  Heard you tore it up for Argentina in the FIBA championships recently."  He tries to break the ice by giving Scola a polite smack on the shoulder.  "That's so tight man, really.  Big time stuff, bro."

Scola gets up and leaves, shaking his head and muttering something in Spanish.

"I gotcha, man.  Gotta get your head in the game.  Game face, bro," says Cook, chunking up a deuce in the process.

Daryl Morey enters the locker room and begins to mingle around with players, simultaneously asking how each is feeling while trying to remember each's SIPP (Successful Inbounds Pass Percentage).  He then spies Cook in the corner and walks up to him.

"Hey, Brian - hope the 3.5 mil is treating you well.  All ready for basketball season?" he asks.  He prevents himself from adding, "Stab any backs lately?" out of general human respect.

"I'm great, Daryl!" says Cook, showing off his Rolex and matching golden slippers.  "I'm in good shape and shooting well."  Morey immediately whips out his Blackberry and Tweets this, hoping other GM's will take notice.

"Good to hear," says Morey.  "Listen, Rick and I have been talking, and we think that, well..."

"What?  What is it?" asks Cook, intrigued.

"We think you should step inside the three point line from time to time."

Cook sits silent.  He then looks around him in all directions, completely petrified.  "Uh...*laughs*....that's a good one, Daryl.  Really, great stuff."  His palms begin to sweat like giant rainforest leaves.

"I'm serious, Brian.  It's time you actually played like you were 6'10 and not 5'10.  We think you can be a very *gulp* effective...rebounder."

Cook grabs Morey by the collar, now sweating profusely.  He shrieks, "Listen, man, that's not why I took that contract extension.  I don't like it in the paint.  I just can't go there.  It freaking scares me, man.  You can't make me go in there.  You can't let me!  I can't do it!"

The entire locker room goes silent.  Morey is shaking in fear, having no idea what the hell could have provoked such a response.  He then whispers to Cook, "Look, it's fine.  I was kidding.  You can ride the bench and chuck up a three pointer every month or so, if you want.  It will all be okay.  Now, can you let go of me?"

Cook looks Morey dead in the eye, his own eyes slowly watering up.  He then loosens his grip, looks down and takes a deep breath, and then looks back up with a hearty smile.  "Nothing going on here boys!" he croaks.  "Just a little chit-chat."

Everyone else shakes their heads, stands up, and walks out of the locker room to practice.  Morey looks at Cook.  "You...you are just a sad, strange little man.  I am going to trade you.  I'll find some genius way, I swear on my brand spankin' new contract I will."  He then turns and leaves to go watch practice.

Cook remains on the locker room bench.  He then bends over, reaches into his bag, grabs his contract, and gives it a nice smooch.  Slowly, he stands up, takes a few warmp-up hops, and jogs out of the locker room, humming "Eye of the Tiger" to himself as if it all actually mattered.