Gotta hand it to that Daryl Morey character.

Somehow, someway, the Houston Rockets’ GM has made it possible to like Dwight Howard again, simply by bringing him to the Houston Rockets.

Dwight was insufferable with the Magic, always whining about calls with blabber coming out of that head that was always too small for his hulking frame. And then, of course, he was even worse with the Lakers, thinking he could just come in and take the throne from Kobe Bryant.

In Houston, there wasn’t gonna be any of that disrespectin’ going on. The Rockets had Dwight working with The Dream. Kevin Freaking McHale was the coach. And Kobe might be Kobe, but James Harden’s beard is a whole other can of worms. Would you mess with that beard?

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Whoa, domino.

We’ve seen it time and again in this year of NBA action, which has looked more like an episode of “E.R.” wrapped inside a scene from “Grey’s Anatomy” inside Nurse Jackie’s scrubs than it has the FAN-tastic exhibition of athletic excellence constructed by now-ex-commish David Stern.

The injury domino effect has wreaked havoc everywhere in real life, wrecking players’ seasons, sending some teams into tank mode while helping other teams tank.

In the fantasy world, the impact of these boo-boos has been equally killer for some owners and the big ones don’t even need to be listed. You all know ‘em.

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Yeah, I think about the Thompson Twins. They sang one of the 1980s most epic cheese ballads. And yeah, I think about the Minnesota Twins, specifically the 1987 Minnesota Twins, who were one of the raddest teams ever, especially on RBI Baseball. And what was the deal with the Wonder Twins? Who decided to come up with superheroes where one could turn into animals and the other forms of water? How is that helpful at all to anyone?

But I never gave the Morris twins’ story much thought beyond, “Hey, that’s pretty cool that twin brothers play for the Phoenix Suns.”

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When the New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl in 2009, it was a great example of how the Sports Karma Gods can sometimes rush in after tragedy strikes to lift a city up and help it rebuild.

But then that was it. No more, said the Sports Karma Gods. Because since 2009, Big Easy sports fans have endured the Sean Payton scandal, the Chris Paul trade, the Hornets changing their name to the Pelicans, the freaking horrible uniforms for this year’s NBA All-Star game and a rash of injuries not unlike the rash Candy Flanders gave me in my sophomore year of high school. Er, ah, moving on.

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There’s gotta be a hardcore Spurs fan in your league, or someone who appreciates the classics, or someone who doesn’t realize that Tim Duncan is 37 years old, or someone who doesn’t care, or, best of all, someone who has been hit hard by injuries and is in dire need of a big man.

Because if you find that dude, you want to offer Timmy D. to him right now.

Duncan has once again defied the odds with near-All-Star numbers. Yeah, he’s scoring a few points less, but his rebounds (9.8 per) and his blocks (around 2 bpg) are right where they have been the past few years.

While these numbers are all fine and dandy, the best power forward of all time is great trade bait because of what he’s been up to lately. Just last week he had a vintage, turn-back-the-clock game with a 24-17-2 at Memphis. After a bit of a rebounding slump, he posted three-straight games with double-digit boards, and just last night he snuffed four shots against the T-Wolves.

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When you think of the Boston Celtics, you think about Larry Bird, Bill Russell, Red Auerbach, the Big Three of 2008, “now there’s a steal by Bird underneath to DJ he lays it in,” eight-straight titles, 17 overall, etc. Somewhere way down on the list, way way below Kevin McHale, John Havlicek, Reggie Lewis, and even Antoine Walker and Dominique Wilkins (yep, he led the C’s in scoring in 1994-1995), you think of Big Goofy White Guys.

Fred Roberts, Greg Kite, Brad Lohaus, Lou Tsioropoulos, Scott Wedman, Brian Scalabrine, Dwayne Schintzious, Mark Acres, Steve Kuberski … the list of useless big men of Caucasian descent who wore Celtic green is endless.

So while most of Boston cursed Danny Ainge for shipping Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce to Brooklyn for three number one picks and a pile of garbage that included Kris Humphries, the move made complete sense to me. Except for two inflated seasons for a worthless New Jersey Nets team, Humphries is the protypical big white man at the end of the bench that has become a symbol of Boston basketball pride.

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DeAndre Jordan is the prototypical Boards-N-Blocks guy.

Of course we want guys who consistently put up double-digit rebound games with a few snuffs sprinkled in. And, yes, we love it if you have the ability to post a 20-board behemoth every so often.

But what makes Jordan the perfect candidate for this space is that he scores like he’s playing golf. When you see a game like the 2-point, 19-rebound, 2-block line he compiled in an epic overtime thriller Friday at Portland, you wonder if he’s actually trying to not put the ball in the basket. Anyone who owns him knows he takes the idea of not scoring to the extreme at the free throw line (where he’s shooting 40 percent). It’s almost like it’s a badge of honor for him.

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Before this NBA season I couldn’t look at Mike D’Antoni without thinking of Cy Tolliver, the second-tier villain on HBO’s “Deadwood.”

But I had no idea that D’Antoni would behave like his fictional doppelganger (played by Powers Boothe) and that he would turn the Lakers into the Bella Union Saloon, a place rife with rigged gambling, card games that end in gunfire, out-in-the-open prostitution and inexplicable frontcourt rotations. OK, maybe just the last thing.

There really seems to be no method to D’Antoni’s madness. Jordan Hill got some serious run at the end November and responded with some double-digit rebound games, so of course coach slashed his minutes down to the high teens by the beginning of December. Around the middle of the month he called Hill’s number again, and the results weren’t surprising: He produced some nice games, including a 21-9-1 on Dec. 16 at Atlanta. Now Hill is starting, but his minutes have been crunched down to around 20 per game.

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It was a mere two weeks ago that we were here, in this very space, talking about the living embodiment of a game of “Q*bert,” Nene Hilario.

We knew it was coming. Nene’s gone all screwy on us again, deciding that his foot hurt and that he would need to “step away.” Wouldn’t it be great to be able to do that at work whenever crap went bad? Eh, hey, sorry I messed up that TPS report boss, I think I’m just gonna “step away.”

The chief beneficiary to this mess is Trevor Booker.  Prior to Nene’s latest hiatus, which began three games ago, Booker wasn’t even listed on the Wizards depth chart.

Yet when Nene did his Nene thing coach Randy Wittman reached to the end of his bench and grabbed the beefy Booker. One of the geekiest-looking players in NBA history was rewarded: In the three games that Nene’s been out, Booker has averaged 16-11-1, including a monstrous 24-12-1 in a near-win against the Atlanta Hawks.

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What if Roy Halladay changed his mind about retiring and switched to pitching left-handed as a means to extend his career? He’d look like someone trying to do the stereotypical “girl throw” and the ball would end up killing a bat boy.

What if Robert Griffin III started throwing left-handed because Kyle Shanahan’s offense stinks and because RGIII just does things differently? Mike Shanahan would turn redder than well, you know, and become permanently frozen with the Anthony Perkins face.

This is why people were sort of baffled when Tristan Thompson decided to switch shooting hands from left to right during the 2013 offseason in an effort to avoid getting his shot blocked.

Is it working? Not really. His FG percentage is down six points from last year.

Do we care? In a word, no.

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