After dutifully poring over foot-high stacks of statistics, breaking down game films and crunching every number available, I’ve uncovered the reason behind the Wisconsin men’s basketball team’s recent win streak: Freddie Owens’ cornrows.

Uh huh. Those deliciously twisted columns of hair wrapped semi-loosely around Freddie’s skull are directly responsible for the Badgers’ Big Ten resurgence.

Observe.

The Big Ten season opened with the Badgers losing two straight, to Michigan and Illinois, by a total of seven points. Owens’ output: nine and seven points, respectively. When Owens struggles, he tends to get out of control and can’t find the free-throw line. In the two losses: seven turnovers, zero free throws.

The Badgers managed to get a couple wheels back on that proverbial track with wins over Minnesota and Ohio State, but Owens shot 1 for 8 against the Gophers and in scoring only eight points against the Buckeyes, stretched his single-digit scoring streak to a season-long four games.

He was struggling. Long gone was his seven-game double-digit scoring streak to open the season. Despite playing the best perimeter defense in the Big Ten, Freddie’s offensive game was, well, in need of a recharge.

Enter the rows.

With the Iowa Hawkeyes searching the Kohl Center floor for the Wisconsin two-guard with a puffy afro, the Wisconsin two-guard with a set of freshly wrapped rows blew by them and blew up, hitting all five of his shots in the second half. Badgers win 74-61.

In the next game, Owens decided to give the old ‘fro another shot. De-rowed, he played well enough, scoring 10 points on 4 of 6 shooting. Badgers win 69-50. Of course, the opponent was Northwestern, whose basketball team is, astoundingly, worse than their football squad. Maybe Freddie didn’t want to waste the cornrowed goodness against the lowly Wildcats.

Back in the row of things against Penn State, Owens blew up in spectacular fashion, scoring in bunches while using his drive and jumper, finishing with 17 points on 7 of 11 shooting. Badgers win rowing away, 86-55.

In these confusing times, one thing is, thankfully, smack-you-in-the-face obvious: when combined with the right player, cornrows can have otherworldly effects on one’s game.

The “rightplayer, of course, is the operative word here.

Who’s right?

Not Michael Wright, the undersized former Arizona power forward. Drafted by the Knicks, he always projected a clean-cut, cornrow-less image. He also couldn’t jump, couldn’t shoot, and didn’t make it past training camp. Coincidence? Yeah, (W)right.

How about Lorenzen Wright, the big man drafted by the Clippers in ’96? Seven years of ratty rows later, the athletic pivot, unnoticed but not unproductive, is still in the League. Last year, he averaged a career-high 9.4 boards, 6.4 on the offensive glass. Sounds better.

But enough of this. Obviously, the Answer is the answer.

A.I. pointed the spotlight on the burgeoning cornrow craze soon after he came into the League. At Georgetown, probably due to John Thompson’s traditional outlook, Iverson wore his hair as tight as possible. No rows. No nothing. And not half the ridiculously difficult drives and finishes Philly fans faint over almost every contest. Iverson’s game, like his hair, was under control.

A year and a few hours planted in a chair later, a cornrowed Iverson shook up the NBA with his slashing, streetball style and his breakthrough ‘do.

The row revolution had begun.

Infinitely slicker-looking than the short stories Anthony Mason used to get carved into his skull, or those steps above the ears that were once, inexplicably, considered stylish, cornrows say as much as Gary Payton guarding Stephon Marbury. My game — like my ‘do — is raw.

That seems to be the foremost requirement. A little bit of the street. An edge. Without it, no matter how polished a player’s game is, the rows don’t work. Maybe that’s just the caveat: a too-shiny game precludes one from wearing cornrows without getting laughed at. (Just imagine Ray Allen sporting an Iverson-inspired ‘do. I did. I’ve been laughing for three hours.)

Owens’ game is raw indeed, and in the best sense imaginable. Freddie has put in uncounted hours, more than anyone else on the team, to hone his jumper, and it’s showed — he’s shooting 48 percent this season.

But despite his improved shooting, Freddie’s game is still all about the lane: getting into it, through it, and to the hoop. The threat of his lightning-quick left-handed drive is what sets up his much-improved left-handed jumper. It’s a playground style that meshes well with Bo Ryan’s structured swing offense, giving the Badgers the ability to break down defenses right when they think they know what’s coming.

That’s why Freddie was the perfect candidate to be bestowed with rows. That raw edge permeates his game, and he definitely has the necessary swagger to back up his cornrowed style. When he gets hot — and he knows when he’s hot — Freddie’s going to the hole, and he’s scoring. Period.

It’s that confidence that distinguishes great players as much as their cornrows do. And that’s why cornrows fit so well on those with a flashy, street game. The raw game brings attention to itself, and the rows bring attention to the player, who feels compelled to embarrass the opponent with the raw game in order to back up his rows. Confidence breeds cornrows and cornrows breed confidence. It’s a vicious cycle that, in this case, is vicious only to the other team — just ask Iowa and Penn State.

So I say keep ’em in, Freddie. You’ve got some big games coming up.