James to Embrace Islam and Change Name

 [This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to anyone really is unfortunate]

The Duke of Hurl will be praying five times a day soon in hopes that maybe his newfound deity will provide him with the championship ring that has been eluding the King of Something all these years.

“I’m having a minaret complete with blind muezzin brought over from Bagdad and installed in my living room, next to that pyramid I bought from that Egyptian guy” explained His Hemmoragingmoneyness.

“Just praying once a week, and on Sunday at that, just wasn’t bringing me that ring” continued The Quitter, citing his theory that since his skills on the roundball floor are beyond dispute then his inability to secure himself a championship ring must be the fault of jealous deities.

”I thought they were talking about DTs at first, haha, not deities” cracked The Unenlightened One, referring to Delirium Tremens, an amusing affect alcohol has on his mother, the world famous Whatshername.

Those that believe in reincarnation are citing evidence that The Athlete-Whom-Used-To-Be-Called-James probably was a card cheat or worse in some past life so no rings will be coming his way even if he tries to buy one.

“He tried to buy one, but on close examination it proved to be fake.  It was just a doughnut with a picture of a basketball stapled to it” explained someone close to The Miracle, on condition of anonyminity.  ‘But it fit pretty good so he wore it until it accidently got dunked into some coffee…”

“If this don’t work maybe I’ll try that Mayan thing with the step pyramid and human sacrifice” quipped His Jamesship, referring to that Mayan thing with the human sacrifice, we discovered on condition of anonyminity.

Upon learning that Mayans actually played a game very like basketball over a thousand years ago Our Would Be Hero’s face twisted and scrunched itself into a mass of features that we now recognize as thinking, probably, and He laughed a mighty laugh.

“No way, those Mexicans were too short to play basketball, probably why they went extinct, like the Flintstones” proposed The One Who Didn’t Pay Attention In High School Because He Was Gonna Get A Championship Ring.

So we arrive at the present moment, and the minaret and its occupant are in place.

There are flowers everywhere, and the senses are assailed by beautiful music, delicious odors, and more beards and mustachios than a Hell’s Angel wedding.

The atmosphere in the naming ceremony suddenly seems to change from pious to something more akin to the air in Cleveland, with The Unshriven One shaking his head vehemently, and his mom throwing everybody out of the house and berating them all the way to the door, which is about a half a mile away, so some of them drive.

Once everyone had left, and only about thirty or so of the original posse are present, the ones most trusted, the ones still on the payroll with mandatory stay-after-the-party duties, the Khan of Crap holds forth his wrathful rejection of the new name he was to wear from this day forward.

“What does Hassan bin Copacetic mean in, you know, Arab?” asked The One Whose Name was Hanging in the Balance.

Amid barely concealed chuckles his most trusted Mom said “Better to stick with James, James”

And so the minaret and the blind muezzin were shipped back to Bagdad for only the cost of return shipping, since there was a thirty day trial period at no cost to the consumer, satisfaction guaranteed.

“Maybe a chunk of Angkor Wat and a few dozen chanting monks in yellow robes with get me a ring” joked James, head covered in shaving cream in anticipation of tonsure; prayer beads and size twenty sandals  waiting patiently, artistically arranged next to an unpacked crate of human sacrifices.

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