DRAFT ONLY

(draft #1 ) Michael & The Cricket

June 3, 2026

By: Mr. Fat Hat (a.k.a. Doctor Cricket Dunkenstein)

Topic: Prayer & Faith – Basketball

I remember the first time I heard this sound playing on the video at the top of this page.  At the top on this website page is a call to prayer in Arabic. 

 When I heard it the first time, I did not know what it was, I had no idea what it meant hearing this ‘musical sound’, and I had no idea what I was hearing at that time, nor what that sound would mean to me many years later in my life.

I reflect:

[Current Location – Beach – recalling the first time in Cairo ] / 

I was alone.  It was early morning, still dark, I heard this strange beautiful music, this  ‘noise’,  this call to prayer.  I walked to the balcony of the hotel room.  I looked over the city of Cairo, as far as I could see, tons of houses and buildings were  sprawling out in complete view  from my room… …  .

I was in a hotel in Egypt. 

When I was a young child, I never in my furthest wildest dreams ever thought I would be in Cairo, Egypt playing basketball games.  But that is where I was, when I heard my first Islamic call to pray. It was rising over a city of 11 million people.

…

[ BACK TO The Beach On June 3, 2026 ]

Yes, I was remembering all of those details written above , …  I was trying to decide why I undertook this online website project,  based in the sport of basketball and Victor Wembanyama, in the first place. 

 I was just sitting enjoying the beach trying to regain a sense of balance. that  was lost to the recent overload of work trying to advance this online publication.  I came to the conclusion. The reason was:  Michael & The Cricket,  Michael Jordan and Victor Wembanyama. 

I thought the world should understand how these to people as basketball players were inter woven into the fabric of the game of basketball.

As I sat and sipped my coffee, while on the beach June 3,  I began to recall the first time I heard this sound, ‘A Call To Prayer”.  I was in Cairo. 

I heard both a prayer of calling, and a calling to prayer. 

As I sit on the beach now,  I do not hear a call to prayer in Arabic. But I hear something calling me to pray.

I don’t hear the sounds of the Koran being sung from Mosque.  But, I do hear a smixture of sound at the beach which I believe is coming from the heavens,.

it is:    … 

this orchestra of a storm on the beach,

… to me these sounds are also a call for me to pray.   … what a beautiful sound,

… it was coming from so many different locations , as far as my ears could reach. ]

I remember the time, years ago,  in Cairo on that hotel balcony.   My sense of hearing reached far out in the distance, my sense of sight extended due to my elevation of the hotel room,  the room was on the upper floors , 20-30th floor, above most all buildings, in the sky …

.   I stood outside on the balcony above the ringing of a massive rising sound … …  . The sound was coming from hundreds of different locations.  But it sounded like one united song in verse.   I did not know what I was listening to at that moment.  It was hundreds of calls to pray from hundreds of separate locations, all singing  an Arabic ‘ Call to Prayer”. from the Koran.

I remained on the hotel balcony to listen until mit finished … .

The sun began to appear, slowly. I sat to watch this amazing light,  as it came over the horizon.

At that moment, I had the urge to pray.   I thought … … then at that time, I should pray thanks for the glorious day ahead of me.  I was going to have a wonderful day of multiple basketball games in a preseason warm up tournament. .   

I prayed, something I had not done in a very long time.

I prayed before every basketball game I ever played.   I prayed out loud the ‘Our Father’s Prayer’ before games with teammates on every every formal organized team I played for in my entire life. I was surprised to find this tradition was with these teams long before I had arrived as a player.  I did not initiate the prayer, the team had been doing it for years before I became a player on the team.  of course, in my grade school, High School, University College team, Israel, Germany, Brazil, all the teams … 

 I never prayed to be granted victory before games. 

 I prayed what is called the Lords prayer, and Our Father prayer, a prayer for well being, the health of my teammates, even my opponents – nothing stinks worse during a basketball game than watching a player on any team being dragged off the court with a serious injury –  and I sought a strong will of the heart in  God’s blessings.

I began praying every morning in St. Joseph Catholic Church in first grade.  I prayed every school day until 7th grade.

 I prayed hardest in the St. Joseph gymnasium.  Every time I crossed the basketball gym floor on my way into church service, I prayed to be a basketball player. 

I wanted to be a good basketball player more than anything that I already had in my life with my beautiful family and the good life which had been bestowed upon me since birth.

… one had to go and come from the church through thy gym.  This happened everyday at school.  Church before class, everyday.  Then, Saturday’s free, and back at church on Sunday.  I was taught many things about prayer during those visits to church..

We attended Catholic mass every morning,  I prayed on my knees in church,  every morning of my life, when I was a young child.

…  but as I grew my knees began to hurt, and  as I got older, the Nuns would go nuts when I sat back from kneeling prayers to take pressure off my knees during prayer. 

A slap in the back of my head would sometimes result from this so-called decadent act of prayer defiance by an 11 year old boy, as far as the Nuns considered it. 

I saw it all much differently than the Nuns. 

A Nun would often grab me by the back of the neck and shove me forward to push me back into a full kneeling position,    … … … This was the typical Nun’s response to what they consider this rebellious  ‘devil childish act

I was not being rebellious, but I stood at attention and listen to their lectures and warning after mass.

…  …   I continued my prayers regardless what was said or done to me.  I like going to church.  My prayers were sufficient, what did they know,  … my knees were killing me during kneeling prayer sessions.  I did not care what the Nuns thought.   I knew I was pretty ok with God.  I was good with my family, all seven of them.   I knew that all was good with my parents and siblings or else it would have been openly discussed.  It was true because we ate on every Sunday as a family, more often than not as an extended family of grandparents and relatives.

It was an open festive weekly event, absenteeism was not permitted.   Nobody want to miss the gathering.  All sibling grievances were to be solved, if they made it to the Sunday dinner table, it could be openly discussed by all the adults, and contributing opinions could be entered into the conversation by any child family member upon permission to speak, after the adults. Sunday all ‘the air ‘was cleared.  There were notable exceptions.  They were not to be extended without solution for any great extended period of time.

We discussed everything at the dinners table, politics, religion, anything decent was allowed into conversation. 

That’s what was important to me, prayer  and family.  I had that in all my early years.  Then slowly sports and particularly basketball

Sports was often the topic of family discussions.  Debate on why this not that team won and another lost was open to argument. 

Basketball  became important to … it was very important to me, at a very young age. I loved playing all sports,  I like football.  

… it didn’t matter whether it was on or off my knees,  I prayed to play sports and my prayers were answered regarding basketball. 

I played almost daily from the age of 10 until the age of 31 years.  I played all over the World.  I made money playing basketball.  I paid for my college degree by playing basketball.  I had an unbelievable life of  eclectic education and travel due to my ability of playing basketball. My prayers were completely fulfilled.

I came back to all these thoughts of childhood, as I sat on the beach, June 3, 2026,

I recalled:  We had to walk from the church to the connected school rooms, one had to walk outside, in a strict two row system, in a no nonsense and no Tom  blessed foolery manner. 

 You could also walk through the gymnasium to church, you would cross the middle of the gym floor to walk between the buildings.  I always ask the teacher to go through the gym.  On the way back to class you could often loiter around the school entrance hallway.  There were photos of basketball players from many past years hanging on the wall.  Eventually I learned who those people were and what they had accomplished in education and sports.  Some where Stars in the high school across town, others had even played college basketball. 

My first break in my basketball career was granted in 5th grade.  In all those pictures was the Coach John Costin.  He was a mailman by day and the head and only basketball coach at St. Joe’s  for many decades.  His teams won the CYO League many times,  the pictures on the wall proved his accomplishments. The coach had one team of 7th and 8th grade players.  He invited me to practice sometime during my fifth grade year.  Before long, the only player better than me at basketball was Coach Costin’s son, who was an 8th grader. 

Not long after, without me knowing, Coach Costin had told my parents that he thought I was as good at my age as soon of his previous players and teams were when they played at St. Joe, the guys on the wall pictures. 

I prayed every time we walked to and from church through the gym.

There were nice team photos on the wall at the entrance of the school.  These pictures had championship basketball teams and players  … I wanted my picture on that wall.

He suggested  I attend a summer basketball camp.  My parent were not immediately keen on sending me away to any camp.  However, a comprise was reached,  I would attend the Hoosier Basketball Camp at lake James, only 5 miles from our summer house.  My mother would drive me daily to and from camp, she was not ready to allow immediate over night separation from me.  But I talked my parents into full camp in the second year of attendce.

A mailman set my career into high gear.  He was a great easy going guy who knew how to teach young boys the fundamentals of basketball.  

It’s strange that I remembered all these things about my childhood and my sports career, sitting here at the beach tonight.  I hadn’t thought about it for many years.   It was an answer as to my questions; why would I undertake this crazy project, it’s sucking energy and time from me to the point of complete exhaustion.  That was not the original plan. 

I remember, at a very young age I prayed for God to let me to play basketball. I was blessed

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The school had only seven grades of class teaching.  All those in the photos were athletes, boys and girls, I learned about all those older children basketball players on the wall at school.   

I knew the name of every player, what year they had attended St. Joe, what Championship they had won. 

I wanted God to allow me to be in a team picture of the school basketball team.

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Now, Doctor Dunkenstein is finished …  off back to Pluto. 

I pray during the storm on the beach and came to a suitable conclusion why I was torturing myself with this project, WembanyamaOnline.com