Brandon Knight hacked his way through the dense growth of the jungle floor. Slashing with all of his might, his machete cut a path straight through the brush, enabling his feet to tread a path that no human had tread for, perhaps, centuries.
Finally, pushing aside two large palm fronds, he was upon his goal: the Hidden Temple! “No longer hidden!” Knight thought to himself. “They’ll have to rename it ‘The Knight’s Temple!'” Stepping bravely up to the stone archway that was the entrance, he paused to read an inscription. After much consultation with his guidebook on Mayan glyphs, a generous donation from a professor in Bogota, he had deciphered the entire text:
“A SECRET TO BASKETBALL GODHOOD LIES IN THESE HALLS. Q’UQ’UMATZ WILL REWARD YOU; VUCUB-CAQUIX WILL PUNISH.”
A cryptic warning to be certain, but Knight knew well the challenges that awaited him. Francisco Hernández de Córdoba, the great Spanish explorer, had encountered these ruins himself, five hundred years prior, and had left a diary entry of his findings. Knight, in possession of the diary (despite being told by the region’s academics that the diary would never be found), opened to the relevant page.
“October 19, 1517,
I have found one of their temples, with the help of a guide. He tells me that this is a temple erected in reverence to the game of ‘basketball’. The nature of this sport I do not know, but my guide tells me that the wrath of the gods awaits those who enter. Trials of flame and madness. He suggests that I not attempt an excursion into the temple, a suggestion I find myself in agreement with. There is much to discover, and it would do no good to get myself killed.
-F. H. de Córdoba”
Knight closed the diary and replaced it in his pack. Flame and madness, he could risk, for the reward would be eternal glory in the pantheon of mega-deities. Taking out a high-powered flashlight, he took a few tentative steps into the cryptlike structure; not being immediately consumed by wrathful flame, he then proceeded at a more normal pace.
There was no deception in the layout of the hallways. A lone path twisted and turned through the structure, its walls inscribed with colorful writings and murals, untouched by the passing winds of the eras. It was only a few minutes before Knight found himself in the central hall. A raised platform in the center held a sarcophagus of some kind; if there was truly a godly presence in this temple, it would make itself known in this room.
Stepping over the threshold, Knight’s footfall triggered a rush of wind and a crash of thunder. The door behind him slammed shut. “Intruder!” echoed a malefic voice. “You have heeded not the words of the ancients! Suffer now, and may your death come swiftly!”
A burst of flame erupted from the sculpture of a bird to his left. Ducking down to avoid being burnt, he saw other sculptures disgorge their hidden contents; flame, poisoned arrows, rocks from above. But upon the center platform, these torments did not stray. He had to get to the platform.
Dodging and diving, his agility perfected by years of basketball, he made slow progress towards the center. A boulder fell from above him; rolling out of the way, he narrowly avoided being crushed. Some kind of chemical gas clouded his vision, but he shook off its effects and pressed on. A trapdoor below him almost sent him sprawling into a spike-bottomed chasm, but his quick hands enabled him to grab the ledge and pull himself to safety. Crawling underneath poisoned darts flying just two feet above the ground, he finally crawled up on the altar.
All the sculptures immediately went silent. A new voice boomed, “Adventurer! Vucub-Qacuix has left this place, defeated by your valor. Now it is Q’uq’umatz who speaks. Only a baller of highest caliber could have made it past such trials. For your skill and quickness, you will be rewarded. You have gained the right, the kingly privilege, to open the tomb which lies in front of you.”
Knight pried the heavy stone lid off the tomb. Inside was a skeleton, clutching in its hands a piece of hempen paper. Taking the scrap and eagerly deciphering its contents, Knight’s face fell when he finally could read it in full.
“It says, ‘This coupon entitles the bearer to one (1) 36-point game in the NBA. Not valid with any other offers.’ Now, what kind of crap is that? I expected to at least get a talent-boost, maybe be an all-star or something.”
There was no response. The godly presence had vacated entirely from the temple.
Knight put the coupon in his pocket. Turning to leave, he said to himself, “I guess it’s alright. A cool story, anyway.”