“Oh no!” quoth Oliver Cromwell, Lord Protector of England, head of the Cleveland Roundheads, staring at his television as Lebron James announced his return to the Cleveland Cavaliers. “Again to the Cavaliers! Will the Cavaliers take all our players? Will no one sign with the Roundheads?”

“He goes by the moniker King James upon Ye Twitter,” quoth a friend of Oliver Cromwell. “Perhaps he gleaned that we Roundheads did not like Kings named James. Or named anything else. But especially James or Charles.”

“Nay,” said Oliver Cromwell. “Nay, that cannot be it. I do not understand. Did you tell him about the New Model Army? Did you stress our victory at Naseby? Our triumphs at Dunbar? At Worcestershire? Did you tell him how I dissolved the Rump Parliament?”

“I did,” said Cromwell’s son, Richard. “He giggled.”

“We could try Chris Bosh,” said another Roundhead, frowning.

“Chris Bosh said that our haircuts were stupid,” Richard said. “Also, I think he might go to the Rockets, especially since they traded Jeremy Lin to the Lakers.”

Cromwell bristled. “Our haircuts are not stupid. You tell Chris Bosh that. Also, what is a rocket?”

“I do not know,” Richard said. “I think it is a kind of sorcery?”

I love how often I get to use these images of rocket cats. (AP)
I love how often I get to use these images of rocket cats. (AP)

“Is there something we can do to make the Roundheads more appealing?” Cromwell murmured, beginning to pace around the room. “Without abandoning our Puritan principles?”

“We could have fun?” one Roundhead suggested, timidly.

“Yea!” chimed in another. “How about fun? Fun could be — fun.”

“No,” Cromwell said. “We are Puritans. Fun is off the table.”

“Right,” Roundhead One said. “I guess I should have realized that.”

“We need to strengthen our forces,” Cromwell quoth, smiting something with the flat of his sword. “To battle our foes, the Kansas City Royals. They seek to put another Stuart on the throne of Kansas City.”

“They are a baseball team,” Richard said very quietly. “Baseball and basketball are different.”

Cromwell smote another thing. “I AM THE LORD PROTECTOR!” he bellowed. “MUST WE PURSUE THESE CAVALIERS EVEN UNTO AKRON AND SMITE THEM THERE, as we smote them at Naseby and Monmouth?”

“We can try,” said Richard, wearily.

“Next time he is ready to switch teams,” Cromwell said, sinking back into his chair with an air of decision, “we will stress our religious reforms and our opposition to the monarchy. I don’t know how he can say no to that.”