[legendsport]

Boston, Massachusetts, June 2, 1915:

"Remind me again why I let you talk me into this?" Rufus asked just before lifting his pint and taking a long pull of his ale.

Possum Daniels grinned in the way that only he could and replied, "Shoot, son, you know I'll make a better birddog than ever you did!"

Rufus and Possum were in McGreevey's Pub, across the street from Cunningham Field in the heart of the "Hub" - Boston, Mass. This particular watering hole was one of Rufus' favorite places - a true baseball bar where everyone knew and loved the game. He knew of several others scattered throughout the FABL cities - and even some in Century or Union League towns.

Rufus had let himself be cajoled, wheedled, pestered - pick your verb - by Possum into hiring the former catcher-turned-farm foreman as a scout for the Omni Scouting Association. Even Thomas Potentas was taken aback by the hiring. It didn't help that Potentas' still-delicate grasp of English was sorely tested by Possum's downhome verbal mishmash. With the OSA now a fully functioning business that was turning a steady profit, Rufus could afford to hire a true foreman to run the farm, freeing Possum to do something else. And Alice had perhaps unsurprisingly supported the hiring - Rufus strongly suspected she simply wanted Possum away from the boys where he could no longer influence their speech patterns. It pained Rufus to leave home - his daughter (that took some getting used to) - was growing like crazy and he loved playing with her. They had named her Elizabeth, but called her Betsy and she already had her father wrapped around her tiny pink finger.

The two lifelong friends were in Boston having just visited nearby Cambridge High School where a stellar centerfield prospect named Phil Brothers was starring. This was a test run for Possum as a scout - and Rufus was on hand to audit his friend in person, to see whether this could actually work. While he knew that Possum had a great grasp of the game and an eye for talent, he wasn't sure it would translate to useful scouting reports.

"So, tell me what you think about Brothers," Rufus said as he motioned to the bartender for a second pint.

Possum began swinging his gaze around the room, "They got any grub in here? I've got a hankerin' for some fried okra."

"I don't think they serve fried okra, Rollie," Rufus said with a smirk. "Maybe you could try some clam chowder?"

Possum's eyes narrowed as he asked, "What in tarnation is clam chowder?"

"It's a soup. I've had it before - it's good."

"Soup? How about some hoecake or hush puppies?"

Rufus shook his head. "Rollie, this is Boston, not Birmingham."

Possum screwed up his face in a grimace. "No 'count Yankees don't know from good food," he muttered, adding, "Whoever put fish in a soup? Everyone knows you gots to fry it up in some lard..."

"Well, if you're going to be a scout, you're going to be all over the country, so you'd better widen your horizons when it comes to food."

Possum shook his head again.

"You'll starve if you don't," Rufus said with a grin.

"Aww, shoot, git me some of that there chowder then. I'll try it," Possum said, adding with a smirk, "Cain't be any worse than my daddy's racoon ratatouille."

Rufus, mid-gulp, sputtered and asked, "What!?!"

"Racoon ratatouille. Coon can be a little tough, but overall, it's still... well, it's nasty. Maybe I should write a cookbook? What do you think, son?"

A few minutes later the bartender put two bowls of chowder in front of Rufus & Possum. Possum sniffed it and said, "Whoo, smells like low-tide at Pascagoula, son."

"Just try it," Rufus said and to underscore his point, raised his spoon and ate some.

Possum finally tried it - the dubious expression on his face turning first to one of relief and then finally into a grin. "That's darn good, son," he said as he dipped his spoon back into the bowl.

As they ate, Rufus prodded Possum for a scouting report on Phil Brothers.

"OK, hold yer britches," Possum said as he finished his chowder.

Rufus was amazed as Possum seemingly turned off his "country boy" persona and explained in good, solid scouting terms that Brothers was a legitimate prospect. "Likely he'll be a first round pick in this here draft," he explained.

Rufus had to admit that Possum's impression closely matched his own. When he pointed this out, Possum grinned and said, "Well, shoot, son, that's a'cause I taught you everythin' you know!"

Meanwhile, as Possum had been describing Brothers' play a small group of men had gathered around, listening.

"You guys scouts or somethin?" one of them asked.

"You're darn tootin!" Possum replied with a grin.

A couple of the men exchanged a glance, then one shrugged and asked in a thick Boston accent, "So... you think the Minutemen can beat out those freakin' Eagles this year?"

Possum made a face and asked, "Is that English you're speaking?" and then quickly added before the men could take offense, "Aw, I'm just pulling your tail... Shoot, son, the Minutemen sure do have a chance! Pull up a stool and I'll tell you why...."