[legendsport]

April 30, 1933: Brooklyn, NY:

Harry Barrell stood, hat in one hand and suitcase in the other, and looked at the address he'd scrawled on a piece of paper in a phone booth back in Knoxville. He gazed up at the large, somewhat seedy-looking building in front of him. Behind him, a horde of kids was playing stickball in the street, their shouts and laughter a fitting soundtrack for Harry's buoyant mood. The big time at last!

He'd gotten the news two days before: the Kings were bringing him up. He smiled as he remembered the scene in the Knights clubhouse.

"Barrell, you must have friends in high places," he heard as he was bent over untying his left spike after a game in which he'd again gone hitless.

He sat up and looked over his shoulder. Knights manager Danny Goff wore a bemused expression on his weathered face. Harry cocked an eyebrow, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Only you would get called up to the big club despite hitting... what is it?" Goff paused and looked up at the ceiling as if deep in thought. Then he grinned and said, "Oh, yes, .062 - that's it. 1 for 16. I had to work that one out on paper, Barrell. No one hits .062, not even old chuckers like me."

Goff's good-natured ribbing had Harry working on a witty comeback when his brain finally caught up and parsed what the manager had said: the Kings had called him up!

He shot to his feet and turned, nearly tripping over his shoelaces. Goff jumped back quickly, laughed and said, "Don't hurt yourself Barrell. You wouldn't want to start your FABL career on the disabled list, would you?"

Harry had been, for the first time he could ever recall, absolutely speechless.

Just about thirty-six hours later, he was standing in front of what the address indicated was the boarding house where his brother Tommy was living. Harry expected something nicer - Tom was, after all, a big league pitcher now. His brother had ribbed him as well when Harry had called from Knoxville asking if he could stay with him, given that Fred was married and Danny had taken an apartment in Manhattan. Tom's boarding house was only three blocks from Kings County Stadium. Harry had walked past the ballpark before heading over to the boardinghouse.

Everything still seemed surreal.

He walked up the steps and knocked on the door.

Harry had turned and was watching the stickball game, wondering on the fun he'd missed out on when his family had moved from Brooklyn to rural Georgia. Harry himself had been born in Georgia, but several of his brothers had spent some time as kids in Brooklyn.

"Yes?" he heard and turned around. A woman who could only be called formidable stood before him. She must have weighed well north of 200 pounds and held a rolling pin in her meaty right hand.

Harry swallowed and said, "Uh... I'm here to see Tom Barrell. I'm his brother, Harry."

The woman looked him up and down as if he were a side of beef or something. "Barrell? He's in 3F," she said.

Harry waited a moment, wondering if she'd step aside to let him in - there was no way he could squeeze past her. Finally, after what seemed a long time but was probably only a few seconds, she did step back and Harry was able to go past her.

He took the stairs two at a time, hearing the woman yell, "No running!" from below. Chuckling because he knew she'd never be able to chase, let alone catch him, he kept right on running.

He skidded to a stop outside a door that read '3F' and raised his hand to knock. Midway he stopped, hearing his mother's voice from within. She didn't sound happy.

He shrugged, thinking it couldn't have anything to do with him and knocked.

The door was opened by Rufus. He clapped Harry on the shoulder and then reached out and pulled him into a hug. "Congratulations, my boy!" he said.

Then he released his son, gave him a level look and said, "Your mother is tearing into Tommy, so I'd advise you to step carefully until she's worn herself out."

"Rufus! Who's at the door!?!" they heard Alice Barrell shout from inside.

Rufus grinned at his son and then turned and raised his voice to reply, "It's Harry!"

"Oh! Well bring him on in, then!"

Rufus stepped aside and motioned with a hand like a doorman. "You heard the lady," he said with a wink.

Harry entered, gave his mother a hug and slapped an unhappy-looking Tommy on the back. "Thanks for letting me stay here until I find a place," he told his brother.

"No problem, Harry," Tom replied.

Alice gave Tom a glare and told Harry, "It's good you're here. It's unlikely your sinful brother will do anything inappropriate with you here," she growled.

"Uh-oh," Harry thought, but wisely kept his mouth shut.

Alice pointed at Tommy. "I've said all I'm going to about your behavior. You will not be seeing that woman - or any other married woman - again. Do you hear me?"

Tom shook his head and mulishly said, "I'm going to do as I please, mother. I may be your son, but I'm 25 years old."

Alice opened her mouth, preparing for another rant when Tommy quietly added, "I think I love her, Mom."

Alice's mouth snapped shut and she closed her eyes. "Oh, lord," she moaned. "This is an untenable situation, young man," she added.

Tommy shrugged and said, "It is what it is and between us we'll work it out. She lives in Detroit anyway and they're in the other league. It's not like I can go running off to see her anytime I want."

Harry noticed a cockroach crawling across the floor. He stepped on it and said, "Uh, Tom? Couldn't we find someplace... nicer to live?"

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The next day Rufus and Alice were on hand to see Harry's big league debut at King's County against the visiting New York Stars. The Stars were the class of the Continental, having won the pennant the year before. But the Kings had vastly improved and on this day, Tommy beat them for the second time on the young season (he had twirled a five-hit shutout a week before over in Manhattan). Harry went hitless, but made several nice plays at shortstop, firing the ball across the diamond to his brother Dan at first base each time. He spent most of the game in deep thought: not only was he playing with three of his brothers with Tom on the mound, Dan at first and Fred behind the plate, but he could not believe how well manicured the playing field was. He was used to minor league fields where the ball took tricky hops. But here... everything was true. He figured he could really get used to this.

After the game, Harry asked Fred about the groundskeeper.

Fred gave him a skeptical look and asked, "What? The groundskeeper? I have no idea," he finally said.

So Harry went and asked the manager. Walt Bailey was smoking a cigar in his office and the fumes nearly made Harry choke, but the manager, a former catcher, caught on where Fred, a current catcher did not. "He's got a little office out behind center field," Bailey told him. "His name's McGillicudy."

Harry, still in his sweaty undershirt and uniform pants, clopped through the tunnel under the stands and found the groundskeeper's office.

The man himself was an aged, bespectacled man wearing thick glasses under bushy eyebrows with a dirt-streaked Kings hat perched atop his snowy hair. He tucked his thumbs behind the suspenders he wore over a purple t-shirt and squinted at Harry. "You're the new shortstop, aint'cha?" he asked.

Harry nodded.

"I mowed her extra tight for ya. Wanna know why?"

Harry nodded again, not even realizing he hadn't even spoken yet.

"I remember you from spring training. You've got good range and a strong arm. If'n I mows her too tall, the grass will slow down the ball. Good for fellas whose range isn't too good. But it makes it easier for the batter to beat out the infield hit, see?" He paused and gave Harry an eagle-eyed look.

"Now, with you having excellent range, I needs to mow her tight. This way the ball scoots across it like a hockey puck on ice... didja know I manage the ice for the Bigsby Gardens too?" Harry shook his head but McGillicudy plowed on without even acknowledging this. "So, the ball gets to ya faster, but ya can throw out the batter all the easier, right?"

Harry nodded again.

"Now... Shadoan, his range ain't as good and Mudd, his range is pretty good. Those boys will just have to adapt, though I can shade her a little higher towards second and third. But I likes my field to be uniform, you hear? So you just gobble up all them balls and I won't have to work so hard to make the other boys look good. You'll do it for me...right?"

Harry bobbed his head in agreement yet again. He felt like he'd just had a masterclass in.... something.

The old man squinted at him again and asked, "Now, did you need somethin'?"

Harry smiled and said, "No. I just wanted to say thank you. That was, bar none, the best field I have ever played on."

The old man smiled and nodded. "That's right nice to hear, my boy." His eyes had a sparkle in them and he slapped Harry on the arm. "I think you n' me will get along just fine... just fine."

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