[legendsport]

March 3, 1940: Daytona Beach, FL:

"Hoo-whee! Son, you are a big 'un," Possum Daniels said, sizing up the 16-year-old standing before him. He squinted at Rufus and said, "There's no doubt that this here is Joe Barrell's boy."

Roger Cleaves frowned as he stood there with his arms crossed, thinking he'd never forgive his mother for sending him to Florida to spend time with these two geezers, even if one of them was supposedly his grandfather.

"Yep. Been telling him that for months, but the boy refuses to accept facts," Rufus told his oldest friend.

Possum spit in the dirt and said, "Listen here, son. If Rufus tells you something's true, then you can take that to the bank. Your grandpappy's a straight shooter, straighter than a dirt road through the desert, son."

"Dirt road through the desert?" Roger muttered, the grimace still plastered on his face.

"Sure. You think anyone's building a windy road through the desert? Y'all would want that trip to be as quick as possible, right?"

Roger shrugged. He'd never seen a desert. "Sure, I suppose," he replied. That did make some sense, he thought.

"Then that's alright then," Possum added. Then he spit again. "So I hear tell that you reckon yourself a catcher."

"Well, if that means I catch for my high school team, then yes, that's true," Roger said.

"You better hope your face doesn't freeze that way, son," Possum pointed out. "You Barrells aren't what I'd call particularly ugly, but with your face being all twisted up... hoo!"

Roger's frown deepened and he waved a hand at Possum, as he looked at Rufus and said, "I thought you said this guy was going to help me. All he's done so far is confuse me and insult me." He scratched his head and added, "I think."

"Get on over here then, and let's see if'n I can learn you something," Possum said. Roger gave a heavy sigh in the manner only teen-aged boys can handle, bent over to grab his mask and glove and followed Possum out onto the field.

Rufus had arranged this private lesson for his grandson at the Cannons spring training facility. They had limited time - the team would be arriving shortly, a group that included Roger's half-brother Rufus "Deuce" Barrell. The two had a somewhat uneasy relationship. Rufus almost wished Gloria was on hand - Deuce's twin sister had built a rapport with Roger. They'd need to get off the field before workouts began, even considering the fact that Roger's other grandfather just so happened to be George Theobald, the Cannons manager.

Rufus watched Possum work with Roger. The boy had talent, which came as no surprise. He had five uncles who either were playing, or had played, big league ball and his father had been a standout boxer and football player. On his mother's side, his two half-brothers were established big league stars and his grandfather was arguably the greatest manager in FABL history. Roger's sole problem was that he had fallen in with a bad crowd back in New Jersey and both his real father and the man he'd always thought was his father were dead. So he lacked a positive male role model. Rufus wanted to be that, but he was working in Ohio and Roger lived in New Jersey with his mother. So he'd put this together, with the blessing of George Theobald, and of course, Charlotte Cleaves.

Theobald came out and stood beside Rufus behind the cage, watching Possum try to teach Roger the finer points of catching. Theobald had been a catcher himself, and though the game had evolved, he'd been around it for over a half-century. If Roger Cleaves failed to become a pro-caliber catcher it wouldn't be because he lacked for instruction.

"How is your boy Harry enjoying married life?" Theobald asked.

"Oh, I expect he's liking it just fine. Sarah is a fine young lady and Harry is head over heels for her," Rufus said with a smile.

"Sorry I couldn't make it to the ceremony," Theobald said, and Rufus knew it was true - as Possum would have said, George Theobald was also a "straight shooter."

"We know that, George. Did you get your thank you for your thoughtful gift?"

Theobald chuckled. "Indeed I did. It was so nice that, no offense, I knew right away it had been written by your newest daughter-in-law."

Rufus laughed. "I have no doubt that's true," he said. "Harry would be more likely to thank you with a hotfoot than a note."

The two men enjoyed a quiet chuckle. Possum, despite being almost 69 years old, was in a crouch, showing Roger how to block a pitch in the dirt. Theobald shook his head, with a small grin on his face and said, "Mr. Daniels is an amazing fellow. It's quite a shame he never made it to the top level as either a player or coach. I suspect he'd have been a fine manager."

Rufus agreed and said so, adding, "He made a damn fine scout too."

Now it was Theobald's turn to agree, saying, "That's why I immediately agreed to your request to add him to our scouting staff."

"I suspect the newspapermen will soon dub us the geriatric brigade or somesuch," Rufus said.

"Undoubtedly," Theobald replied.

They watched in silence for a few more minutes before Theobald spoke again.

"Is Tom the last Barrell bachelor standing?"

"Yes. He's always been a bit of a tomcat," Rufus said with a small frown. "That's bothered both his mother and me, but it's just how he is. He did have a thing for one young woman, but that didn't work out," he added.

Theobald asked, "How so?"

Rufus gave a humorless chuckle and explained, "She ended up marrying his brother Bob."

"Oh..." Theobald said. "That's right, I had forgotten about that." Theobald had been at Bobby's wedding to Annette.

"Alice and I do worry about Tom. He's had a tough time the last couple of years. Injuries... the thing with Annette... I just feel for the boy. But he seems to be handling it ok. He spends a lot of his time acting as a mentor to one of my grandsons, who lives in Brooklyn."

"That would be James Slocum," Theobald said with a firm nod.

Rufus looked at the old man in surprise. Theobald, noticing this, chuckled and said, "I had my eye on him back in Detroit. Tried to talk the GM into drafting him, but Brooklyn beat us to the punch." James had been drafted in the fourth round, 54th overall.

The workout finished as the first players began emerging from the block-like building that acted as the Cannons' spring training clubhouse, Deuce among them. Someone who wasn't there was Gus Goulding, who had been dealt to the New York Gothams in December. Rufus, privately, had been glad of that. He still hadn't forgiven the youngster for what he'd done to Betsy.

Deuce headed over to the group. He shook hands with Theobald and Rufus, but was pulled into a bearhug by Possum. "You best win twenty games this year, Deucey," the gnarled old catcher told him. "No more excuses now that you have George Theobald and Rufus Barrell to lean on."

"I'll certainly try my best," Deuce replied with a chuckle.

Deuce looked at Roger and asked, "How you doing, Roger?"

Roger, looking sweaty after blocking what had seemed to be an innumerable number of balls in the dirt, replied, "I'm good. How are you?"

"Peachy," Deuce replied, then looked sheepish and said, "No, in all honesty, I feel great this year, Roger." He looked at Theobald, "Hey skipper, you think I might throw a little to my brother here?"

Theobald nodded and said, "Sure, why not? I'd like to see how my grandson can handle catching a really talented big leaguer."

So Rufus and George Theobald watched as Deuce Barrell threw about fifteen pitchers to his half-brother. Both men wore small, knowing smiles.

Afterwards, Roger pulled off his mitt and shook his hand. "Holy sh..." he began then stopped himself, eyeing his grandfathers warily before asking Deuce, "How hard do you throw anyway?"

"Not as hard as Papenfus, but harder than most everyone else," George Theobald replied for him.

"Well, I've never felt anything like that," Roger said, as he rubbed his palm. "I'd like to try to hit against you sometime," he told Deuce.

"Work hard enough and you might get the chance," Deuce told him.

"Bah, none of that," Rufus said. "You come down to the farm next Christmas and I'll make sure you get to play with all your relations, Roger."

Then he looked at Theobald and said, "Heck, maybe we can even get Jack and George to come down for a day or two," meaning Roger's Cleaves brothers, who were both playing for Pittsburgh.

Roger grinned then, for the first time that morning, as if he had finally realized that his newfound family not only wanted him in the fold, but also wanted him to succeed.

.

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