The Ballad of the Brothers Barrell - A Figment Story - Page 12

legendsport · 07-08-2022, 11:43 AM

August 27, 1939: Baltimore, MD:

Furious, Deuce Barrell threw his glove into his locker.

Catcher Joe Rainbow shook his head in dismay while the Cannons' manager, John Lawrence, stepped up next to Rainbow with a frown on his face.

"He's too emotional for his own good," Lawrence told his catcher.

"I suppose I get it - you know how much he wants to beat those guys," Rainbow replied.

Deuce pulled his jersey over his head, not even bothering to unbutton it. He sat down in front of his locker, the jersey balled up in his left fist.

"I get that, but this is just one more game in a long season," said Lawrence.

"Yeah, but us young guys... especially someone like him? We're not used to all this losing, Skip."

Lawrence sighed and said, "I hope none of you boys ever gets used to losing, Joe."

Then he slapped Rainbow on the back and said, "Go talk to him, see if you can calm him down."

Rainbow nodded and took a deep breath. Dealing with what veteran - and lead - catcher Norm Whitney called "the young hot-headed hot-shots" (Whitney's term for Barrell and Gus Goulding) was Rainbow's least favorite part of the job. But Whitney would be catching the second-game of the doubleheader with Brooklyn so Rainbow had caught Deuce in the opener, and now had to deal with the aftermath.

Sidling over, Rainbow sat down beside Deuce. "Perret hit a good pitch, Deuce," he said. At 25, Rainbow wasn't all that much older than the 22-year-old southpaw and still felt awkward trying to play "veteran" with Deuce. Goulding was worse - at 26, he was actually older than Rainbow, though both Lawrence and Whitney had pointed out that Joe was "emotionally" older than Gus, and by a long shot.

"Bull," Deuce replied. He threw his jersey into the locker and added, "I missed my spot and you know it."

This was true - Rainbow had wanted the pitch away and Deuce had caught entirely too much of the middle of the plate. The veteran Perret had not missed, unloading on it for what turned out to be a game-winning home run in a 3-2, ten-inning loss. That the loss came to Brooklyn, where three of Barrell's uncles played, rankled the kid even more.

"Fair enough," Rainbow said. "Yes, you missed and Perret hit it out. It happens."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Deuce snarled. "I need to be better."

Rainbow sighed quietly. The kid wasn't wrong, but he wasn't entirely right either. "I know all this," he said, waving his hand around, "is wearing on you. It wears on all of us," he added quietly.

Deuce nodded. The loss dropped him to 11-7. The Cannons were in the basement - a spot they'd occupied all too often over the past decade or so. Deuce - plus Goulding, and maybe centerfielder Ken Galloway - were rare bright spots on an otherwise lackluster roster. Rainbow wasn't kidding himself - he was an average player, at best. And that was true of most of the Cannons. He privately felt that the skipper had mentally checked out and so had most of the team. Changes were needed. But he couldn't really say all this to Deuce. The kid wasn't mature enough to handle it.

Deuce hung his head and stayed quiet for a moment. Then he turned and looked at Rainbow and said, "I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, Joe. And you're right. The losing... is killing me. And the front office? It's a joke. I mean, we don't even have a pitching coach! I love Norm," he said, meaning Whitney, "but he's not a coach."

"Don't discount Norm too much, Deuce. Yeah, he's a catcher like me, but he's been around the block."

"He's not a coach. Maybe he will be... someday. But we need a real pitching coach, Joe."

"I'll second that motion," Gus Goulding said as he dropped onto his stool. Goulding had the locker on the other side of Deuce's because Lawrence thought having his "hot-shots" next to each other would rub the edges off their tense relationship. Rainbow didn't know quite why, but Deuce and Gus didn't really care for one another.

Deuce snickered and gave Gus a rare, and half-hearted, grin.

Goulding held up a sandwich. "You guys should get some food before Skip eats it all," he said. Lawrence was a notorious glutton, something of a joke amongst the players.

Deuce nodded. Maybe food would take his mind off that one big mistake to Perret.

"Oh, wait!" Goulding said as Deuce began to stand up. "I heard something from one of the reporters."

"Yeah, what's that?" Rainbow asked. Deuce sat back down, but said nothing.

"Rumor has it that old man Banner is looking to sell the team."

Deuce's eyes widened. That old penny-pincher was Public Enemy #1 in his opinion. Nearly anyone else would be an improvement.

"What? That old so-and-so would never," Rainbow opined.

Gus shrugged. "Just telling you what I heard. This guy, you know the one with glasses? From the Daily News?" Goulding never bothered to learn reporters' names, and generally called them "leeches" and other unkind names. Regardless, both Deuce and Rainbow knew the reporter and nodded.

"He said that there's a guy in Cincinnati that wants to buy the team and move us there."

"Cincinnati? What the heck's in Cincinnati?" Rainbow asked.

"What's in Baltimore?" Goulding shot back.

"I don't care where we play, but if Banner's out, then I say we'll be better off," Deuce said. Goulding, who felt the same way, nodded. Rainbow still looked skeptical.

.

legendsport · 07-14-2022, 12:48 PM

September 1, 1939: Washington, DC:

"We sure are going to miss you around here, Mr. Barrell."

Rufus Barrell smiled. It was a sad smile, because in his heart he hoped this day had never come, but of course, time waits for no one and he'd known it inevitably would arrive. He was announcing his retirement later that afternoon. Having just arrived at the office, his secretary Mary was the first to hear the news.

Thomas Potentas burst into Rufus' office, looking both distraught and disheveled. His tie was crooked and his hair was a mess, looking as though someone had been pulling on it. Rufus and Mary exchanged looks of equal parts shock and concern.

"Thomas! What is it?" Rufus asked. Mary was also now staring at Thomas, eyes wide.

In response Thomas spluttered something, a string of words Rufus didn't understand - presumably Polish. Thomas sometimes lapsed into his native tongue when distressed - and Rufus had rarely, if ever, seen his old friend and business partner this upset.

"I beg your pardon?" Rufus asked, his voice practically dripping with concern.

Thomas ran his hands through his hair - proving its state was his doing after all - and then muttered, "I am sorry, Rufus. But the news, it is terrible!"

Mary put a hand on Thomas' shoulder. "What's happened Mr. Potentas?" she asked.

"The Nazis... they have attacked Poland!"

Rufus closed his eyes. Like many, he had feared this was going to occur. For weeks Hitler had been ramping up his rhetoric and once everyone had heard that the Nazis and the Soviets had somehow made a pact... well, it was then that most realized this probably meant war.

"The British and French... they won't let this stand," Rufus told his friend.

"I wish I had your confidence, Rufus, but the Germans..." a tear rolled down Thomas' cheek. "If the west doesn't act quickly, it'll be too late."

Mary continued to pat Thomas' shoulder.

"I must go home!" he suddenly shouted, then added, "I will fight! Yes, yes, that is what I will do!"

Rufus' eyes widened in fright. Thomas... as a soldier? The very idea was preposterous.

But Mary beat him to the punch, saying, "Mr. Potentas, that is a terrible idea. You are not trained to be a soldier!"

Rufus jumped in, adding, "That's right! And it'll take time to get there too. Let's see if the Brits or the French can stop this before it goes too far."

Thomas shook his head. "They won't be able to stop Hitler. They did not stop him in the Rhineland. They did not stop him in Austria. They did not stop him in Czechoslovakia. They will not stop him now. Now... it is war."

The three of them stood quietly for a moment. Then Thomas angrily rubbed his sleeve across his face, wiping away the residue of his tears. "I am sorry. What is it you wanted to talk about, my friend?" he asked Rufus.

Rufus looked uncomfortable. "Oh, it was nothing. It can wait," he said. He caught Mary's eye and she gave a small nod of understanding. Rufus knew she'd cancel the meeting with the newsmen. The papers would have something else to write about today, regardless.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Same day, Baltimore, MD:

The team doctor was looking into Deuce Barrell's left eye. "You having any other issues?" he asked.

"Aside from that bright light hurting my eye, no," Deuce replied.

The doctor stepped back, and Deuce blinked in relief. "You find Amelia Earhart in there, Doc?" he asked with a grin.

"Well, I am glad to see you're in good spirits at least, Rufus."

Deuce sighed and said, "I told you, call me Deuce. Only my grandmother calls me Rufus."

The doctor made a point of looking at his chart. "Says here your name is 'Rufus J. Barrell' so I'll stick with that. What's the 'J' for anyway?"

"Joseph," Deuce replied. "It was my father's name. He didn't want to give me a middle name at all, but my mother insisted."

The doctor gave him a lopsided grin and said, "Well, Deuce, I am happy to report that the only thing wrong with you is," he paused for dramatic effect and said, "color-blindness."

"Color-blindness?" Deuce asked, with a dubious look.

"Yes indeed," the doctor replied. "It's fairly common and nothing to be overly concerned about. It's not contagious," he finished and winked.

"Well, shoot..." Deuce said. "Gloria was right."

"Gloria?"

"Yeah, my pain-in-the-butt sister Gloria. She's been telling me I'm colorblind since we were kids," Deuce explained unhappily. He really didn't like seeing his twin sister be proven correct about anything. She had a tendency to rub it in.

There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. Gus Goulding's head popped into the frame. "You guys hear? The Germans went and invaded Poland. Radio says the English and French are thinking about declaring war on the Nazis."

The doctor harrumphed then slapped Deuce on the knee. "Well my boy, you might just end up being extremely lucky."

Deuce was perplexted. Gus, intrigued, stepped into the room. The doctor chuckled at their looks of confusion.

"Well, if there's a big dust-up in Europe, you can bet dollars to donuts FDR will find a way to get us into it. And that'll mean young men like you two could end up swapping those baseball duds for olive drab. But...."

"But what?" Deuce and Gus asked almost in unison.

"But... color-blindness, at least in the last war, was grounds for a deferment from the draft. So you, my boy," he slapped Deuce on the knee again, "might just have gotten a 'get out of the Army free' card."

"Huh," Deuce said.

.

legendsport · 07-15-2022, 12:25 PM

September 7, 1939: Lincoln, NE:

"C'mon, Jim! Let's go son!"

James Slocum closed his eyes briefly, trying - unsuccessfully - to tune out the voice. It wasn't a heckler, which somehow made it possibly worse.

James was somewhat used to having things shouted at him. Most people knew him as Powell Slocum's son, or guessed at it simply because of his name. He'd long-since given up on trying to explain the not-all-that-complicated truth of the matter. But having his own team mate yelling at him, albeit encouragingly, irritated him for some reason.

He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and stepped into the batter's box. Out on the hill, the pitcher for Lincoln Legislators gave him a cock-eyed grin. He - and everyone else in the tiny bandbox of a ballpark - heard the yelling.

James, frustrated, waved a hand at the dugout. For his efforts he got another, "C'mon, Jim!"

The person doing the yelling was Rufus Daniels. Because he was the son of Roland "Possum" Daniels, he was something like family to James, whose grandfather was Possum's long-time best friend. James had heard - ad nauseum - a string of tales from Rufus Daniels (named for James' grandfather) about young Possum and young Rufus "back in Savannah" (which Rufus pronounced "Savann-ee").

On the mound, Danny Goff Jr.'s smirk got wider. His father, Danny Sr., was a coach on the staff of the Brooklyn Kings - the team that James' adopted father, the aforementioned Powell Slocum, just happened to manage.

"Any chance you can get Goff to actually throw a pitch?" James muttered at the catcher. For his part, the catcher (a guy named Gidge Sumpter) just spit through his mask, splattering the plate and earning a "Hey!" from the umpire, who'd have to dust it off.

Apparently Sumpter found time between spit takes to actually flash some signals because James saw Goff nod and go into his windup.

James knew team mate Bob Hardin was dancing off first base, hoping to distract Goff enough to knock his concentration off-kilter. The pitch came in, fast, straight, and best-of-all, right over the heart of the plate. James, his left-handed swing honed over long hours by Powell, uncoiled a mechanically perfect swing and ripped the pitch into the gap between the right and center fielders. As he busted it out of the box, James saw Jim Madsen, the centerfielder, begin running and knew the ball was going to get past him. James wasn't blisteringly fast, but he wasn't slow either. He was nearly to second base before Madsen grabbed the ball and so didn't even hesitate going around second. He slid into third easily with a triple, the ball arriving at least a full second after his spikes hit the bag. He stood up, grinning, and dusted himself off.

From the dugout, now safely across the diamond, James could hear Rufus Daniels yelling some more. But now he just took it in, and basked in it a bit.

The game ended up being a wild, 12-9 win by James' Springfield Hustlers. Goff was knocked out in the seventh, having retired no one in that frame. James ended up 2-for-6 with the triple and an RBI. Rufus Daniels, playing center to James' left field, talked all through the game, even in the outfield, but he also went 2-for-4 with both hits being doubles and drove in four runs. That was a bit of an outlier - James knew that while he himself (currently hitting .308 and having risen from Class C, to Class B and now A-ball in the same season) was a longshot to someday make the Brooklyn Kings, Rufus was an even longer-shot. Daniels was hitting just .241 and at 26 his prospect days were now long behind him. James himself was just 19 and presumably had his best years ahead of him.

"So how come you all is going to college?" Daniels had asked James when the latter had arrived from Class B Tampa.

"I'm trying to get an education so I can do something with my life if baseball doesn't work out," James replied.

"What do you mean by that?" Daniels asked, seemingly genuinely curious.

"Well," James began, deciding to be diplomatic given that Rufus Daniels was almost certainly never going to make it to FABL, "I'm looking out for my future in case I don't make it to FABL."

"Not make it? Shoot, son, you're baseball royalty," Daniels had said earnestly.

James laughed and said, "I don't think that matters, Rufus, even if I thought it was true. Which I don't."

"Well... your pappy is Powell Slocum, the best dang hitter what ever lived, and your grandpappy is Rufus Barrell, what knows every muckety-muck in the whole dang sport."

"Yes, and none of that matters if I can't produce on the field," James explained.

Daniels plainly didn't believe it, but he changed tacks. "What's this I hear about you flyin' around in aeroplanes?"

James smiled and nodded. "Yep, I'm a pilot. Just like my father was."

"Powell was a pilot?"

James sighed and shook his head. This wasn't going to be easy. "No, Powell is not a pilot. My actual father, Jimmy Barrell - he was a pilot."

"Ah, right. I plum forgot, sorry."

"That's ok, it happens all the time actually," James explained. "Because Powell adopted me and my legal last name isn't Barrell any more."

"So... you going to go to school here in Springfield?"

"Sure am. Lincoln College."

Daniels whistled and said, "Hoo boy, that's fancy!"

James blushed a little and shrugged. "I don't know about that."

Daniels squinted one of his eyes and James nearly laughed at the sudden resemblance to Possum Daniels. "You reckon they'd take me on?" he asked.

Now James really did almost laugh, but knowing that might hurt his team mate's feelings, he shrugged and said, "You could always ask. You did graduate high school, right?"

Daniels scratched his chin and said, "Yup. My ma made sure I did. My pa, he never finished, and said if'n I was going to be a ballplayer it didn't matter none. But ma made sure I went."

James nodded. "Good, an education is important - my grandfather Rufus told me that, and I'm a firm believer."

And so Rufus Daniels ended up enrolling in classes at Lincoln College. James was surprised, but also happy. There was more to life than baseball, after all.

.

legendsport · 07-29-2022, 02:59 PM

October 9, 1939: Washington, DC:

Rufus Barrell walked into his office, after waiting a second to allow his wife and his sons Dan and Fred to enter first. Then he stepped into the familiar room, one that had been his office for the better part of two decades. He took a moment to peruse his surroundings. The wood-covered walls, themselves dotted here and there with photos of Rufus with various people, a veritable who's who that ran the gamut from people he disliked (Charles Bigsby) to those he tolerated (William Stocksdale) to those he admired (Franklin Delano Roosevelt).

He turned and closed the door. When he turned back, he saw Alice and Dan standing in front of his desk, looking back at him - Fred was looking at some of the photos on the wall. Alice had a thin smile on her face - Rufus knew she had long been looking forward to this day and was hiding the full-fledged grin she probably wanted to be wearing. Dan, on the other hand, looked nervous, rubbing his hands. This office was now Dan's office, and Rufus also knew that his son had doubts about his ability to run the Scouting Bureau. Doubts Rufus himself did not have about Dan, but remembered having about himself all those years earlier.

"That's done," Rufus said, his voice thick with emotion. Alice gave the barest of nods. Dan just stood there looking as if he'd been poleaxed. Fred stood looking at one photo, his hand cupping his chin - a pose all-too-familiar to Rufus, who did the same when thinking.

Rufus, though he had long dreaded this day, now felt an odd sense of relief. It was done and he could go home to Georgia and.... well, he admitted to himself he didn't know just what he'd do with himself. Alice would no doubt have some ideas in that area, however.

The last month had been tough. Thomas Potentas, who was supposed to be showing Dan some of the intricacies of the business-side of the Bureau was instead glued to the radio, listening to the bad news from Poland pile up. When the Soviet Union had invaded eastern Poland on September 17, Thomas had nearly gone mad, his anger, frustration and fear for his relations in Poland almost too much for him to bear. Now that the Polish government had fled and the Nazis and Soviets were busy carving up the nation between them, Thomas had retreated into a bluntly forlorn and stubbornly formal shell of the genuinely kind and friendly man he had always been.

The 1939 baseball season hadn't been kind to the Barrells either. The Brooklyn Kings, after three straight pennants (and a 1937 WCS win) preceded by a pair of runner-up finishes, the bottom had fallen out and the team tumbled all the way to seventh place. Harry had played well, hitting .318, but the team's biggest star - Al Wheeler - had the worst season of his career. Freddie had been subpar as well and the team had dealt veteran 3B Frank Vance and pitcher Joe Shaffner to Detroit, all but waving the white flag. Tom had suffered a shoulder injury that ended his mediocre season in July. Over in the Federal, Bobby's Keystones hadn't fared all that well either, finishing seventh in their first season without Rankin Kellogg whose health issues had forced him to retire. Bobby's numbers were respectable, but he had told Rufus that his power was still not all the way back as the effects of his gunshot wound continued to plague him.

"Praise the Lord," Alice said, breaking the silence after Rufus' statement.

"What are you so intent on Fred?" Dan asked, as he walked over to stand beside his brother.

"This picture... that's Ward Clevenger, isn't it?" Fred asked, turning to look at his father. Dan peered at the photo, not recognizing the tall, athletic-looking man standing beside Rufus. Both men held baseballs up as if offering them to the photographer and Clevenger (if that's who the guy was) might have had a larger smile than the one on Rufus' face - and that was saying something.

"Oh?" Rufus asked, snapping out of an apparent reverie. He peered at the photo without moving from the doorway. "Yes, that's Clevenger," he answered, the response sounding almost like a question itself.

"Who's this Clevenger fellow?" Dan asked. He had worked hard in his time at the OSA, worked on getting to know some of the many power brokers around the FABL. His purview had been much smaller in Brooklyn. He'd only had to worry about his GM, the skipper and his team mates - but mostly took care of himself and kept an eye on his brothers (especially Harry, who seemed to attract trouble as naturally as drawing breath).

Fred answered before Rufus could. "He's in the State Department. I believe number two, now."

Dan looked at his brother as if he were speaking a foreign language. Fred had studied several languages at Georgia Baptist, but though the words were certainly English, Dan had no idea why Fred knew who the "number two man at the State Department" was.

"State Department?" Alice asked, as she too walked over towards the picture.

"Yes, Fred, why the interest?"

"Where was this photo taken?" Fred asked, apparently deciding to ignore the "why" for the moment.

"Congressional baseball game. Clevenger was in the House at the time," Rufus replied then asked again, "Why?"

Fred rubbed his chin again. "You two retiring," he said, pointing to first Dan and then Rufus, "has me thinking about the end of my career."

Dan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "And you want to be, what? A diplomat?"

"Is that so hard to believe?" Fred shot back defensively.

"Honestly? Yes, it does. You're a ballplayer Freddie."

"Well, someday I'll be an ex-ballplayer and we can't all take over the OSA, now can we?"

Now Dan looked defensive, but before he could open his mouth to reply, Alice broke in. "Stop it, you two."

Both Dan and Fred looked abashed, and Rufus almost chuckled at the memories it brought back of Alice snapping the boys back in line with a few words all those years ago.

"Well, I think it's fine that Freddie is thinking about his future," Rufus said, and stepped up to pat Fred on the back.

Dan still looked skeptical. "Can you still speak any of those languages you studied back at Baptist?" he asked.

Fred nodded. "Yes, although German is probably my best. I practice on Claudia... it's nice having her in Brooklyn and since she's married to the skipper, I see her all the time. My Italian is still passable. French too. Latin? I've never used it, and probably never will."

Dan's mouth twisted - he apparently still didn't think much of the idea. "I just can't see you talking to ambassadors and diplomats, Fred. I mean... you're a catcher!"

"Hey, that 'tools of ignorance' stuff is a bunch of malarkey and you know it Dan!"

Dan was about to reply when Alice again chided her sons, this time adding, "Let's stop the bickering. Today is a tough day for your father."

They all turned to Rufus. Surprisingly, Rufus didn't look upset at all. He was smiling. "You should talk to Potentas, Fred," he said. "He knows more languages than you do!"

Fred laughed while Dan shook his head and Alice simply looked at her husband and sons, a mix of amusement and frustration on her face.

.

legendsport · 08-05-2022, 11:43 AM

October 29, 1939: Egypt, GA:

Rufus Barrell, retiree. While accurate, that particular moniker was still sinking in as Rufus walked back to the farmhouse. His dog, Blue (the fourth... or was it fifth? Or sixth?... in the series of 'Blues' the Barrells had owned since moving to Georgia from Brooklyn) was tugging on the leash, eager to get back inside and see what Alice was cooking. Blue the Fifth (or Sixth) was only on a leash because he was still little more than a pup and still rambunctious.

"Slow down, boy, I'm not as spry as I used to be," Rufus said. And it was true. He had never really given much thought to his advancing age; part of him believed this was because his job kept him active. Now, less than three weeks into his retirement, he suddenly felt old. And useless. That part he wouldn't admit to anyone, especially his wife.

He walked up the steps slowly, his knee and hip sending his brain brief but noteworthy signals of pain. He bent over with a small sigh, unclipped the lead from Blue's collar and swung open the screen door. The dog shot through the opening as soon as it was large enough and rocketed towards the kitchen. Rufus followed at a much more leisurely pace.

Alice was frying bacon and as Rufus entered the kitchen he saw the coon hound had already seated himself at her right hip, his head tilted up with hopeful anticipation.

Rufus sat down at the table, a small but audible grunt punctuating the procedure and drawing a look from his wife. "Your hip?" she asked, turning back to the skillet before he answered.

"Yep. Been bothering me a lot lately," he replied.

"Arthritis. You should go see Doc," Alice suggested.

Rufus groaned. The last thing he wanted was to go for some poking, prodding and unwanted advice. Alice shot him another look, this one of annoyance. "I know, I know," Rufus said.

The phone rang. Rufus wondered who would be calling this early. They had only recently had a phone installed in the kitchen, more a nod to their advancing age than a matter of simple convenience. Having an "extension" in the kitchen meant not having to go all the way into the sitting room to answer the phone.

Rufus rose slowly and got to the phone as the second ring was still echoing in the kitchen.

"Hello?"

"Rufus, y'all have a long distance call," he heard the operator say. Egypt being such a small town, it still had an operator. Rufus had grown somewhat accustomed to the "automatic switching" that allowed direct dialing in Washington. But he'd known Doris Delacroix for decades. "Put it through, please Doris," he replied and added a "thank you."

There was a click and then he heard, "Rufus? This is George Theobald."

Momentarily taken aback, Rufus wondered why the legendary former manager was calling. He had a sinking feeling it was related to their shared grandson, Roger Cleaves.

So he was surprised when Theobald said, "I want to offer you a job."

"Beg pardon?" Rufus asked, so stunned he couldn't come up with anything else.

"I want to offer you a job," Theobald repeated.

A job? Theobald was a minority owner of the Detroit Dynamos, but Rufus knew that Dynamos owner Powell Thompson, the younger brother of the recently-deceased "Big Eddie" Thompson, had taken an iron grip on personnel matters.

"A job? I just retired, George," Rufus pointed out. Alice turned and stared at him, a frown on her face.

"Oh, I'm aware of that. But I think you might want to hear me out."

"OK, I'm listening," Rufus replied and saw Alice's frown deepen into a disapproving scowl. He shrugged and gave her a small grin. She shook her head, plainly displeased.

"How would you like to be my scouting director?" Theobald asked.

"I thought you just hired Dutch Forrester?" Rufus replied. The Dynamos had recently hired Forrester to be their top scout. Rufus thought he was a bit pompous, but Forrester was a good scout.

There was a moment of silence. Rufus was starting to wonder if Theobald was still on the line when he finally heard the other man say, "So you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"I'm no longer with Detroit, Rufus," Theobald said. He went on to explain that the new owner, the younger half-brother of Big Eddie (who had been George Theobald's best friend), had managed to reduce Theobald's share in the club. Theobald described, with evident pain, Powell Thompson's stated opinion that the "game had passed him by" and it was time to leave it to "younger and smarter" men to run the team. Thompson was all too happy to buy Theobald's share in the Dynamos and significantly less happy when he got wind of what Theobald did next.

"I partnered up with John Tice," Theobald explained.

"Tice? The guy in Cincinnati who wants to buy the Cannons?" Rufus asked.

"Yes, and this is part of what you haven't heard," Theobald said and then explained, "The deal is done. Banner and Tice are having a press conference with Sam Benton in DC to announce it. The Cannons are moving to Cincinnati, and I'm going to be both part-owner and manager."

Rufus whistled. He hadn't heard that the deal had been made, though rumors had swirled for months that Oscar Banner, the Baltimore Cannons owner, was unhappy with his club's dismal performance and was ready to get out of baseball entirely. John E. Tice, the grandson of old James Tice, who had been such a thorn in the side of William Whitney as the owner of the old Cincinnati Monarchs. The grandson ran a soap company - and ran it well - and had money to burn. Money enough, apparently, to buy both the Baltimore Cannons and Monarchs Field in Cincinnati. Rufus knew Sam Benton had been opposed to having a team move - something unheard of in FABL. But it had happened.

"I want you to be the Cannons scouting director," George Theobald repeated.

"Why me?" Rufus spluttered.

"I need a man who can help bring in good players, starting from the very bottom with the youngsters and going all the way up the chain. You've been scouting so long you already know every player in the organization, top to bottom. And I need that because this team is a real mess. Plus you happen to know one of our key players very, very well."

"I'll do it," Rufus said firmly. He heard a crash and turned to see that Alice had dropped the skillet she had been carrying to the table. Bacon and grease were strewn across the floor - Blue leapt upon the unforeseen opportunity (the doggy equivalent of winning the lottery) and was happily snapping up bacon while Alice stood staring at her husband.

"What was that?" Theobald asked.

"Uh... that was my wife's reaction to me taking the job," Rufus said sheepishly.

"Oh," Theobald said. His wife was long dead, but he'd been married long enough to know what to do. "I will let you go. Call me when you have some time to discuss details."

Rufus thanked him and hung up.

"What have you done!?!" Alice shouted at him.

"I'm going to work for the Cannons," he said.

"The Cannons? But that's where Deuce..." Alice said, the biting tone gone from her voice.

"Exactly," was Rufus' smiling reply.

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legendsport · 10-13-2022, 11:40 AM

January 1, 1940: Detroit, MI:

"I'm surprised you made it this morning," Jack Barrell told his brother.

Rollie Barrell smirked, but his bleary eyes told the true tale. "I'm tougher than I look," he said.

"Obviously," Jack replied with a wry grin.

He cut into his steak, then cut a piece of egg with his fork and shoveled both into his mouth, while Rollie watched, looking a little green around the gills.

"I don't know how you can eat that stuff this morning," Rollie said.

"Bah," Jack muttered as he chewed. After swallowing he added with a twinkle in his eye, "I too am tougher than I look."

Despite his groaning headache, Rollie laughed. He definitely had imbibed more than was prudent the night before, and was feeling the after effects this morning. He looked down at the fruit plate he'd ordered for breakfast.

"Francine read you the riot act this morning?" Jack asked. Jack and Marie had joined Rollie and Francie for a New Year's bash hosted by Rollie's Detroit Maroons football club. Jack had come directly from the arena where his team had downed the visiting New York Eagles by a 4-1 score. Surprisingly, even the normally taciturn Detroit Dynamos owner Powell Thompson had put in an appearance. Thompson owned the ballpark where Rollie's team played and the arena where Jack's played. He was also a partner in Jack's team and so nominally, one of Jack's bosses. Thankfully, from Jack's standpoint, Thompson stayed out of hockey.

Rollie chuckled and shook his head, thinking about his wife. "She couldn't. She's got her own hangover to deal with," he said. "Marty, on the other hand, did give me a lecture."

Jack laughed as he cut another piece of steak. "Ah yes, teenaged daughters. Now that's something with which I have some experience of my own," he said before adding, "I don't say I understand them because I certainly do not, but I certainly have experience."

The brothers shared a knowing look. Rollie's daughters were 16 and 9. Jack's were 20, 16 and 10 - only 17 days separated Rollie's Martha and Jack's Jean while only six months separated their youngest daughters Alice (Rollie's) and Vera (Jack's).

"How is Agnes handling college?" Rollie asked.

Jack's eldest daughter Agnes was actually the daughter of their late brother Jimmy, but Jack was the only father she'd ever known and no one outside the family even knew he wasn't her father. She was in her second year at Bigsby College in New York. She had chosen it to be near her half-brother James, who lived in Brooklyn with his mother Claudia and adoptive father Powell Slocum when he wasn't playing minor league baseball.

"She's doing very well," Jack said. "She likes being around James. With two younger sisters, finding out she has a brother nearly the same age has been a welcome change for her. She's a smart one too. Must get that from Marie, because you know Jimmy was no genius."

Rollie smiled - Jimmy had been closer to him than to any of the other brothers. "Oh... you know Jimmy was smart enough, what he lacked was common sense."

"Well, it certainly is true that he often leaped before he thought about the consequences," Jack replied, shaking his head as thought about Jimmy's reckless nature.

"That's true. The same could be said of some of the rest of us..." Rollie pointed out.

"You don't mean me, do you?"

"Nah... I mean, don't most fifteen year olds run off to Canada to live with their grandmother so they can play hockey?"

"Hey, that worked out quite well, thank you," Jack pointed out.

"True," Rollie said. He popped a bit of melon into his mouth, forcing himself to swallow it before continuing, "Speaking of which, do you think you can win the Cup again this season?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, we need to stay healthy, but I feel like this team might be better than last year's. Certainly Miles Barfield looks like he's taking the next step." Barfield, a right-winger, was the Detroit Olympians' best player.

"You know, I would never have pegged you as the coaching type. But you've done a great job."

"That a backhanded compliment? I wish I could say that I never saw you as a front-office type, but that'd be a lie," Jack replied and chuckled.

"You were always better with numbers than the rest of us," he added.

Rollie nodded. He and Jack shared a look - they were both thinking of Joe, who had treated school as if it were a communicable disease. They smiled ruefully, each realizing exactly what the other was thinking.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Jack asked.

Rollie's brow furrowed. "A suggestion? Sure."

"Make Dewey Burnett your primary passer."

Rollie sat back, perplexed. His team, the Detroit Maroons, had suffered through a bad 1939 campaign, finishing 5-6 despite having arguably the best pass catcher in history in Stan Vaught. Burnett was a tailback and Vernon Flowers, the incumbent passer, had a very solid track record.

"What makes you say that?" Rollie asked.

"Well... I've seen Burnett throw the ball. He's got better touch than Flowers. And a stronger arm. Vaught is your best weapon, and I think Burnett as the primary passer gets more out of him." Jack shrugged and added, "Just my opinion. Talk to Frank Yurik, see what he thinks." Yurik was the team's coach - and he was pig-headed, but Rollie put up with him because he was also an outstanding football coach.

Rollie thought for a moment. Jack was an ex-player in the AFA and he knew football nearly as well as he did hockey. Rollie himself had always been impressed with Burnett's athletic abilities. He wasn't a scout like their father or brother Dan, but had always felt he had an eye for talent. And he realized that Jack might be right.

He nodded, "You might be right. I'll talk to Yurik when he gets back from California." Yurik always went to Los Angeles at season's end. He claimed it was for "scouting purposes" but Rollie knew better. For one thing, no one was playing football in January, even in LA. Yurik just like to escape the Detroit winter, even though he was a native.

Burnett to Vaught? Rollie knew something had to change - 5-6 was not the standard to which he'd become accustomed to his team playing.

legendsport · 10-14-2022, 11:10 AM

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.

.

.

legendsport · 10-18-2022, 08:27 AM

June 14, 1940: Brooklyn, NY:

Gloria Barrell glanced at her watch as she stood outside the single, unadorned door that she knew led into a tunnel-like hallway inside Kings County Ballpark. At the end of that hallway was a door leading into the visitor's clubhouse. The clubhouse where her twin brother was likely breaking something after losing to the Brooklyn Kings by a score of 3-2, a walkoff win that surely stung her brother's pride. It was nearing six o'clock and though she stood in the shade of the massive wall of the ballpark, it was warm, almost uncomfortably so.

Gloria waited in a clump of people, most of them friends and family of Cincinnati Cannons players and staff. Gloria recognized most of the faces around her, and knew there wouldn't be many fans - the Cannons were not much loved outside of Cincinnati and their Baltimore days were not exactly far in the distant past.

"Gloria! How are you?" she heard from behind her. Startled out of her reverie, she turned and saw her cousin Agnes shouldering past an older woman who threw her an annoyed look. Agnes didn't even notice.

"Hi, Aggie! I'm fine. What are you doing here?" she said. Then she lowered her voice and pointed out that Agnes had just nearly run over the wife of pitching coach "Big George" Johnson.

Aggie shrugged. Either her time in New York as a student at Bigsby College was changing her, or she was just channeling the "full-steam-ahead" mentality of her hockey-playing father Jack.

"I'm here to see you," she said and then added as an afterthought, "And your brother of course."

Gloria chuckled. She knew Aggie thought Rufus, or "Cousin Deucey" as she said in her inimitable nearly-French accent, was a hot-headed blowhard.

"You, erm, weren't at the game, were you?" Gloria asked.

"No, I was working."

"Working?" Gloria didn't know her cousin was a working girl.

Agnes waved a hand dismissively as she said, "Papa said I could only stay in New York if I found some, as he put it, 'worthwhile employment' to help pay for it. Mama, naturally, agreed with him." She shook her head and finished, "So I am a secretary at a publishing house."

Gloria found herself a bit jealous. She was living with Deuce, charged with keeping him "on the straight and narrow." Now she discovered that she found the thought of having a "real job" exciting. "Oh, that sounds very interesting," she said.

Aggie barked a short laugh and shook her head. "It isn't," she said. "Interesting, that is. What it is, is tedious. And the man I work for is like an octopus, if you know what I mean."

Gloria's eyes widened. "Well, I hope you put him in his place," she said.

"Oh, I certainly don't encourage it," Aggie told her. "But I need this job."

Gloria shook her head. "I could mention this to Deuce...." she said.

"No, no, no, I don't need any help," was Aggie's response. "Besides," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye, "I could always introduce Papa to him. He'll be in New York for a visit next week."

Gloria grinned, knowing that her uncle Jack was, despite being in his forties, still an imposing man who'd made a living playing not one, but two, physical and sometimes violent sports. Much like Gloria's father who had always exuded a quiet, but palpable sense of physical menace.

"Excuse me, ladies, is this the visitor's clubhouse door?" asked a voice. Gloria saw Aggie's face as her eyes shifted to the man who had spoken, a man Gloria couldn't see because he had approached her from behind. Aggie's wide-eyed look made Gloria turn around quickly.

Behind her was a man in a shining white uniform, obviously a naval officer. Gloria immediately appreciated her cousin's reaction, the man was good-looking in that sort of boy-next-door kind of way. Gloria herself had always been more interested in the rough-and-tumble sort, something her mother said was "looking for a man like your father." Joe Barrell had certainly been rough-and-tumble (and then some).

"Yes, this is the visitor's clubhouse," Gloria said, shooting a frown at Agnes, whose mouth was open as she stared.

The man either didn't notice, or was nice enough not to say anything. He stuck out a hand and as Gloria looked down, thinking "ah, a modern mindset" he said, "My name's Bill. Bill McCullough. My brother Charley plays for the Cannons."

Gloria shook his hand, giving him a firm grip that she hoped said, "I'm no delicate flower."

"I'm Gloria Barrell. My brother Rufus is a pitcher for the Cannons, and I know your brother."

Bill McCullough laughed, "Oh, yes, I've heard all about Deuce. My brother says they're fast friends."

"That they are," Gloria said with a smile. She glanced at Aggie who was still staring. "This is my cousin, Agnes Barrell."

Bill thrust his hand out again and Aggie shook herself out of her... whatever it was... and shook his hand.

Gloria looked at Bill's uniform, for that was certainly what it was. "So, you're a Navy man, apparently," she said.

Bill laughed and said, "Yes, afraid so."

Gloria pointed at the black epaulets on Bill's shoulder. "I'm afraid I can't tell what that means," she said, quickly adding, "I know it's your rank, but...."

Bill nodded and said, "I'm a Lieutenant."

Gloria said, "If you say so..." and laughed.

The door they had all been waiting on finally swung open. First out was George Theobald. The old man was tall and thin - too thin in Gloria's opinion (someone needs to feed that man, she had told Deuce several times). Behind him was the pitching coach, whose wife whispered in his ear and pointed at Agnes. For her part, Agnes was oblivious, still enchanted by Bill McCullough.

Fred Galloway came out, and made a point of stopping to talk with Gloria. Deuce had already told her that Freddie was sweet on her. She had known this of course; she wasn't blind. But Galloway was short - just 5'5 and Gloria had a couple of inches on him. That wouldn't do, even if he was kind of cute. She politely talked to him for a few minutes, then he wandered over to the team bus, idling just far enough away that the group of family and friends wasn't suffocating in its fumes.

Deuce emerged, walking with Charley. Neither man was speaking and Deuce had a frown on his face. Yep, he was still angry about losing the game.

"Get over it, Rufus," Gloria told him before saying anything else. He glowered at her. "You know that's what gramps would say," she added. He nodded, but the frown stayed in place.

Meanwhile Charley and his brother were hugging and backslapping, while Aggie continued to eye Bill.

"OK, two questions," Deuce said. Gloria raised an eyebrow in response.

"First, what's she doing here," he pointed at Agnes. "And second, why does she look like she got hit in the head by a fastball?"

Gloria laughed and explained that Aggie had come to see her, knowing she'd be at the game. And she had been poleaxed by Bill McCullough's appearance on the scene.

Deuce laughed and said, "Oh, poor Aggie."

"Poor Aggie, why?" Gloria asked.

"Well, Bill's on leave. He's only here for a few days."

"So?"

"So, he's in the Navy, serves on a battleship and that ship is based at Pearl Harbor."

"Pearl Harbor? Where's that?" Gloria asked.

"Hawaii," Deuce told her. Gloria hadn't been much for geography in school, but she did know that Hawaii was very, very far away from New York. Poor Aggie indeed.

Deuce leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Charley's been mooning over you again, sis."

Gloria sighed. This had become something of a theme. Charley McCullough was a nice enough fellow, and though he was just 5'9, that was taller than she was (unless she was wearing heels) and wasn't half-bad looking. But he was also a "nice guy" and lacked that certain element of danger that Gloria found interesting.

"Maybe he should date Aggie," Gloria told her brother.

Deuce shook his head. "Look, Gloria. Aggie's sweet, but Charley only has eyes for you. And he is a good guy."

Gloria took a half-step back and eyed her brother. "Since when are you so set on pairing me up with your buddy?"

"Aww, come on, Gloria..." Deuce moaned. "Don't be so difficult. Just think about it."

Gloria folded her arms. "Oh, I am thinking. And what I'm thinking is that he should be man enough to tell me these things himself."

Deuce shrugged and looked over his shoulder. Charley was still talking with his brother and thankfully hadn't heard any of that exchange between Deuce and his sister. And Aggie was still standing a few feet away, trying - and failing - to not look like she was staring at Lt. Bill McCullough of the USS Arizona.

.

legendsport · 11-02-2022, 09:59 AM

June 24, 1940: Detroit, MI:

"Getting a little paunchy there, Rollie," a smirking Jack Barrell told his brother.

Rollie Barrell looked down at his midsection and frowned. It did bulge considerably more than it did when he was a younger man.

The brothers were standing in the owner's suite at Thompson Field. That the owner was no longer Big Eddie Thompson was obvious, even to Jack, who'd only been there a few times.

The new owner, Powell Thompson, the younger half-brother of Big Eddie, was an austere man and he took that austerity seriously. Where Eddie had hung valuable paintings on the wall, Powell had removed them. The only sign anything had ever hung on the walls were the slightly lighter shades of the paint in the squares that the paintings formerly covered.

Powell himself was absent. He didn't frequent the games, despite the Dynamos being in the thick of a pennant race with the Pittsburgh Miners and Philadelphia Keystones - the latter of which was the visiting team.

That the 'Stones were the visitors was the primary reason for both Rollie and Jack being at the game. Their brother Bobby was playing left field for Philly.

Rollie sighed and said, "You know, sometimes I'd trade my life for yours," he told his brother.

Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really. Why exactly is that?"

"Well, you're a sports legend. I'm just a guy in a rumpled suit working in the background."

Jack chuckled and shook his head. "That's funny, brother," he said. Then he looked out at the field where Bobby was standing in left field. It was the bottom of the fourth and Philadelphia had already streaked out to a 5-2 lead.

"It's not as glamorous as you might think," Jack said with a slight frown. "For one thing, you're gone a lot. I miss a lot of time with my wife and daughters, and that's time you don't get back." He turned back to Rollie and continued, "Not to mention that my left knee aches, all the time. And finally," he smiled and patted Rollie on the shoulder, "You have a lot more money than I do. Trust me, you're better off."

Rollie shook his head and gave a small, rueful chuckle. "You know, I've never told anyone this before, but I've always been jealous of my brothers. You guys were all pro athletes. Me...," he trailed off. Jack knew he was thinking about Rollie's aborted golf career. Rollie had also been a fair basketball player. Until some Bigsby thugs had nearly beaten him to death.

Jack looked at him seriously for a second, then grinned and said, "Jealous, huh? Even of Tommy?"

Rollie was perplexed. "Tommy? Yes, him too," he said and then asked, "Why?"

Jack shrugged and said, "Well, you do know that Mom is on his back all the time about finding a wife. I wouldn't wish that on anybody."

Both brothers laughed. Jack said, "If Joe was here, he'd slap you in the head for being a fool."

Rollie nodded, knowing that was true. Jack told him, "Joe told me, right before he died, that he was jealous of you. I bet you never knew that."

"No," Rollie said.

"It's true. Joe could get a little melancholy sometimes," Jack said, then nodded at Rollie and added, "Like someone else we know. Anyway... he felt like he'd blown it with Edna, leaving his kids without their father. He and Dorothy had what Joe called a 'rocky' relationship and he worried about both his kid with Charlotte Cleaves and little Charlie. He told me that he wished he was more like you - rock solid, dependable and a really good father."

Rollie swiped at his eye, hoping Jack hadn't noticed the tear welling up there. "Wow," he said softly.

"Joe was a blockhead a lot of the time," Jack said, adding, "But he had his moments."

"That he did," Rollie replied.

The brothers settled in to watching the game. With Powell Thompson nowhere to be found it was safe for Rollie to root for the Keystones. Bobby doubled in the fifth and then in the sixth hit the 250th home run of his career.

Jack, smiling, told Rollie, "If you want to be jealous of someone, it should be Bobby."

Rollie nodded. It was true, Bobby was probably the best athlete in a family in which that was really saying something. He finally seemed to be putting the gunshot wound firmly in the past and having a terrific season. And his team was good - the Keystones had a pair of extremely talented youngsters bracketing Bobby in their lineup: Billy Woytek hitting third and Hank Koblenz fifth with Bobby in the cleanup spot.

"Have you seen his son?" Jack asked. Bobby and Annette had welcomed their first child, Ralph Robert Barrell on April 13th.

Rollie shook his head, "No. I haven't been to Bobby's since the wedding."

"The kid's big, looks like he's going to be a bruiser," Jack said with a grin. "Reminds me of Charlie... Joe's youngest," he added. Rollie hadn't seen Charlie Barrell in a while, and realized the kid must be about 10 years old now.

Rollie narrowed his eyes. "How is it that you keep up with our far-flung clan better than I do, Jack?" he asked.

"Well, I'm in my off-season now, so I have time to get to Philadelphia to see my youngest nephew," he said. Then he grew a bit solemn and added, "As for Charlie... with Joe being gone, I do my best to keep tabs on the kid. Don't want him to forget he's a Barrell. He is living out there in Hollywood with all those movie types, you know."

Rollie laughed - he knew Jack had a dim view of the people he called "Hollywood types."

"Don't laugh at me," Jack said. "I don't trust those people."

Rollie waved a hand at him. "Bah, they're just people like anyone else," he said dismissively.

Jack raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Whatever you say Rollie..." he said.

After dinner the brothers grabbed Bobby and took him out to dinner with their families. Rollie finally got a look at a snapshot his nephew. He whistled and said, "Well, I think I'm looking at the #1 pick of the Detroit Maroons in the 1962 AFA draft!"

Bobby laughed and said, "Annette's got him pegged for track and field."

Jack scoffed at this. "Not a chance, that kid's got too much of Grampa Reid in him." He tapped his chin and added, "Could be a wrestler. Or maybe a boxer like Joe."

Bobby's eyes widened in mock terror. "No...." he moaned. Then he leaned forward and said with more than a touch of pride in his voice, "He'll be a ballplayer. Just like his old man."

Rollie's daughter Allie, a stern look on her ten-year-old face, said, "You can't look at a baby and know what he's going to be when he grows up!"

Bobby grinned and said, "That's right dear." He patted Allie on the hand. "After all, when you were a baby your father told me you'd grow up to be a know-it-all."

Jack busted out laughing while Rollie slapped Bobby on the shoulder and immediately told his daughter, "That's not true!"

Marty, Rollie's older daughter, was also laughing and said, "That would have been such an amazingly accurate prediction, Dad!"

.

legendsport · 11-16-2022, 12:54 PM

October 9, 1940: Brooklyn, NY:

"You're really thinking about doing this?" Tom Barrell asked his nephew.

James Slocum nodded firmly. "I am, even if my mother is dead set against it and Dad thinks I should stick it out," he said. Tom reflected on just how much the kid reminded him of his long-dead brother Jimmy. Jimmy had not lived long enough to even see James born, let alone spend any time with him. But he had imparted his face, mannerisms and stubborn daredevil qualities to his only son. The kid, rightly so, considered Powell Slocum his father.

Ironically, Agnes, Jimmy's daughter with Marie Dupuis (now married to one of Tom's other brothers, Jack) also bore the same similarities to Jimmy Barrell. Blood runs deep, Tom thought.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't try to stand in your way," Tom said and patted James on the shoulder.

The discussion centered around James' desire to join the United States Army Air Corps in December. He was on pace to receive his Bachelor's Degree (in Business) from Brooklyn State that month, making him eligible to join the military as an officer. And being an officer was a necessity if you wanted to be a pilot. The kid was, as far as Tom's limited knowledge could inform his opinion, already an accomplished pilot. Having a mentor who was a fighter pilot ace and who not only owned an airline but also was a big mucky-muck in the Air Corps Reserve was a definite point in James' favor. That mentor, Bill Merlon, had been Jimmy Barrell's best friend during the Great War and like Tom himself, was looking out for the welfare of Jimmy's son.

"Bill thinks you're ready?" Tom asked. He hadn't seen James in a while. Both had been busy playing baseball - Tom for the Brooklyn Kings and James for the Kings' Class A affiliate in Springfield, Illinois. The kid somehow managed to hit a respectable .278 while juggling baseball, correspondence courses for Brooklyn State and flying practice whenever he could get a chance. Thanks to Bill Merlon, the latter was more often than pretty much anyone else in James' position could have garnered.

Tom had been persuaded by Claudia to take her son out to lunch. Given that Claudia's husband was Tom's manager with the Kings, he felt it prudent to take her "suggestion" as more of a request. He did like the kid and it wasn't like he had much else to do, aside from packing up for the winter and catching a train to Georgia. As the last unmarried child of Rufus & Alice, Tom felt his duty was to go home and spend time with his parents who were both approaching 70 years of age and would otherwise be alone on the farm.

The waitress walked up to the table. "Hey, Tom," she said with a smile. Tom was a regular at the diner. Tom nodded in greeting and gave her a smile. "Hi, Flo," he replied.

She winked at James. "Haven't seen you in a while, Cricket," she said with a wink. Tom knew that Flo was around James' age and he suspected she liked the kid.

"Cricket?" James asked with a look of confusion on his face.

"Sure," Flo replied, cracked her gum and laughed at James' confusion. "You know, like Jiminy Cricket from that movie... whatchamacallit, Pinocchio."

"I don't see many movies," James replied. Tom almost laughed at the expression on his nephew's face. It was an amusing mix of confusion and interest.

"Hmm. You should," was Flo's reply. "You know, for culture."

James looked skeptical. "What's a Jiminy Cricket, anyhow?" he asked.

"A talking bug," Tom said and laughed.

"You guys ready to order?" Flo asked, getting back to business. James was still confused by the whole idea of Flo calling him a cricket - at least that's what Tom read on his face. "I'll just have the usual, Flo," Tom said.

Flo looked at James. "What about you, Cricket?"

"Uh... I'll just have a burger. And milk," James replied.

Flo wore a small smile as she wrote their orders down and then turned and sashayed away. James watched her until she disappeared into the kitchen. "What was that all about?" he asked Tom a moment later.

"I think she's sweet on you, kid," Tom said.

"Huh," James muttered, as a thoughtful look replaced the confusion on his face. He turned and stared out the window watching the traffic and pedestrians outside on Flatbush Avenue.

"Hey, isn't that Harry?" he asked a moment later, pointing out the window and behind Tom.

Tom craned his neck and sure enough, his youngest brother was walking hurriedly towards the diner.

He burst in and made a beeline to their table.

"I thought I might find you two here," he said breathlessly.

"Hello to you too, Harry," Tom said.

"Hi, Uncle Harry," James piped in.

"Hey James, good to see you," Harry said quickly, then plopped down beside Tom. "I've been looking for you, Tommy," he said.

"Well, I'd say you found me, Tom replied.

"Yeah..." Harry said with a frown. "You, uh, haven't talked to Powell today, have you?" he asked.

Tom shook his head. "Nope. James and I met up here at the diner. I haven't been over to the house, or seen Powell since the season ended."

"Oh," Harry said. He looked sad for some reason.

Tom was growing agitated. This bore all the same hallmarks as that terrible night when Bobby had been shot in Chicago.

"Spit it out, Harry. What the hell is going on?" he snarled. James' eyes widened in surprise.

"Well... you just got traded," Harry replied.

Tom's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding," he said.

"I wish I was," Harry answered. "I heard it on the radio back at the apartment. Sarah was feeding the baby and the news came on. They said you were traded to Pittsburgh. I called Powell and he confirmed it. Said the front office thought it was time for a change."

All that had come out in a rush and Tom sat silently as it sank in. He'd spent the vast majority of his career with the Kings. Granted, 1940 had been a terrible season for him. He'd been hurt in '39 and never really had his good stuff this season. And it showed: a 10-17 record with a 5.50 ERA for a team that finished 73-81 and in sixth place.

"Does Freddy know?" Tom asked. Fred hadn't had much of a season himself. Only Harry of the three Barrells playing in Brooklyn had enjoyed a respectable season statistically.

"No, I called but no one answered," Harry replied. "I think they might have gone out of town to visit Tillie's family."

Tom nodded absently. Pittsburgh? He'd never played in the Federal Association. He immediately thought: "I can ask Bobby for the dope on the hitters" and then realized he'd have to face Bobby now too.

"Sorry to hear that, Uncle Tom," James said. The kid looked sick. Tom nodded in thanks.

Flo showed up. "Heya Harry," she said. "Want something?"

"Yeah, I'll have whatever Tommy's having," Harry said. Flo wrote on her pad and left again.

"I'm going to regret asking, but what did the Kings get for me?" Tom asked Harry.

"Radio said some outfielder, Zavala I think? And a draft pick," Harry replied.

"Look at the bright side," James began. Tom looked up, unhappily, and James swallowed before continuing, "The Miners just went to the Series. You're going to a contender and get to play with Lefty Allen!"

Tom nodded. He knew the kid meant well - and was right to boot - but... he felt like he'd been punched in the gut.

Flo returned and put a milk in front of James and chocolate milkshakes in front of Tom & Harry.

"Oh man! You guys are having shakes? You should have told me," James complained.

"Look at the kid," Tom told Harry. "I get shipped out of town and his biggest concern is that he didn't order a milkshake."

Harry nodded his chin at James, who was watching Flo as she walked to another table. "I don't think that's his biggest concern, Tom," he said and chuckled.

Tom shook his head.

"The kid's going to quit baseball," Tom told his brother.

"What?" Harry spluttered.

"I'm going to join the Air Corps as soon as I graduate in December," James told him.

"Does Claudia know?" Harry asked Tom.

Tom chuckled. "That's why I'm here, Harry. She thinks I can convince James that the best place for him is a baseball diamond and not a cockpit." He took a pull on his shake. "Problem is," he continued, "I'm not sure I believe that."

Harry tipped his head to the side. "Huh. Yeah, you might be right there, Tom," he said.

James grinned for a moment then went back to not-so-surreptitiously watching Flo as she made her way around the diner.

Tom laughed and told Harry, "Wait til you hear what Flo's taken to calling the kid."

"Oh, come on!" James exclaimed, shooting a glare at Tom.

"Jiminy Cricket!" Tom told Harry.

Harry began crooning "When You Wish Upon a Star" and a moment later the brothers were both laughing and James looked like he wanted to slide under the table.

.

legendsport · 11-18-2022, 11:13 AM

December 8, 1940: Detroit, MI:

"We have the receipts, sir," an excitable young man told Rollie Barrell.

As Rollie opened his mouth to tell the kid (an intern from Detroit City College named Jack McCarver) for the umpteenth time to just call him "Rollie" (which the lad wouldn't countenance) or at least "Mr. Barrell", Powell Thompson butted-in (as he was wont to do).

"Give me that, kid," he said and grabbed the piece of paper from McCarver's outstretched hand.

Rollie frowned, but he was just the tenant here. For about the one-hundredth time he wished Big Eddie was still around. But Edward Thompson was gone to his heavenly reward and his little brother (both literally and figuratively) was now the owner of Thompson Field, the Thompson Palladium and the Detroit Dynamos baseball team. He was therefore, much to Rollie's chagrin, his landlord and under the lease agreement half of the proceeds from ticket sales were his.

"32,980. Not bad," Thompson said. "Could be better, but this football thing of yours is doing well, Barrell."

"Thanks Powell," Rollie replied. Thompson looked up at him, his eyes slightly narrowed in annoyance. Rollie was momentarily confused, then took a step back. Thompson was short, and as such he didn't like it when taller men (Rollie was six feet tall) "hovered over" him - which apparently meant standing within three feet or so.

The door to the suite opened and Jack Barrell walked in. "Sorry I'm late, Rollie," he told his brother. He turned to Thompson and shook his hand, "Mr. Thompson," he said with a nod. Jack was the coach of the Detroit Olympians hockey club, which also played in a Thompson-owned venue: the Thompson Palladium right across the street.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for your game?" Rollie asked Jack.

"Naw, I'm just the coach. Not like I have to limber up or anything. Besides," he looked at his watch, "our game doesn't start for another four hours."

Thompson was eyeing young Jack McCarver. "How old are you kid?" he asked.

"Twenty-one, sir," McCarver replied.

"He's a senior at City College," Rollie told Thompson.

"Hmm. That so?" Thompson was still glaring at the kid.

"Yes, sir," McCarver replied warily.

"What are you studying?"

"Business, though I hope to play pro football first," McCarver replied.

Thompson rolled his eyes. "So you're just another jock... fantastic!"

He pointed at Rollie and said, "I want to check these receipts." He turned his pointed finger to McCarver and added, "Let's go, kid. These numbers better be right or I'll kick your tail to Kalamazoo. I don't trust so-called athletes with anything that requires using their noggins."

Thompson grabbed McCarver by the arm and headed for the door. Rollie threw the youungster a look of commiseration.

After the door to the owner's suite banged closed, Jack raised his eyebrows and said, "That guy sure is a laugh, isn't he?"

"You said it brother," Rollie replied.

The two men settled in to watch the game, chatting off and on. Jack was a former pro football player and caught as many of the Maroons games as he could given his duties as the Olympians coach. It still surprised both brothers that they, born in Brooklyn and raised in Georgia, had ended up making their careers in Detroit of all places.

The scoreboard showed 7-0 for the visiting Brooklyn Football Kings over Rollie's Detroit Maroons as the gun sounded to end the first quarter. Rollie explained that the Kings had taken the lead on a 5-yard run by Jackie Herstad. Jack nodded and said, "Herstad runs hard, I like him."

"I'd like him too if he wasn't playing for the opposition," Rollie muttered, making Jack laugh. Making matters worse, the Kings were at the 1-yard line looking for their second touchdown of the game.

This was the AFA Championship Game, and Jack was rooting for his brother's club, but he also enjoyed good, hard play and harbored a soft spot for his former team the Chicago Wildcats. Rollie's club had outlasted the Wildcats to capture the Western Division title and the right to host this title game.

On the first play of the second quarter Brooklyn increased its lead as QB Hal Collett shoved his way into the endzone and then booted the extra point himself to make it 14-0.

"Your boys need a scoring drive," Jack told Rollie. Rollie shook his head and bit back a sharp retort.

Things took a bad turn when the Maroons' Joe Shores fumbled after taking the kickoff out to the 36 yard line, giving the Kings the ball right back. The Detroit defense forced an incompletion on first down, stuffed Russel Hitzeman for a two-yard loss and then Collett missed an open receiver to force fourth down. Hitzemann attempted a 34 yard field goal, but it went wide left and the score remained 14-0.

Rollie breathed a sigh of relief and gave a cheer a moment later when Detroit QB Dewey Burnett hit end Stan Vaught for a 31-yard gain pushing the ball just past midfield.

"I told you that pair would work well together," Jack told his brother. Rollie smiled and nodded.

The Maroons pushed the ball to the Kings' 29 yard line. On 4th and 3, Maroons coach Frank Yurik elected to go for it. Jack muttered something under his breath that sounded like he thought this was risky and Rollie also didn't like it. Burnett took the snap, dropped back and tossed the ball deep towards Vaught. The throw went long and a collective groan went up across the ballpark. Rollie shook his head and heard Jack mutter a word that would have earned him a stern look from Alice Barrell.

Neither team did much, though the Detroit defense did intercept Collett twice before halftime (one of them by Dewey Burnett). The score remained 14-0 at halftime. Jack McCarver appeared in the suite during halftime as a Coast Guard band played "Yankee Doodle" on the field. He told them that Thompson had left after verifyng that the ticket sales totals were accurate. "I don't like that guy," McCarver told the Barrells who both nodded and chuckled.

The Kings added a field goal to their tally in the third quarter while their defense continued to blank the Maroons. It was 17-0 as the final period started and Rollie was growing ever more resigned to losing the championship game at home.

Brooklyn pushed their lead to 23-0 early in the final stanza. "Well, right now, I'd love to see my boys at least avoid the shutout," Rollie told his brother. The normally accurate Burnett was just... off. To Rollie's eyes he was missing more receivers in this game than he normally did in a month of games. Finally, with 3:44 left to play, Burnett hit Morris Huffamn for a nine-yard score to put Detroit on the board. The defense forced a three & out but Burnett was interecepted by Don Ludwigs with 1:50 to play and that sealed any hope of a miraculous comeback. The final was 23-7, Brooklyn.

"I know you're down in the dumps right now, Rollie," Jack said. "But I think you've caught lightning in a bottle. Vaught might be the best end I've ever seen. And Yurik's an arrogant prig, but he knows football. He's going to center the offense around Vaught and he's going to change the game. Your boys will have an excellent shot at winning this thing in the next few years."

Rollie gave a small, sad smile and nodded. He patted Jack on the shoulder and said, "Thanks."

"I'm not blowing smoke, Rollie. That's the unvarnished truth, as Pop would say."

"Maybe," Rollie said. "I just hope we don't end up getting pulled into the war. I'm not sure the league would survive if half our players ended up in the Army, you know?"

"Yeah," Jack said with a frown. "I can relate. Most of my players are Canadians and Canada is already in the war. So far, it hasn't disrupted us much, but that's liable to change with Britain and her Commonwealth standing pretty much alone."

.

legendsport · 01-03-2023, 11:00 AM

April 26, 1941: Detroit, MI:

"Talk about a whirlwind romance..." Gloria Barrell said to her cousin Marty.

Marty Barrell's mouth curled in a knowing smirk, causing Gloria to ask, "And what's with that look?"

"Oh, nothing," Marty said, although it was obvious she was holding back laughter.

"C'mon, give over," Gloria said with more than a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Marty Barrell sighed dramatically and said, "Well, I would say that your statement had more than a bit of the old 'pot calling the kettle black' in it."

Gloria frowned and she shook her head. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said, though of course she knew exactly what her cousin meant.

"Oh yes, you do!" Marty blurted and burst into laughter.

Gloria huffed and said, "Aren't you a little young to be so...." she trailed off and just shook her head in frustration.

Marty choked down her laughter and pointed at the dance floor where the groom was whisking his new bride across the floor while the band Jack Barrell had hired did a fair version of "Stardust," a song Marty found terribly old-fashioned. "Do you think Charley would cut the same dashing figure as his brother?" she asked, nodding her chin at Bill McCullough.

Now it was Gloria's turn to laugh. "I can't imagine Charley McCullough in a military uniform. Even in those baggy baseball uniforms that man looks sloppy. Half the time his shirttails are hanging out," she said.

"Well, I will say this much: of all my cousins I can't say I would have pegged Aggie as the first to tie the knot," Marty said. And this was true, Agnes Barrell, it was said, took after her late father Jimmy Barrell in that she lacked what Marty's father Rollie would call "a serious mindset." But Aggie, at the ripe old age of 21 (two years younger than Gloria and three older than Marty) had caught herself a dashing Naval officer. Even Marty, whose father called her a "blazing beacon of women's liberation" thought that Bill was heart-crushingly handsome in his dress whites. Even worse, it reminded her that she didn't have a boyfriend, let alone a fiance like Gloria did. Charley & Gloria hadn't set a date yet, but it would certainly not happen until after baseball season. Charley was playing second base on the same Cincinnati Cannons team as Gloria's twin brother Rufus, or Deuce as he insisted upon being called (Marty thought that was a particularly asinine nickname).

"What I can't believe is Aggie gets to go live in Hawaii, of all places," Gloria said, snapping Marty out of her reverie.

"It's so far away," they heard from behind.

Marty rolled her eyes. She knew that voice all too well. "What do you want? Can't you see your elders are talking?" she snarled as she spun and shot a withering look at her sister. Allie Barrell was just 11 years old and therefore more of a nuisance to the almost-eighteen-year-old Marty than she had been just a few years earlier.

"Oh, lighen up, Marty," Gloria said and smiled at Allie before adding, "Yes, it sure is far away. But Bill said that this fall the Arizona is due to head to Seattle for a refit... or something... I don't understand all that military jargon... Anyway, that'll mean Aggie will be back on the mainland in no time."

"Bill told me that his ship is over six hundred feet long. That's more than two football fields!" Allie said. Marty rolled her eyes again; her sister was fascinated by the most mundane things, and entirely too interested in football - all because their father happened to own the Detroit Maroons football team.

Jack and Rollie walked up. "What are you gals up to?" Jack asked.

"Dad, Allie's bothering us," Marty complained to her father.

"Am not!" Allie cried.

"Oh stop it Marty, Allie is not a bother at all," Gloria said and gave a half-smile to her uncle Rollie. He winked back at her. Ever since Joe Barrell had died, Rollie - and Jack for that matter - had made a point of staying in touch with both Gloria and Deuce, trying to help fill the gap left by Joe's untimely death.

"We've talked about this Martha," Rollie told his older daughter. She frowned, knowing that when he used her full name it meant he was serious. She frowned and muttered a "sorry" while her sister grinned.

"I suppose this means you're next, Gloria," Jack said.

Rollie added, "And when you marry Charley, you and your cousin will become sisters-in-law... or is it sister-in-laws?"

Jack laughed and said, "I think it's the first one, Rollie."

"Too bad more of the family couldn't be here," Gloria said, hoping to change the subject. She had agreed to marry Charley but sometimes wondered if she did it just to get him off her back. She believed that she did love him, and she definitely loved how uncomfortable their relationship made her brother, but marriage was a b-i-g deal and she wasn't a "leap before you look" type like Agnes.

"Well... it is baseball season," Jack said. He nodded to the head table where his parents were sitting, both smiling as they gazed at their granddaughter dancing in her white dress. "I'm just glad Pop could make it. I guess being the head scout for the Cannons means he can skip a game or two if he wishes," he finished. The Cannons were in Toronto and though Rufus didn't often travel with the team, he sometimes did do so - largely, in Jack's opinion, so he could spend time with his namesake grandson.

"Too bad James couldn't make it," Rollie said.

Jack nodded - James Slocum was Aggie's half-brother after all. "He's busy with flight school. Aggie told me he graduated first in his class and is now in advanced training. Apparently he wants to fly that new bomber... the B-17."

"They like to keep in touch, huh?" Allie asked.

"Yep, they sure do," Jack told her. "Jimmy would be so proud," he said in a soft, near-whisper to Rollie, who nodded slowly.

Marie appeared out of the crowd. "Jack, I need you," she told her husband. Jack excused himself and followed his wife to the table where Bill McCullough's parents were sitting.

"I love her accent," Allie said.

For once, Marty didn't roll her eyes at her sister but instead said, "Me too."

Rollie looked at Gloria. "Did you set a date yet?"

Gloria shook her head. "No. We do need to wait til the offseason and Charley said he really wants Bill there as best man."

"Understandable," Rollie replied. Bill needed to get back to Hawaii and the Navy wasn't taking no for an answer - which was the only thing that kept Charley McCullough from attending his brother's wedding.

"Yes, of course," Gloria said before continuing, "Bill's ship is supposed to go into drydock in Bremerton in November, and hopefully he can get some leave. So maybe early December?"

"Hmm..." Rollie said. He pulled a small book out of his jacket.

"Oh, boy, here comes the planner," Marty said. She looked at Gloria and explained, "My dad keeps everything in that book. I mean everything."

Rollie shook his head. "Don't exaggerate Marty." He thumbed through the book. "Well, let's see. Looks like the Saturdays... assuming you want to get hitched on a Saturday... are the 6th, 13th, 20th and 27th. Last one's probably out because of Christmas..." He flipped the book closed. "Not that my schedule matters, but our season ends November 30th. The championship game would be on the 14th, so... maybe the 6th or the 20th?"

"Don't schedule your wedding around my father," Marty told her cousin.

"Oh, but I want to go to the wedding!" Allie said.

"We could just go with Mom," Marty told her sister.

"No, no," Gloria told her cousins, "I want you all to be there." She put her hand on Rollie's arm, "It would mean the world to me to have you there, Uncle Rollie."

Rollie grinned. "And it would mean that much to me to be there!"

Marty shook her head. Weddings...

.

legendsport · 01-04-2023, 01:56 PM

October 23, 1941: Washington, DC:

"Bah, this new guy in St. Louis... what a blowhard!" Rufus Barrell threw the newspaper down in disgust. He looked up and across a desk that not so long ago was his. Sitting in his old chair, his son Dan was giving him a wry look, a small smile curling the ends of his mouth.

"What, do I have mustard on my tie?" Rufus asked. The two men had just finished lunch. Rufus, back in his old digs (ostensibly to see Dan, Gladys and his grandsons), had taken the opportunity to get his favorite lunch - a pastrami sandwich with extra mustard from the local deli.

"No, but I bet you almost gave Mr. Klein a heart-attack when you walked into the deli today," Dan said with a laugh. He was more of a ham-and-cheese type of guy himself.

"Then why that look?" Rufus asked, not willing to get shifted off-topic.

"I'm always amused when you get riled up about something like that," Dan replied.

"What? That some Hollywood blowhard has bought his way into FABL and is going to stir up trouble?"

Dan leaned back in his chair and Rufus had a momentary jolt: his boy had become a man comfortable with his station in life. Dan said, "First of all Pop, Dee Rose had the money to buy the Pioneers, the other owners voted on whether he could join their oh-so-exclusive club and he was unanimously accepted. Where, or how, he made his money is irrelevant. And second," he paused and tented his hands on his chest before continuing, "you're just worried that he's going to move the team to Los Angeles."

"FABL isn't ready to have a team in California," Rufus stubbornly shot back.

"Well, I would say that's not really your call, Pop," Dan said with a grin. Then as Rufus opened his mouth, Dan raised a hand and added, "Nor is it mine. But I'll be honest, I think the LA talk is just that: talk. Rose is a movie man, and I'd say he's playing to his audience. Particularly the one in St. Louis. Best way to guarantee people take an interest in their team: act like you might take it away from them."

Now it was Rufus who sat back in his chair, stunned. Dan was right. This talk of moving the team to LA was a smoke screen. The real story was Rose's vehement denial and the follow-up that he'd build a "baseball palace" in St. Louis. He was priming the pump, trying to get the fans to re-invest in a club that had fallen on hard times.

"Smart," Rufus said.

"No one said Rose wasn't intelligent," Dan replied.

"I meant you," Rufus replied.

Dan smiled and said, "World's a-changin' Pop, you need to steady yourself because big things are going to be happening."

Before Rufus could ask for clarification there was a buzz and Dan pressed a button on the intercom sitting on his desk. "Yes, Sally?" he said.

"Mr. Barrell, Admiral Stockdale is on line one," came a tinny voice. Rufus decided he still preferred the phone to these fancy brown boxes.

"Thank you Sally," Dan replied and picked up the phone.

"Hello, Admiral," he said. Rufus wondered why old man Stockdale (who owned FABL's capital city entry, the Washington Eagles) wanted with Dan. Rufus himself had been friendly with the retired Admiral but they were of an age, so it was a little surprising that Stockdale would call Danny.

"I see," Dan said, and a frown creased his face. "I will tell him, sir. In fact, he's sitting right across from me at this very moment," Dan said and winked at his father.

"Certainly," Dan said before handing the phone over to Rufus.

"Hello, Bill," Rufus said.

"Rufus, you salty old s.o.b.!" he heard. "What are you doing in this pit of vipers we call D.C.?"

"Just visiting Dan and my grandkids, Bill," Rufus said with a smile.

"Ah, well, I won't take much of your time. I was just telling Dan that I heard some news y'all might be interested in hearing." Like Rufus, Stockdale was a son of the south, born in Virginia and raised in Georgia and when he got worked up, the old accent popped out.

"What's that?" Rufus asked.

"Well, as I recall, your granddaughter's married to an officer on the Arizona?" Stockdale's phrasing made it apparent this was a question. Rufus was impressed that his old friend remembered that Agnes had married a Navy man. But that was precisely the kind of thing the old Admiral would remember, Rufus realized. Stockdale had been the USS Arizona's first captain, just before being promoted to admiral.

"Correct as always Bill. My granddaughter Agnes is married to a Lieutenant McCullough."

"Now don't get too worked up, but there's been an accident, Rufus."

"What kind of accident?"

"Well, the Oklahoma rammed Arizona in the fog. Seems the damage was bad enough that her scheduled refit in Washington state has been postponed. She'll have to stay at Pearl for repairs."

"Oh..." Rufus said, finally getting the point. If Arizona was stuck at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, his granddaughter and her husband would likely miss Gloria's wedding in December.

"One of your other granddaughters is marrying McCullough's brother?" Stockdale asked.

"Yes, on December 6th," Rufus replied.

"I could maybe pull some strings..." Stockdale offered.

"No, no, that won't be necessary," Rufus replied. He preferred not to get preferential treatment like that.

"Well, you know that the Japanese have been rattling their sabers and it's likely there'll be no leave for personnel stationed at Pearl..."

Rufus didn't know that, but it made sense and he admitted as much.

"Thank you for the information, Bill," he told his old friend.

"My pleasure, Rufus. What's the point of being an old, retired Admiral if a man can't use his contacts to keep an old friend apprised of things?" Stockdale replied and gave a dry chuckle. The admiral didn't laugh much and sounded out of practice.

Rufus thanked him again before hanging up.

"Gloria's not going to like this," he told Dan. Dan shook his head in agreement. Then he looked at his watch. "If we leave now, we can swing by the school and pick up Michael & Steve."

That sounded like a grand idea to Rufus. He loved spending time with his grandkids. Even better, Michael was almost eight and looked to be a promising ballplayer. Steve was just five, but Rufus was already trying to apply his "scout's eye" to the younger boy too.

.

legendsport · 01-05-2023, 02:33 PM

November 30, 1941: Detroit, MI:

"Well, damn," Rollie Barrell muttered as he looked at the out-of-town scoreboard.

His Detroit Maroons were wrapping up a 16-0 win over the visiting Pittsburgh Paladins. A win that would give them an 8-3 mark for the 1941 American Football Association season. But... the bad news was that in Philadelphia the Chicago Wildcats were torching the Frigates by a 49-7 margin. That win would make the Wildcats 8-2. And Chicago would be visiting Pittsburgh on December 7th to wrap up the season. Rollie's Maroons were playing their last game today, so that meant that he'd have to sit and hope for the Paladins to shake themselves out of their doldrums and beat the Wildcats. That would put Rollie's team in the AFA Championship. But if the Wildcats won.... "Damn!" Rollie muttered again.

"Dad...." Allie Barrell chastised her father.

"Sorry squirt," he said and squeezed her shoulder. His younger daughter had entered a phase in which she shadowed her father and showed a big interest in everything he did - down to and including his time at Thompson Field running the Maroons. It was a situation he found amusing, his wife found slightly concerning and his older daughter found ridiculous. And Marty wasn't big on hiding her feelings.

"What are you writing there?" Rollie asked. Allie had a small book, much like his own planner, and was writing in it.

"Oh... I was keeping track of Stan Vaught's catches."

"Really?" Rollie asked.

"Sure," Allie replied with a shrug. "Did you know he might finish this season with more than twice as many catches... and... twice as many yards as any other player in the AFA?"

Rollie didn't know that, not exactly, and he was impressed. "No. I know Stan's been having a great year, but I didn't know that." He gave her shoulder another squeeze, "That's impressive, Alice."

"Dad, do you think a girl could run a football team?" Allie asked.

Rollie almost laughed, because in his heart he found the thought ridiculous. But, he caught himself and inwardly, he felt embarassed to have a thought like that. His wife was an intelligent, strong woman and both their daughters had fully inherited those traits.

"If anyone can do it, it'd be you Alice," he told her with a smile. Seeing her smile in return made him forget his frustration with those.... dang.... Wildcats.

"Because, I've been thinking..." his daughter said.

"Yes?" he prodded.

"Well, someday you'll get old. Like grandpa Rufus," she said, a serious look on her face. She reminded him of Francie so much when she did this. "And well... someone will need to run the Maroons after you retire... or you know, die..."

Rollie laughed. "I'm not going anywhere for a long time, Alice," he said.

"Oh, I know," she said quickly. "But someday..."

Rollie laughed and said, "Alright, I get the gist. And yes, if... after you go to college and start your life... if you want to work with me, that will be fine."

He figured she'd forget all about this "run the team" stuff once she was an adult, got married, and so on. If he was being honest with himself, Rollie kind of thought he'd sell the team someday, since he didn't have any sons. The idea that one of his girls could own the team.... had never really crossed his mind. If it had, Rollie would actually have expected Marty to be the one to follow in his footsteps - she hadn't really exhibited any interest in boys yet (for which Rollie was surprisingly thankful) despite having passed her 18th birthday back in May.

As if reading his mind, Allie said, "I miss Marty."

"Me too, squirt," Rollie said. Marty was a freshman at Noble Jones, and was hoping to get a degree in Accounting, just like her father. She was also playing golf, like both her parents.

"I thought she'd be at the wedding..." Allie said.

Rollie nearly swore aloud again - he'd almost forgotten but Gloria's wedding to Charley McCullough was taking place in just six days on December 6th in Cincinnati. He started doing some quick calculations in his head... could he get from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh on the morning of the 7th to watch the Paladins take on Chicago?

He pulled out his planner.

"What are you doing?" Allie asked.

"Trying to see if I can get from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh in time for the game on Sunday afternoon."

"So you can root for the Wildcats to lose?"

Rollie smiled - his kids were no dummies. "Got it in one," he said.

"Can I go with you?" she asked.

Rollie paused in his flipping through the book (he'd been looking at air charters) and smiled adoringly at his daughter. "You'd really want to go with me?" he asked.

"Of course," Allie replied. "If I'm going to own this team someday, I better start spending even more time with you, Dad."

Rollie burst out in laughter. Allie seemed bewildered, but then she started laughing too.

.

legendsport · 01-06-2023, 01:37 PM

December 6, 1941: Cincinnati, OH:

"I appreciate you doing this for me, buddy," Charley McCullough said.

Deuce Barrell nodded. "Well... this is my twin sister you're marrying, Charley," he said.

Charley cocked an eyebrow and said, "I still don't know how you two could be twins and be so... different."

Deuce laughed. "We're fraternal twins, not identical."

Charley shook his head and said, "That's not what I mean. I mean your personalities..."

Deuce shrugged. "Apparently, I'm more like my father and Gloria's like Mom."

Charley shuffled his feet and said, "I've heard your Dad was quite the athlete."

"He was. He was also hot-headed and tempestuous," Deuce replied.

"Tempestuous?" Charley's eyebrows had climbed nearly to his hairline as he said this.

"Haha. I'm not dumb, Charley," Deuce said. "I only act like I am," he added with a grin.

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"Quit squirming or I'll stick you with this pin," Edna Daniels told her daughter.

Gloria sighed. "This dress is too big," she moaned.

"Well now, that's why I'm pinning it," Edna shot back. She knew Gloria was nervous, but the fidgeting? She might as well be five years old, not twenty-four.

"You think Charley's nervous?" Gloria asked.

Edna snorted in laughter. "I doubt it," she replied. "Men are too dumb to get nervous. He's probably looking forward to the party... and the wedding night," she finished.

Gloria blushed and blurted out, "Mom!"

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"That's two in a row," Jack Barrell told Rollie.

"Two in a row what?" Rollie replied.

"Two weddings in a row where the bride is the kid of one our deceased brothers," Jack said.

Rollie gave his brother a sidelong look. Jack looked more than a little melancholy. "Yeah, I miss them too, Johnny."

Jack frowned and growled, "Johnny? I thought I beat that out of you back in, oh, 1905 or so."

It had been a ploy, cooked up by Joe, to get Jack's goat by calling him "Johnny" - and it had worked. Rollie and Joe had referred to their younger brother as Johnny for the better part of the summer until Jack had snapped and jumped both his brothers. Luckily the tussle had been broken up by their mother before any damage could be done. Jack was game enough, but Joe alone would have been too much for him to handle, let alone Joe and Rollie together.

"I heard you're scheming to fly off to Pittsburgh after the reception," Jack said to change the subject after both brothers took a trip down memory lane, thinking of Joe.

"Yep. And would you believe it, James is going to fly the plane."

Jack shook his head. Rollie had somehow managed to find a fellow with a plane, only to discover the man wouldn't fly. "Too cold in December" was his reason. But James, on leave from the Army Air Corps for the wedding, was more than willing to fly, anywhere, anytime. The old codger who owned the plane had agreed to let James fly Rollie and Allie to Pittsburgh as long as he flew straight back (and after Rollie had paid a handsome "rental fee" of course).

"Try not to let that kid get in trouble," Jack said.

Rollie looked offended. "I would never," he said.

"Well, he is Jimmy's son and lord knows Jimmy got into plenty of trouble with you by his side," Jack said.

Rollie laughed and replied, "True, but James has too much of Claudia in him for any shenanigans. Plus I have wife and daughter with me, and I would never let anything happen to them."

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An hour later Gloria Barrell was a married woman. Her family was well-represented in the wedding party. Charley's brother Bill was, as Admiral Stockdale had predicted back in October, stuck on his ship due to increasing "aggression" from the Japanese, and the two McCullough brothers had but one other sibling, a sister, who acted as Gloria's maid of honor, with Gloria's cousins Jean, Vera and Allie acting as bridesmaids. Deuce was Charley's best man and his groomsmen included James Slocum and Gloria's half-brothers Roger Cleaves and Charlie Barrell. Charlie's mother, the actress Dorothy Bates, was there too, looking so distractingly beautiful that she drew the eye of Deuce so often Gloria wanted to slap the silly grin off his face.

Of all the Barrells and their offspring only Marty (off at Noble Jones) and Aggie (with her husband in Hawaii) were not on hand. Even Betsy's football-playing husband Tom Bowens was there (like Detroit, Boston's season had ended the previous week). Charley had joked to Gloria that "I hope you don't think I'll ever be able to remember everyone's names." She did expect just that, but decided not to make an issue of it on their wedding day.

As the party wound down and the happy couple headed off for Niagara Falls, Rollie sidled up to James Slocum. Looking extremely fit in his tuxedo and achingly like his dead father, James asked for a moment to change and say goodbye to his mother, stepfather (Powell Slocum), favorite uncle (Tom) and grandparents. Rollie couldn't begrudge the kid - he hadn't seen most of the family in well over a year, after all. But he was itching to get to Pittsburgh. He had half a mind to see if he could get Carl Boon drunk. Boon, who owned (and coached) the Wildcats was known to tip the elbow occasionally and he was an old friend & team mate of Rollie's brother Joe.

Rollie pretended not to hear the conversation between James and his mother when the youngster returned from the restroom.

"Now you be careful, and be sure to be back here as soon as possible. I will worry," Claudia told her son.

"Mom, I'm an officer in the U.S. Army now," James replied.

"You are, and always shall be, my baby," she said.

"Aw, Mom, come on," James moaned. Rollie could almost picture the blush.

"Let's go Uncle Rollie," James said a moment later, having kissed his mother and shaken hands with Powell Slocum. Rollie collected Allie and Francie and they headed out.

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Deuce Barrell was caught staring once too often. Not by Dorothy Bates, but by his mother, which was infinitely worse.

"Quit staring at that woman," she told him. He considered denying that he was doing any such thing, but he'd never been able to fool his mother. He wondered if she was jealous - Dorothy had been Joe Barrell's second, and final, spouse. And she was a knockout.

He shook his head, looked sulky and offered a muttered, "Fine," instead.

"Did you meet Roger?" he asked Edna, knowing this would throw her off-balance. It wasn't quite fair but Deuce was never content with allowing someone else to have the moral high-ground.

It took Edna a moment before she said, "No. Why would I?"

"Well, he is the half-brother of two of your kids, you know."

"I am aware of that Rufus," she replied. "And that's precisely why I don't want to meet him."

Deuce leaned forward. "You know, it's not his fault," he told her softly. "He's an innocent victim in all this."

Edna's mouth firmed in a solid line for a moment, but then relaxed. "I know," she replied. "But I'm sure you know that it's a sore subject for me."

Deuce did know this - heck, he'd felt the same way himself. The kid - he was nearly eighteen now - was a walking, talking reminder that his father had cheated on his mother and destroyed their marriage in the process. Deuce told his mother this, adding, "But I've come to terms with it. No one picks their parents but they do sometimes end up dealing with the mess they leave behind."

Edna nodded and gave him a small, sad smile. "You still surprise me sometimes," she told him.

"Huh? Why?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Well, you remind me of your father," she said and looked even sadder. "I desperately loved that man, but if Joe Barrell was anything, he was a living contradiction. He could be a complete brute and utter fool, but he was also heartbreakingly sweet, utterly charming and devastatingly handsome." She paused and shook her head. "Which was the problem - he attracted women like a magnet attracts metal shavings. But one thing he never really was..." she paused again and said, "Was insightful."

She patted his arm. "And what you just said was incredibly insightful," she said, then smiled and added, "Must have gotten that from me."

She stood up and looked across the room where Roger was standing and talking with Betsy and her husband Tom Bowens. "So introduce me to your brother, why don't you?"

.

legendsport · 01-11-2023, 12:03 PM

December 7, 1941: Cincinnati, OH:

"Rufus, we're going to miss the train!" Alice Barrell shouted at the bathroom door. "Tommy is probably already waiting for us!"

"I'll be out in a minute!" she heard her husband shout back.

"I swear you're worse than any woman I've ever known!" Alice replied. She was always amazed at how close Rufus cut things like getting to the train station on time given that he had traveled extensively for decades. The joy of seeing most of her large family together in one place was almost, not quite, but almost not worth the stress of traveling with her husband. "Mr. Last-Minute, same as always," she muttered.

A moment later Rufus, looking ashamed, bustled out and grabbed his hat. "Let's go, I'm ready!" he said. Alice shook her head and grumbled something Rufus didn't hear, then grabbed her bag.

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A similar scene was playing out in a room just down the hall where Bobby was impatiently waiting for his wife.

"Annette? Get a move on, Harry has a cab waiting for us," he told the closed bathroom door.

At his feet, his 19-month-old son Ralph was playing with a toy car.

The door opened and Annette's head appeared in the gap. "One cab won't hold all of us, Bob," she said. "Two couples and two kids. You guys aren't single any longer."

Bobby shook his head. "I'm aware of that, which is why Harry's holding two cabs. One for us, and one for them," he replied with a wry look. "So get a move on."

"Fine," she shot back and closed the door. Bobby looked at his watch and sighed.

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In the small downtown apartment he normally shared with his sister, Deuce Barrell was reading a note sent to him by Dorothy Bates the night before. He'd read it about fifty times already.

"Dearest, Rufus," it began, "You're a sweet kid and you remind me of your father so much it breaks my heart. But you're far too young for me. If you're ever in Hollywood, look me up and I might have someone more age-appropriate to whom I can introudce you. Love, Dot."

"Bah!" Deuce said, throwing the note down. Ten years wasn't that much of an age difference.... was it? He wished he could ask Gloria whether it was weird to be attracted to his step-mother. He knew what she'd say, but he also knew he probably needed to hear it. Unfortunately, Gloria was halfway to Canada by now.

From the sofa, a bleary Roger Cleaves raised his head and said, "Why are you making noise? It's too early."

Deuce replied, "You should talk. You snore, you know. I could hear you through the door."

Roger waved a hand in dismissal and dropped his head back onto his pillow. He was soon snoring softly. Deuce looked at the half-brother he barely knew. The kid had gotten into the liquor at the reception, somehow avoiding the eagle eye of their grandmother. Alice usually could spy that kind of thing from a mile away. Deuce hated to admit it, but he was impressed.

The whole situation was a bit surreal. Not only was Roger his and Gloria's half-brother, but he was also the half-brother of a pair of really good FABL ballplayers in Jack and George Cleaves. Deuce was thankful both those guys were playing for the Miners over in the Fed. Having a shared half-brother didn't make them exactly related, by Deuce's reckoning, but he wasn't sure what it made them. Regardless, let them tear up the pitching in the other league, thank-you-very-much.

Deuce rubbed his chin, thinking maybe it was a good thing to have a brother reasonably close to his own age. Charlie was really just a little kid after all but Roger was going to turn eighteen in January, and he was certainly rough around the edges, but having a brother he could talk to had to be a good thing, right?

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Same day, Niagara Falls, ON:

"I swear, I don't know how you ballplayers do it," Gloria McCullough (that hadn't taken long to get used to) told her new husband.

"Do what?" Charley asked as he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and a finger jammed in his ear, twisting back and forth.

"Sleep on trains. All that rattling... ugh!"

Charley grinned and said, "Ah, you get used to it. Besides, we didn't do all that much sleeping last night."

Gloria blushed and shook her head.

"Hey, we're married now, so we don't need to worry about being so prim and proper," Charley said and leered at her.

"You have a point," Gloria said and reached for the towel.

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Later that day, Pittsburgh, PA:

Rollie was in the owner's box at Fitzpatrick Park. Dan Fitzpatrick himself had provided it for him, claiming he didn't care for football, despite having bought a fifty-percent stake in the Pittsburgh Paladins. Sometimes the fringe benefits of having the last name Barrell was a blessing, thought Rollie.

Still, Rollie couldn't help but compare it to Thompson's box, and he found it rather plain in comparison. Thompson Field's owner's box had been built by Big Eddie Thompson and that man had never done anything small. Rollie still missed him. Francie sat beside him on his left and Allie on his right. She had her notebook out and was carefully drawing something in it.

"What are you doing?" Rollie asked his daughter.

"I'm going to see if I can chart some of the Wildcats' plays."

Rollie was taken aback. "What? Why?"

"Well, I can give them to Mr. Coach Yurik."

Rollie started laughing. "It's just Coach Yurik, kiddo. We have scouts and assistant coaches to do that. And there hasn't been a play run in football yet that Yurik hasn't seen before."

Allie gave him a stern look. "I think I should know all about the team and how everything works now that I am your heir-apparent. I could never tolerate having someone who works for me knowing more than I do."

Rollie turned to his wife. "You hearing this?"

France pinched his arm and said with a smirk, "What I heard is that you promised to let Allie run the Maroons when you retire." She paused and added, "Or die."

"She told you that?" Rollie asked.

"Of course, a girl her age tells her mother things. We have no secrets in my house, Roland."

"Of course, dear," Rollie said with a shake of his head.

Rollie was impressed with Allie's determination, but he still privately thought she'd grow out of this. You just didn't see grown women running big businesses and make no mistake, a pro football team was a big business.

Of course, things on the field couldn't be going worse for the Detroit Maroons. The Wildcats & Paladins had played a scoreless first quarter, but the wheels started coming off for Pittsburgh in the second frame. First the Wildcats had gone on a 91-yard drive to break the ice with a 1-yard TD run by Leon Stone. Then as halftime approached, the Paladins had botched a punt return, handing the ball to Chicago on the Pittsburgh 13 yard line. Needless to say it was soon 14-0. Pittsburgh QB Warren Howard threw an interception on literally the first play of the second half leading to a third TD for the Wildcats, who missed the extra point, leaving it 20-0.

And that's where it stood as the clocked ticked down towards the end of the third quarter. Rollie was seriously considering leaving. Francie looked bored - she was gamely trying not to show it, but Rollie could tell. Allie though... he figured she'd fuss if he wanted to leave before the game ended. After all, she'd miss out on precious intelligence about not one but two rival clubs.

Rollie was still ruminating when the public address announcer, after announcing the results of the play (another Howard incompletion) said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please. We have just received word from the White House that the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor. Would all servicemen in attendance please report to your units. I repeat, all servicemen in attendance, report to your units immediately."

Francie and Rollie immediately turned to each other, their eyes wide.

Beside them Allie said, "Pearl Harbor? Isn't that where cousin Aggie lives with her sailor man?"

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Same day, en route to Atlanta, GA:

Rufus Barrell was in the dining car with his son Harry, his daughter-in-law Sarah and their 16-month-old son Reid (whose full name was Joseph Reid Barrell in honor of Harry's maternal grandfather).

"Thanks for having a late lunch with me, Harry," Rufus said.

"Harry is able to eat anytime, anywhere, and virtually anything," Sarah told her father-in-law, following it up with a playful shove of her husband.

"Impressive," Rufus said, pointing at Sarah. "That you can hold your son and give your husband a shove at the same time," he added with a twinkle in his eye.

"I'm a versatile gal," Sarah said with a grin. Reid, as toddlers are wont to do, simply stared at various people and things, including the Tennessee countryside passing outside the window.

"Here comes Tom," Harry said and Rufus craned his neck to see his son walking quickly towards them.

"Hungry?" Rufus asked, pointing at his plate with his fork as Tom arrived.

"What?" Tom asked. He looked breathless. "No," he added.

Harry frowned up at his brother. "Something wrong, Tom?" he asked.

"Bob and I were in the smoking car, listening to the radio," Tom said.

Rufus shook his head. "If your mother hears that you were smoking," he began. Tom raised a hand. "I wasn't smoking, Pop. I wanted to hear the football scores. And you know Bob would catch it from Annette if he even considered lighting up."

Rufus nodded and Tom said, "None of that matters anyway. What does is what I just heard on the radio."

"And that was?" Rufus prompted.

Harry was shoveling a forkful of potatoes into his mouth when he heard Tom say, "The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor."

The potatoes plopped onto the plate as Harry stared wide-mouthed at Tom. "You're joking," he said.

"I wouldn't joke about this, Harry," Tom said coldly. "It's true. Apparently they hit the naval and air bases there first thing this morning and are still at it."

"It would still be morning there," Rufus pointed out, then asked, "Does your mother know?"

"No, I came here first," Tom said, adding, "And Bob went to tell Annette."

Rufus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "OK, I will tell her. She's going to be worried sick until we know that Aggie and Bill are safe."

What Rufus didn't say was that now they were in it, and in it for the duration. And that meant his sons - and even his grandsons - might be going into harm's way. He'd thought they were past that back in 1918... but here it was again, with a whole new group of young men about to be fed into the meatgrinder.

.

legendsport · 01-12-2023, 03:23 PM

December 8, 1941: Pearl Harbor, HI:

Sunday had been the longest day in Agnes Barrell McCullough's life. Now it was Monday and she didn't know what to do with herself.

She had been in the kitchen making breakfast when the Japanese planes had zoomed overhead. She and Bill had a small house on Ford Island that the Navy personnel had dubbed "Nob Hill" and which overlooked Battleship Row, where all the big battlewagons (as Bill called them) were moored.

Aggie was still getting used to life as a Navy wife. Bill was something of a rarity among officers his age by the simple fact of being a married man. He was working, Sunday or not; Arizona was having repair work done. He'd spent the night, but headed to the ship just before seven.

From her kitchen window Aggie could see the repair ship USS Vestal alongside the Arizona in her berth. Bill had told her it was berth F-7 (not that she really cared, but she loved it when Bill explained these little details that meant so much to him). Lt. McCullough was supervising the repairs. He had joked the previous night that he was senior enough to supervise the work but not senior enough to pass the job along to a more junior officer.

She had just finished cleaning up after breakfast and was debating whether to go to church with Fannie Tidwell, whose husband was also a Lieutenant on the Arizona (but who was herself a bit of a busybody) when she heard the drone of planes overhead. This wasn't alarming in any way, not at first at least, because this was a military area and there were almost always planes flying about - Ford Island itself had a Naval Air Station and the Army flew from nearby Hickam and Wheeler Fields. Still, she was new enough and planes flying this early on a Sunday strange enough that she leaned over the sink and peered out the window.

She spotted the aircraft immediately. They were green and had red circles painted on them. At first Aggie was confused and her nose scrunched up as she thought about why those planes looked... different. She remembered one of Bill's buddies joking about how the Japanese painted "meatballs" on their planes. And just as she realized what she was seeing the air-raid alarm went off. She ran outside and watched in horror as the first bombs fell from the planes far overhead while the ships in the harbor began firing at them. The bombs began exploding on and near the Arizona... where Bill was. Bombs were falling on and near the other battleships as well, but Aggie kept her eyes on the Arizona.

It only took about ten minutes for Aggie's life to be changed forever. At 8:06 the fourth and last bomb to actually hit the USS Arizona struck near Turret II, penetrated the deck and within seconds detonated the ship's forward magazines in a massive explosion. Aggie was thrown to the ground by the shockwave. As debris from the ship fell nearby, she rose to her knees, knowing in her heart that Bill was gone.

Time passed, she never knew how long it was, and then Fannie Tidwell found her there crying on her knees in the grass and pulled her away. Massive plumes of black smoke were rising from Battleship Row. Fannie spoke - maybe even shouted to her, but she couldn't hear anything but a faint buzzing.

They would spend the rest of the day in the basement of Quarters K, which was the home of Admiral Bellinger, but also the former Battery Adair, a retired portion of the island's defenses and was therefore heavily fortified.

From the slits that formerly housed big guns, some of the civilians watched as the second wave of Japanese attackers came in. Aggie didn't watch.

The attack had lasted about ninety minutes - or at least that's what they'd told Aggie. They'd also told her not to assume the worst, several hundred members of Arizona's crew had survived. Several hundred - out of over 1500. But the truth sat like a stone on Aggie's heart. She simply knew - Bill was gone.

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Same day, Niagara Falls, ON:

"Come on, get up," Gloria told her husband.

They'd spent the entire previous day in bed, or near the bed. They'd had room service for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Now Gloria wanted to go out. Sure it was winter and freezing outside, but she wanted to see the Falls.

"Get up!" she said more forcibly and kicked Charley with her bare foot. She'd tried to give him some extra time for sleep, taking a shower and leisurely getting herself dressed. But now it was after nine, and she was both hungry and wanting to get out of the hotel room and into the fresh - if cold - air.

He groaned and muttered something she couldn't understand.

"I'm going out to look at the Falls," she told him, getting another grunt in reply.

She threw a pillow at him as she left, feeling a little embarrassed but also hopeful that her parting shot hit squarely enough to roust her new husband from bed.

As she went through the lobby she noticed things were a bit more subdued than they had been when they'd arrived on Sunday morning. But it was Monday - maybe everyone was already at work. She decided to skip the hotel restaurant and see what she could find outside.

The hotel was only a couple of blocks from the falls. The weather wasn't too bad. It was cold, but above freezing. She could hear the noise of the falls in the distance. She stopped outside a coffee shop, debating whether to go in when she heard two men talking nearby.

"Well, they're in it now," said the first man.

"Yes, but will they focus all their attention on the Japanese, or will they help get rid of Hitler too?" the other asked in reply.

"Pardon me, but has something happened?" she asked, after some more non-specific back and forth between the two presumably local gentlemen.

"Haven't heard, eh?" the first man asked. "Newlywed from the States, I assume?" the second queried at approximately the same time.

"Yes, and yes," Gloria replied with a smile.

"Sorry to be the one to break it to you miss, but your country was attacked yesterday," the first man said.

"The Japanese pulled off a sneak attack in Hawaii," the second added.

Gloria's eyes widened in shock. "Is there a newstand nearby?" she asked.

The men pointed her in the right direction and, breakfast now forgotten, Gloria sped to the newstand and bought a paper. She stood, stunned, reading the headline story, then rushed back to the hotel.

When she burst into the room, Charley was brushing his teeth. His wet hair stuck out in all directions and because he was alone he was also stark naked.

"Put on some clothes," Gloria barked at him, waving the newspaper. "Then sit down," she added.

"What's going on?" Charley asked. "And why'd we decide on Niagara Falls? We could have gone to California, where it's warm..."

"Get. Dressed. And. Sit. Down." she said deliberately, thinking how much this was like dealing with Deuce. Aside from the nudity, of course.

Bewildered, Charley did as she asked. When he plopped down beside her on the bed, he again asked, "What's going on?"

"The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor yesterday. We're at war," she said simply.

Charley's mouth dropped open in shock. She shoved the paper at him. "Read this," she said. Now that she had gotten back into the room and told Charley, Gloria began to feel overwhelmed. She knew that Bill and Aggie were there, and she was afraid of what that meant.

"Oh my God!" Charley moaned. "Did you read all of this?" he asked. Gloria nodded.

"They estimate that nearly twenty ships were sunk..." Charley muttered, and Gloria nodded. "And one of them was..." he choked up and it was a moment before he could finish, "the Arizona. Oh Bill..."

Gloria and Charley hugged, and Charley cried. Then, after perhaps five minutes, she felt him steady himself. He broke the embrace, stood up and said, "Let's get packed. I need to get back."

"What? Why? There's nothing we can do," Gloria said.

"That's where you're wrong, dear. There is something I can do," Charley told her. "And I'm going to do it."

.

legendsport · 01-13-2023, 04:54 PM

December 9, 1941: Cincinnati, OH:

"You have some nice things here, brother," Roger Cleaves told Deuce.

Deuce shrugged and said, "I guess so. Gloria bought most of it."

Roger sauntered over to the Viking Phonograph player, sitting on a stand beside a Victrola cabinet radio that Gloria had bought. "You know how much these things cost?" he asked, a sly look on his face.

Deuce shrugged again and admitted that no, he did not. "Like I said, Gloria buys all that stuff."

"So you let your sister," Roger replied, waited a beat then corrected himself, saying, "Sorry... our sister... buy everything? You buy your clothes?"

"Nope," Deuce admitted.

Roger laughed and shook his head. "Wow," he said.

Roger and Deuce had been drinking. Deuce blearily thought that his brother might not be all that great an influence on him and then, as it came to mind, asked, "Are you making fun of me?"

Roger laughed again and said, "I think you're making fun of yourself, Deucey."

"Oh?"

"Yeah... think about this: Gloria's married now and she'll be buying stuff for herself and her new husband. You're on your own now, bub."

Deuce nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right," he said, not hiding the hint of sadness he felt.

"How much money you make playing ball anyway?"

Deuce had to think about that one. Gloria really did handle all the money. "Uh... I think 18, 19 thousand."

Roger's eyes goggled. "What! You make that much scratch for throwing a baseball!"

Deuce shrugged yet again. "Sure, I guess." He rubbed his chin and added, "I think I'm going to get a raise too. I got hurt and missed some time but I still had a good season this year."

Roger was stunned and silent, just staring at Deuce with his mouth open.

The door swung open and Gloria walked in. Seeing Roger staring at Deuce she stopped dead in her tracks.

"What in tarnation's going on here?" she asked.

Roger raised his eyebrows and said, "Tarnation?"

Gloria waved a dismissive hand at him, looking at her twin. "Rufus? What's going on? Why is..." a definite pause... "he still here?" She nodded her chin at Roger - it was true that he should have been back in New Jersey and back in high school where he belonged.

"Hey, don't be mean. You're my favorite sister you know," Roger said with a grin.

"I'm your only sister and this isn't a Three Stooges skit," she snapped at him.

"True. You'd make a terrible Moe... but a cute Curly, maybe... you would have to shave your head," Roger said, his grin growing wider.

Gloria ignored him. "Rufus?" Gloria had narrowed her eyes as she looked her twin up and down. "Have you been drinking?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Just a little," Deuce replied.

"Aren't you still underage?" Gloria asked, turning to Roger.

"Bah, who cares?" Roger replied.

Gloria shook her head angrily. Then her face crumpled up and she began crying.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa... What's this all about?" Roger asked. Deuce stepped forward and pulled his sister into a hug.

"What's wrong Gloria?" he asked.

Gloria pushed herself away and pounded a fist on Deuce's chest. "You dolt! Haven't you noticed I'm alone?"

Roger looked through the open door into the hallway. "Yeah, where is old what's-his-name anyway?"

Deuce frowned at Roger and shook his head. "OK, I'm sorry. Where is Charley?" he asked.

Gloria sobbed and said, "He joined the Navy. He's on his way to training, or whatever they call it."

"He joined the Navy?" Roger asked, then shaking his head, he looked at Deuce and added, "You won't catch me doing that. I'm patriotic enough, but if Uncle Sam wants me, he can come get me. I ain't volunteering to get my..." he trailed off as he noticed that Gloria was glaring at him.

"Sorry," Roger muttered.

"He joined the Navy?" Deuce asked. "Did he ask Mr. Theobald first?"

Roger laughed again and said, "Oh, Deuce. You need to get out more. Charley don't need my grandfather's permission to join the Navy."

Deuce scowled at Roger, then looked at Gloria and asked, "Now why would he go and do something like that? Aside from the fact that the Cannons need him, he just got married!"

Gloria had a surprised look on her face. "You don't know, do you?" she asked.

Before Deuce could answer Roger said, "There's a lot he doesn't know, in case you haven't noticed sis."

Gloria said, "Bill was killed on the Arizona. My husband's off thinking he can take on the whole Japanese Navy and avenge his dead brother while my idiot brothers are here drinking and acting like fools." She stomped off towards her bedroom.

"You," she said, pointing at Deuce. "Need to sober up." Then she pointed at Roger, "And you need to get your tail back to New Jersey. You have school, remember?"

She slammed the door behind her.

"She always like that?" Roger asked Deuce.

Deuce said, "Nah, she's variable. Like the weather."

"You really make almost 20 thousand a year?" Roger asked.

"Yeah, unless Gloria's lying to me," Deuce replied.

Roger had an angry look on his face. "I think Jack and George have been holding out on me. If you make that much scratch they have to be making just as much... if not more." He shook his head and muttered something, but Deuce only caught the word "stingy" and perhaps something else that his mother would've washed his mouth out with soap for uttering.

Roger looked at Gloria's closed door. "I think our sister's right. I need to get back to school. I'm thinking if I have a really good season maybe I get drafted by a FABL team before Uncle Sam gets to me." He puffed out his chest, and for a moment Deuce saw their shared father in Roger more than he ever had before. "I am, after all, both Cleaves and Barrell, and I'm a catcher just like my brother George. I need to get my hands on some of that baseball money!"

.

legendsport · 01-16-2023, 06:37 PM

February 17, 1942: Washington, DC:

Dan Barrell walked down the hallway of the New Congressional Office Building, built in 1933 when the so-called "Old" office building had grown too crowded. Beside him walked three of his nieces and they were the main reasons for his visit. It occurred to him as he walked that though he had lived or worked in Washington for a significant number of years this was the first time he'd visited any building relating to the U.S. Capitol.

"You girls sure you want to do this?" he asked.

The eldest of the three, Agnes Barrell McCullough, sighed. "You've asked us that several times already, Uncle Dan," she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation. Her single-mindedness reminded Dan of her father Jimmy - a trait her half-brother James had also inherited. Aggie's half-sister Jean and Rollie's eldest daughter Martha both nodded in agreement.

It was only as a favor to the girls' fathers, Jack and Rollie, that Dan had even agreed to do this. Most everyone in the family knew how he felt about the man they were going to be visiting. The congressional page who was escorting them gave him a tight-lipped half-grin that Dan suspected meant she knew exactly what he was thinking.

They stopped outside the Congressional office of the esteemed representative of Ohio's 17th Congressional District: Maurice D. Morris. Dan frowned momentarily - he hadn't know Morris' first name was anything other than Max.

The page opened the door and motioned them inside. A thin young man was sitting behind a desk in the small room. A large and heavy-looking door was situated to the left. The man was obviously Morris' assistant and the man himself was behind the door.

"Welcome Mr. Barrell, Mrs. McCullough, Miss Barrell and, er, Miss Barrell," the man said with a warm smile. "The congressman will see you momentarily."

The page left and a scant moment later an older man came in from the hall. "Ah, you must be the people here to discuss our bill," he said. He stepped forward and shook Dan's hand. "I'm Bill Dietrich, representing the 14th District of Michigan." He smiled at the young women. "I believe you three young ladies are from my constituency."

"We are," Aggie said. She wasn't smiling - her smile hadn't been on display much over the past two months. "I voted for you, sir," she told the man who nodded his head and smiled in return. "My sister and cousin, alas, were too young to vote in 1940, but you can be assured of their support this November, I would think," Aggie added. Jean and Marty both nodded. The cousins were just 17 days apart in age and though both were similar in height and slimness, Jean looked like her mother Marie while Marty took after Rollie.

The door to the inner office opened and the familiar burly form of Max Morris filled the doorway. Dan still didn't care for the man, though his outward appearance had changed since that day all those years ago when Dan had been a high-school student and Morris the most famous ballplayer in the country.

"Dan Barrell!" Morris said in his familiar booming voice. "How long has it been?" the big man asked as he grasped Dan's hand in a meaty paw and gave it a bone-crushing squeeze.

Morris cleaned up well - his tailored suit looked good on him. Dan gave back his best squeeze as he answered, "Oh, what? Six years or so - wasn't '36 your last year with the Foresters?"

"Yep, it sure was. Had my last dance with the Dynamos in '37 and then it was off to Washington for me," he said, then added a hearty laugh and added, "Now that was a twist I did not see coming!"

Dan laughed despite himself. His father had told him of how Morris had been all but drafted in Rufus Barrell's office - the very same one Dan now called his own - back in the winter of '37-38.

"I see you've met Bill Dietrich," Morris said. "Bill and I are going to co-sponsor this bill for you ladies."

Morris cast his appraising eye over Dan's nieces and Dan fought a barely successful inner campaign not to sneer at the old lecher. Morris had to be approaching fifty and the girls... well, young ladies, were 22 (Aggie) and 19 (Jean & Marty).

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Morris," Marty said, stepping forward and thrusting out a hand. Morris looked at Dan and raised an eyebrow. "You must be Rollie Barrell's daughter," he said when he'd turned back to Marty and plastered his smile back onto his face.

"I am," Marty replied, a look of surprise on her face.

"Oh, don't be too surprised young lady," Morris explained, "I've known your father for a long time and you bear more than a passing resemblence."

Marty nodded. "I have heard that, yes," she said.

Aggie spoke up, and got right to business, "Sir, do you think this bill has a chance?" she asked.

Morris turned to her. "You're Mrs. McCullough, I take it," he said. Aggie nodded and he added, "Sorry to hear about your husband, but rest assured we will pay the Japanese back a thousand-fold."

"Thank you," Aggie said quickly. "But the bill?"

This time it was Dietrich who spoke up. "Yes, well... there will be some resistance," he said.

"But the bill for the Army passed last year," Marty spoke up.

"True," Dietrich said. "But, that's a bit of a horse of a different color as it were. The Women's Army Auxiliary Corps allows women to serve alongside the Army, but separate and not inside it. What our bill is suggesting is adding women to the Navy directly."

Marty was about to speak again, but Morris raised a hand. "It's not all doom and gloom, young ladies. I've spoken with Rear Admiral Nimitz and though he was initially reluctant, I believe he's come around to seeing the usefulness of women working in non-combat roles, and here in the States away from combat zones, to free up men for fighting."

"That is all we are asking," Aggie put in. Her determination was all but oozing from her pores as she stood there, hands clenched in front of her.

"I know this is personal for you," Morris told her. "Bill and I will do our best to get this bill passed. Then we just have to get it through the Senate and to the President's desk. Mrs. Roosevelt has come out in favor of it, and her influence with the President is not trivial."

Dietrich nodded and added, "And Secretary Knox is also in favor. I am confident we can get this bill passed in the House. There will be opposition in the Senate too, but I've been speaking with a few Senators, off the record, and they think they can get it passed there too." Frank Knox was the Secretary of the Navy and his endorsement would carry a lot of weight.

Aggie's mouth curved in the merest shadow of a smile. Marty and Jean bore looks of excitement.

Morris waved towards the door into the inner office. "Why don't we step inside and discuss the particulars. Secretary Knox has asked for us to create a list of possible members - all women of course - of an Advisory Council and perhaps, after the bill passes, to hold leadership roles in the women's program. We'll also need a name."

The trio of young women trooped into the office. Morris winked at Dan, who wasn't sure what the Congressman meant by that, but he gave a thin smile in return and followed his nieces into the office with Morris and Dietrich entering after him.

.

legendsport · 01-17-2023, 09:46 AM

March 3, 1942: Tampa, FL:

Fred Barrell trudged past the fans lining the fence. The days when they would shout his name were in the past. He saw Al Wheeler chatting with a clump of well-wishers - the Wonder Wheel was only a couple years younger than Fred, but he was also an established star who had enjoyed a solid season in '41, clouting 24 homers and hitting .291 on the year. Fred? He'd hit a measly .236 and power had never been in his repetoire.

Harry ran past, waving at some fans who called out to him. He slapped Fred on the back on the way by. Fred wished he still had Harry's energy, but years of catching had taken a toll. Sometimes he felt like the years had worn him down to a nub.

He entered the shack the Kings called a clubhouse. In a cost-cutting move a few years back owner Daniel Prescott had decided to have the big league team do their spring training in Tampa and use the Class C Tampa Cigar Kings' park - and clubhouse. Class C was the lowest rung on the professional ladder and amenities weren't just hard to find... they were non-existent.

"Barrell!" he heard as he entered and groaned.

A familiar rumpled figure made his way towards Fred, navigating his bulk carefully through the tight quarters of the clubhouse. "Fred, got a minute?"

For a second Fred wanted to say "no" but his mother had raised him to be better than that, so instead he asked, "What can I do for you, Brinker?"

John Brinker was a sportswriter, although he put on airs, claiming he was a "feature writer" as if that meant anything to ballplayers. He also apparently believed that he should be the chronicler of all things Barrell, from Rufus down to Harry and perhaps beyond now that Deuce had become the first of the next generation to make it to FABL. Despite evidence such as Jack once threatening to rearrange his face, both Bobby and Harry taking pleasure in tormenting him with nonsense answers to his questions, and Tom once hiding in the showers for an hour to avoid him, Brinker never quite took the hint that the Barrells generally would rather he left them alone.

Brinker joined Fred as the latter reached his locker and sat down. Brinker looked around, noticed that there were no open stools available and decided to lean against the locker of young pitcher Effa Bancroft, a kid who'd pitched at AA Knoxville in '41 and was unlikely to go north with the Kings. This made him less likely to rip into the writer for taking liberties. Not that he would, because Bancroft was a polite guy. Brinker probably didn't know, but Bancroft was off doing extra work with pitching coach William Lyons and wouldn't be in the clubhouse for a while yet anyway.

Brinker leaned in conspiratorially as if they were old friends. "I heard a rumor that you were thinking about hanging it up..." he said.

"Is that a question?" Fred asked, thinking this was exactly why Bob & Harry give him nonsense answers.

"Yes," Brinker said after a moment.

"Sounded like a statement to me," Fred replied as he untied his spikes.

"Take it as you will..." Brinker said then asked, "Got anything to say on the topic?"

"I'm thirty-six Brinker, of course I think about retiring," Fred replied wearily, tossing his right shoe into the locker with a bang.

Fred turned and eyed Brinker. "Who told you this, anyway?" he asked with clear suspicion in his voice. "It was Harry, wasn't it?" he added, answering his own question.

Brinker frowned and then shrugged, which just confirmed Fred's suspicions. Harry absolutely would deflect Brinker by sending him off after Fred, particularly now that both Dan and Tom were no longer on the Kings.

"That kid needs to keep his mouth shut," he said.

"Going to join the war effort?" Brinker asked as a follow-up.

Fred raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Well... no, I hadn't really considered that. As I just said, I'm 36 and I have not only a wife, but also children to consider. So no... I am not thinking of retiring from baseball to go off and join the Army or something."

Brinker chewed his lip for a moment. "Really?" he asked quietly. "I had you pegged as a patriotic guy."

Fred frowned before answering, "I am a patriotic guy. But I'm also a realistic guy. I'm no kid, Brinker. If the country needs me, I'll serve, but I don't know that I have all that much to offer as an old ballplayer whose knees ache all the time, and whose fingers have been broken so often that I doubt I could pull a trigger."

Brinker was silent for a moment. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something. "Meet me outside in fifteen minutes?" he asked.

"What? Why?"

"Just meet me outside, in fifteen," Brinker said. Then he took a deep breath and added, "Please."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fifteen minutes later, his hair wet and his mood sour, Fred Barrell stepped out of the ramshackle clubhouse building and saw Brinker standing at the fringe of the parking lot beside a plain blue Plymouth.

"That the best you can do?" Fred asked as he approached into earshot, nodding at the car. "Looks like something a G-Man would drive," he added.

"Funny you'd say that," Brinker said and then Fred startled as the door of the sedan opened and a man stepped out.

He was tall, thin, and dressed in a fine suit that stood in stark contrast to Brinker's rumpled and ill-fitting ensemble. His hair was cut short and neat and he stood ramrod straight.

"You look like a recruiting poster for Hoover's Untouchables, mister," Fred said to the man. He looked at Brinker and asked, "Who's this?"

The man replied for himself. "Name's Dixon, Bill Dixon." He stepped forward and offered his right hand.

Fred shook it, and was impressed. Fred had a pretty good grip, honed from years of swinging baseball bats, but the other man more than held his own. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Dixon. I'm Fred Barrell."

Dixon nodded. "Yes, I know. You're the man I'm here to see."

"Oh?" this said with genuine surprise.

"Yes, you see Mr. Barrell," Dixon began, "I have it on good authority that you would be the perfect man for a job I have that needs filling."

Fred frowned. "Job? I'm a ballplayer, Mr. Dixon. My qualifications for most every other job under the sun, with the possible exception of baseball coach, are likely to be woefully inadequate."

"I disagree. Would you like to hear why?"

Fred was intrigued and freely admitted it. He blinked in surprise a few times when Dixon told him that it was a matter of national security that he keep the conversation they were about to have strictly secret.

"Wow, that sounds serious," Fred said.

"It is," Dixon replied simply. "Do I have your word?"

"Sure, I can keep a secret," Fred answered, though he wasn't 100% sure about that. Tillie was highly skilled herself - particularly at worming everything out of him.

"As you know we are at war. And I am starting an organization whose task it will be to prosecute that war on a," Dixon paused and pursed his lips, then continued, "shall we say 'clandestine' level."

"You mean like spies?" Fred asked.

Brinker chuckled and said, "See, Bill? I told you he was smart."

Dixon looked at Brinker and the big man's mouth snapped shut and the grin slid off his face, replaced by a look of chagrin.

"Something like that," Dixon told Fred after starting at Brinker for a moment longer.

"And? What's that got to do with me?" Fred asked.

"Well, I've heard that you're a bit of a polyglot," Dixon replied.

"Polyglot? What, exactly, is that?" Fred asked, uncertain whether that was a compliment or slight. He saw Brinker smirking.

"Someone adept at picking up languages," Dixon replied.

"Ah..." Fred said. His hobby of learning new languages in the hopes of becoming a diplomat... He wondered who filled this guy Dixon in on that. Brinker didn't know and the circle of people who did was small: Harry, Tom, his parents, Tillie of course... his nephew James and the kid's mother Claudia Slocum... and.... Tom Potentas.

"Potentas, right?" he asked, noting that Dixon had watched him intently as he'd worked it out.

Dixon smiled. "Very good," he said. "Brinker was right - you are smart."

He paused and then explained. "Mr. Potentas, as a Pole is, as you might expect, keenly interested in what's going on in Europe. Some of which is, frankly, quite disturbing. And now that we are officially at war with Germany... Mr. Potentas has offered the U.S. government his help and contacts in Eastern Europe."

"Potentas is a spy?" Fred asked, not bothering to mask his skepticism. The guy was so... flamboyantly... eccentric (there really was no other word for it) that he was either the worst - or best? - possible choice to be a spy.

"No," Dixon said, shaking his head. "He's too high profile and with his ties to Polish nobility, known to the enemy. But he said you have shown a remarkable ability to pick up both German and French," he continued. "This would make you quite valuable to my organization," he concluded.

"You keep mentioning this organization," Fred said before asking, "Does it have a name?"

Dixon shook his head and said, "Not yet it doesn't. But it soon will." He gave Fred a hard stare. "You interested?"

Fred surprised himself by answering, "Yes. Yes I am." Then wondered how he was going to tell Tillie. She didn't like it when he was away on a ten-game road trip. He had a feeling this new job might take him a lot farther away and for a much longer time.

.

07-08-2022, 11:43 AM	#221
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	August 27, 1939: Baltimore, MD: Furious, Deuce Barrell threw his glove into his locker. Catcher Joe Rainbow shook his head in dismay while the Cannons' manager, John Lawrence, stepped up next to Rainbow with a frown on his face. "He's too emotional for his own good," Lawrence told his catcher. "I suppose I get it - you know how much he wants to beat those guys," Rainbow replied. Deuce pulled his jersey over his head, not even bothering to unbutton it. He sat down in front of his locker, the jersey balled up in his left fist. "I get that, but this is just one more game in a long season," said Lawrence. "Yeah, but us young guys... especially someone like him? We're not used to all this losing, Skip." Lawrence sighed and said, "I hope none of you boys ever gets used to losing, Joe." Then he slapped Rainbow on the back and said, "Go talk to him, see if you can calm him down." Rainbow nodded and took a deep breath. Dealing with what veteran - and lead - catcher Norm Whitney called "the young hot-headed hot-shots" (Whitney's term for Barrell and Gus Goulding) was Rainbow's least favorite part of the job. But Whitney would be catching the second-game of the doubleheader with Brooklyn so Rainbow had caught Deuce in the opener, and now had to deal with the aftermath. Sidling over, Rainbow sat down beside Deuce. "Perret hit a good pitch, Deuce," he said. At 25, Rainbow wasn't all that much older than the 22-year-old southpaw and still felt awkward trying to play "veteran" with Deuce. Goulding was worse - at 26, he was actually older than Rainbow, though both Lawrence and Whitney had pointed out that Joe was "emotionally" older than Gus, and by a long shot. "Bull," Deuce replied. He threw his jersey into the locker and added, "I missed my spot and you know it." This was true - Rainbow had wanted the pitch away and Deuce had caught entirely too much of the middle of the plate. The veteran Perret had not missed, unloading on it for what turned out to be a game-winning home run in a 3-2, ten-inning loss. That the loss came to Brooklyn, where three of Barrell's uncles played, rankled the kid even more. "Fair enough," Rainbow said. "Yes, you missed and Perret hit it out. It happens." "Doesn't mean I have to like it," Deuce snarled. "I need to be better." Rainbow sighed quietly. The kid wasn't wrong, but he wasn't entirely right either. "I know all this," he said, waving his hand around, "is wearing on you. It wears on all of us," he added quietly. Deuce nodded. The loss dropped him to 11-7. The Cannons were in the basement - a spot they'd occupied all too often over the past decade or so. Deuce - plus Goulding, and maybe centerfielder Ken Galloway - were rare bright spots on an otherwise lackluster roster. Rainbow wasn't kidding himself - he was an average player, at best. And that was true of most of the Cannons. He privately felt that the skipper had mentally checked out and so had most of the team. Changes were needed. But he couldn't really say all this to Deuce. The kid wasn't mature enough to handle it. Deuce hung his head and stayed quiet for a moment. Then he turned and looked at Rainbow and said, "I appreciate you trying to cheer me up, Joe. And you're right. The losing... is killing me. And the front office? It's a joke. I mean, we don't even have a pitching coach! I love Norm," he said, meaning Whitney, "but he's not a coach." "Don't discount Norm too much, Deuce. Yeah, he's a catcher like me, but he's been around the block." "He's not a coach. Maybe he will be... someday. But we need a real pitching coach, Joe." "I'll second that motion," Gus Goulding said as he dropped onto his stool. Goulding had the locker on the other side of Deuce's because Lawrence thought having his "hot-shots" next to each other would rub the edges off their tense relationship. Rainbow didn't know quite why, but Deuce and Gus didn't really care for one another. Deuce snickered and gave Gus a rare, and half-hearted, grin. Goulding held up a sandwich. "You guys should get some food before Skip eats it all," he said. Lawrence was a notorious glutton, something of a joke amongst the players. Deuce nodded. Maybe food would take his mind off that one big mistake to Perret. "Oh, wait!" Goulding said as Deuce began to stand up. "I heard something from one of the reporters." "Yeah, what's that?" Rainbow asked. Deuce sat back down, but said nothing. "Rumor has it that old man Banner is looking to sell the team." Deuce's eyes widened. That old penny-pincher was Public Enemy #1 in his opinion. Nearly anyone else would be an improvement. "What? That old so-and-so would never," Rainbow opined. Gus shrugged. "Just telling you what I heard. This guy, you know the one with glasses? From the Daily News?" Goulding never bothered to learn reporters' names, and generally called them "leeches" and other unkind names. Regardless, both Deuce and Rainbow knew the reporter and nodded. "He said that there's a guy in Cincinnati that wants to buy the team and move us there." "Cincinnati? What the heck's in Cincinnati?" Rainbow asked. "What's in Baltimore?" Goulding shot back. "I don't care where we play, but if Banner's out, then I say we'll be better off," Deuce said. Goulding, who felt the same way, nodded. Rainbow still looked skeptical. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

07-14-2022, 12:48 PM	#222
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	September 1, 1939: Washington, DC: "We sure are going to miss you around here, Mr. Barrell." Rufus Barrell smiled. It was a sad smile, because in his heart he hoped this day had never come, but of course, time waits for no one and he'd known it inevitably would arrive. He was announcing his retirement later that afternoon. Having just arrived at the office, his secretary Mary was the first to hear the news. Thomas Potentas burst into Rufus' office, looking both distraught and disheveled. His tie was crooked and his hair was a mess, looking as though someone had been pulling on it. Rufus and Mary exchanged looks of equal parts shock and concern. "Thomas! What is it?" Rufus asked. Mary was also now staring at Thomas, eyes wide. In response Thomas spluttered something, a string of words Rufus didn't understand - presumably Polish. Thomas sometimes lapsed into his native tongue when distressed - and Rufus had rarely, if ever, seen his old friend and business partner this upset. "I beg your pardon?" Rufus asked, his voice practically dripping with concern. Thomas ran his hands through his hair - proving its state was his doing after all - and then muttered, "I am sorry, Rufus. But the news, it is terrible!" Mary put a hand on Thomas' shoulder. "What's happened Mr. Potentas?" she asked. "The Nazis... they have attacked Poland!" Rufus closed his eyes. Like many, he had feared this was going to occur. For weeks Hitler had been ramping up his rhetoric and once everyone had heard that the Nazis and the Soviets had somehow made a pact... well, it was then that most realized this probably meant war. "The British and French... they won't let this stand," Rufus told his friend. "I wish I had your confidence, Rufus, but the Germans..." a tear rolled down Thomas' cheek. "If the west doesn't act quickly, it'll be too late." Mary continued to pat Thomas' shoulder. "I must go home!" he suddenly shouted, then added, "I will fight! Yes, yes, that is what I will do!" Rufus' eyes widened in fright. Thomas... as a soldier? The very idea was preposterous. But Mary beat him to the punch, saying, "Mr. Potentas, that is a terrible idea. You are not trained to be a soldier!" Rufus jumped in, adding, "That's right! And it'll take time to get there too. Let's see if the Brits or the French can stop this before it goes too far." Thomas shook his head. "They won't be able to stop Hitler. They did not stop him in the Rhineland. They did not stop him in Austria. They did not stop him in Czechoslovakia. They will not stop him now. Now... it is war." The three of them stood quietly for a moment. Then Thomas angrily rubbed his sleeve across his face, wiping away the residue of his tears. "I am sorry. What is it you wanted to talk about, my friend?" he asked Rufus. Rufus looked uncomfortable. "Oh, it was nothing. It can wait," he said. He caught Mary's eye and she gave a small nod of understanding. Rufus knew she'd cancel the meeting with the newsmen. The papers would have something else to write about today, regardless. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Same day, Baltimore, MD: The team doctor was looking into Deuce Barrell's left eye. "You having any other issues?" he asked. "Aside from that bright light hurting my eye, no," Deuce replied. The doctor stepped back, and Deuce blinked in relief. "You find Amelia Earhart in there, Doc?" he asked with a grin. "Well, I am glad to see you're in good spirits at least, Rufus." Deuce sighed and said, "I told you, call me Deuce. Only my grandmother calls me Rufus." The doctor made a point of looking at his chart. "Says here your name is 'Rufus J. Barrell' so I'll stick with that. What's the 'J' for anyway?" "Joseph," Deuce replied. "It was my father's name. He didn't want to give me a middle name at all, but my mother insisted." The doctor gave him a lopsided grin and said, "Well, Deuce, I am happy to report that the only thing wrong with you is," he paused for dramatic effect and said, "color-blindness." "Color-blindness?" Deuce asked, with a dubious look. "Yes indeed," the doctor replied. "It's fairly common and nothing to be overly concerned about. It's not contagious," he finished and winked. "Well, shoot..." Deuce said. "Gloria was right." "Gloria?" "Yeah, my pain-in-the-butt sister Gloria. She's been telling me I'm colorblind since we were kids," Deuce explained unhappily. He really didn't like seeing his twin sister be proven correct about anything. She had a tendency to rub it in. There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. Gus Goulding's head popped into the frame. "You guys hear? The Germans went and invaded Poland. Radio says the English and French are thinking about declaring war on the Nazis." The doctor harrumphed then slapped Deuce on the knee. "Well my boy, you might just end up being extremely lucky." Deuce was perplexted. Gus, intrigued, stepped into the room. The doctor chuckled at their looks of confusion. "Well, if there's a big dust-up in Europe, you can bet dollars to donuts FDR will find a way to get us into it. And that'll mean young men like you two could end up swapping those baseball duds for olive drab. But...." "But what?" Deuce and Gus asked almost in unison. "But... color-blindness, at least in the last war, was grounds for a deferment from the draft. So you, my boy," he slapped Deuce on the knee again, "might just have gotten a 'get out of the Army free' card." "Huh," Deuce said. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

07-15-2022, 12:25 PM	#223
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	September 7, 1939: Lincoln, NE: "C'mon, Jim! Let's go son!" James Slocum closed his eyes briefly, trying - unsuccessfully - to tune out the voice. It wasn't a heckler, which somehow made it possibly worse. James was somewhat used to having things shouted at him. Most people knew him as Powell Slocum's son, or guessed at it simply because of his name. He'd long-since given up on trying to explain the not-all-that-complicated truth of the matter. But having his own team mate yelling at him, albeit encouragingly, irritated him for some reason. He took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and stepped into the batter's box. Out on the hill, the pitcher for Lincoln Legislators gave him a cock-eyed grin. He - and everyone else in the tiny bandbox of a ballpark - heard the yelling. James, frustrated, waved a hand at the dugout. For his efforts he got another, "C'mon, Jim!" The person doing the yelling was Rufus Daniels. Because he was the son of Roland "Possum" Daniels, he was something like family to James, whose grandfather was Possum's long-time best friend. James had heard - ad nauseum - a string of tales from Rufus Daniels (named for James' grandfather) about young Possum and young Rufus "back in Savannah" (which Rufus pronounced "Savann-ee"). On the mound, Danny Goff Jr.'s smirk got wider. His father, Danny Sr., was a coach on the staff of the Brooklyn Kings - the team that James' adopted father, the aforementioned Powell Slocum, just happened to manage. "Any chance you can get Goff to actually throw a pitch?" James muttered at the catcher. For his part, the catcher (a guy named Gidge Sumpter) just spit through his mask, splattering the plate and earning a "Hey!" from the umpire, who'd have to dust it off. Apparently Sumpter found time between spit takes to actually flash some signals because James saw Goff nod and go into his windup. James knew team mate Bob Hardin was dancing off first base, hoping to distract Goff enough to knock his concentration off-kilter. The pitch came in, fast, straight, and best-of-all, right over the heart of the plate. James, his left-handed swing honed over long hours by Powell, uncoiled a mechanically perfect swing and ripped the pitch into the gap between the right and center fielders. As he busted it out of the box, James saw Jim Madsen, the centerfielder, begin running and knew the ball was going to get past him. James wasn't blisteringly fast, but he wasn't slow either. He was nearly to second base before Madsen grabbed the ball and so didn't even hesitate going around second. He slid into third easily with a triple, the ball arriving at least a full second after his spikes hit the bag. He stood up, grinning, and dusted himself off. From the dugout, now safely across the diamond, James could hear Rufus Daniels yelling some more. But now he just took it in, and basked in it a bit. The game ended up being a wild, 12-9 win by James' Springfield Hustlers. Goff was knocked out in the seventh, having retired no one in that frame. James ended up 2-for-6 with the triple and an RBI. Rufus Daniels, playing center to James' left field, talked all through the game, even in the outfield, but he also went 2-for-4 with both hits being doubles and drove in four runs. That was a bit of an outlier - James knew that while he himself (currently hitting .308 and having risen from Class C, to Class B and now A-ball in the same season) was a longshot to someday make the Brooklyn Kings, Rufus was an even longer-shot. Daniels was hitting just .241 and at 26 his prospect days were now long behind him. James himself was just 19 and presumably had his best years ahead of him. "So how come you all is going to college?" Daniels had asked James when the latter had arrived from Class B Tampa. "I'm trying to get an education so I can do something with my life if baseball doesn't work out," James replied. "What do you mean by that?" Daniels asked, seemingly genuinely curious. "Well," James began, deciding to be diplomatic given that Rufus Daniels was almost certainly never going to make it to FABL, "I'm looking out for my future in case I don't make it to FABL." "Not make it? Shoot, son, you're baseball royalty," Daniels had said earnestly. James laughed and said, "I don't think that matters, Rufus, even if I thought it was true. Which I don't." "Well... your pappy is Powell Slocum, the best dang hitter what ever lived, and your grandpappy is Rufus Barrell, what knows every muckety-muck in the whole dang sport." "Yes, and none of that matters if I can't produce on the field," James explained. Daniels plainly didn't believe it, but he changed tacks. "What's this I hear about you flyin' around in aeroplanes?" James smiled and nodded. "Yep, I'm a pilot. Just like my father was." "Powell was a pilot?" James sighed and shook his head. This wasn't going to be easy. "No, Powell is not a pilot. My actual father, Jimmy Barrell - he was a pilot." "Ah, right. I plum forgot, sorry." "That's ok, it happens all the time actually," James explained. "Because Powell adopted me and my legal last name isn't Barrell any more." "So... you going to go to school here in Springfield?" "Sure am. Lincoln College." Daniels whistled and said, "Hoo boy, that's fancy!" James blushed a little and shrugged. "I don't know about that." Daniels squinted one of his eyes and James nearly laughed at the sudden resemblance to Possum Daniels. "You reckon they'd take me on?" he asked. Now James really did almost laugh, but knowing that might hurt his team mate's feelings, he shrugged and said, "You could always ask. You did graduate high school, right?" Daniels scratched his chin and said, "Yup. My ma made sure I did. My pa, he never finished, and said if'n I was going to be a ballplayer it didn't matter none. But ma made sure I went." James nodded. "Good, an education is important - my grandfather Rufus told me that, and I'm a firm believer." And so Rufus Daniels ended up enrolling in classes at Lincoln College. James was surprised, but also happy. There was more to life than baseball, after all. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

07-29-2022, 02:59 PM	#224
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	October 9, 1939: Washington, DC: Rufus Barrell walked into his office, after waiting a second to allow his wife and his sons Dan and Fred to enter first. Then he stepped into the familiar room, one that had been his office for the better part of two decades. He took a moment to peruse his surroundings. The wood-covered walls, themselves dotted here and there with photos of Rufus with various people, a veritable who's who that ran the gamut from people he disliked (Charles Bigsby) to those he tolerated (William Stocksdale) to those he admired (Franklin Delano Roosevelt). He turned and closed the door. When he turned back, he saw Alice and Dan standing in front of his desk, looking back at him - Fred was looking at some of the photos on the wall. Alice had a thin smile on her face - Rufus knew she had long been looking forward to this day and was hiding the full-fledged grin she probably wanted to be wearing. Dan, on the other hand, looked nervous, rubbing his hands. This office was now Dan's office, and Rufus also knew that his son had doubts about his ability to run the Scouting Bureau. Doubts Rufus himself did not have about Dan, but remembered having about himself all those years earlier. "That's done," Rufus said, his voice thick with emotion. Alice gave the barest of nods. Dan just stood there looking as if he'd been poleaxed. Fred stood looking at one photo, his hand cupping his chin - a pose all-too-familiar to Rufus, who did the same when thinking. Rufus, though he had long dreaded this day, now felt an odd sense of relief. It was done and he could go home to Georgia and.... well, he admitted to himself he didn't know just what he'd do with himself. Alice would no doubt have some ideas in that area, however. The last month had been tough. Thomas Potentas, who was supposed to be showing Dan some of the intricacies of the business-side of the Bureau was instead glued to the radio, listening to the bad news from Poland pile up. When the Soviet Union had invaded eastern Poland on September 17, Thomas had nearly gone mad, his anger, frustration and fear for his relations in Poland almost too much for him to bear. Now that the Polish government had fled and the Nazis and Soviets were busy carving up the nation between them, Thomas had retreated into a bluntly forlorn and stubbornly formal shell of the genuinely kind and friendly man he had always been. The 1939 baseball season hadn't been kind to the Barrells either. The Brooklyn Kings, after three straight pennants (and a 1937 WCS win) preceded by a pair of runner-up finishes, the bottom had fallen out and the team tumbled all the way to seventh place. Harry had played well, hitting .318, but the team's biggest star - Al Wheeler - had the worst season of his career. Freddie had been subpar as well and the team had dealt veteran 3B Frank Vance and pitcher Joe Shaffner to Detroit, all but waving the white flag. Tom had suffered a shoulder injury that ended his mediocre season in July. Over in the Federal, Bobby's Keystones hadn't fared all that well either, finishing seventh in their first season without Rankin Kellogg whose health issues had forced him to retire. Bobby's numbers were respectable, but he had told Rufus that his power was still not all the way back as the effects of his gunshot wound continued to plague him. "Praise the Lord," Alice said, breaking the silence after Rufus' statement. "What are you so intent on Fred?" Dan asked, as he walked over to stand beside his brother. "This picture... that's Ward Clevenger, isn't it?" Fred asked, turning to look at his father. Dan peered at the photo, not recognizing the tall, athletic-looking man standing beside Rufus. Both men held baseballs up as if offering them to the photographer and Clevenger (if that's who the guy was) might have had a larger smile than the one on Rufus' face - and that was saying something. "Oh?" Rufus asked, snapping out of an apparent reverie. He peered at the photo without moving from the doorway. "Yes, that's Clevenger," he answered, the response sounding almost like a question itself. "Who's this Clevenger fellow?" Dan asked. He had worked hard in his time at the OSA, worked on getting to know some of the many power brokers around the FABL. His purview had been much smaller in Brooklyn. He'd only had to worry about his GM, the skipper and his team mates - but mostly took care of himself and kept an eye on his brothers (especially Harry, who seemed to attract trouble as naturally as drawing breath). Fred answered before Rufus could. "He's in the State Department. I believe number two, now." Dan looked at his brother as if he were speaking a foreign language. Fred had studied several languages at Georgia Baptist, but though the words were certainly English, Dan had no idea why Fred knew who the "number two man at the State Department" was. "State Department?" Alice asked, as she too walked over towards the picture. "Yes, Fred, why the interest?" "Where was this photo taken?" Fred asked, apparently deciding to ignore the "why" for the moment. "Congressional baseball game. Clevenger was in the House at the time," Rufus replied then asked again, "Why?" Fred rubbed his chin again. "You two retiring," he said, pointing to first Dan and then Rufus, "has me thinking about the end of my career." Dan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "And you want to be, what? A diplomat?" "Is that so hard to believe?" Fred shot back defensively. "Honestly? Yes, it does. You're a ballplayer Freddie." "Well, someday I'll be an ex-ballplayer and we can't all take over the OSA, now can we?" Now Dan looked defensive, but before he could open his mouth to reply, Alice broke in. "Stop it, you two." Both Dan and Fred looked abashed, and Rufus almost chuckled at the memories it brought back of Alice snapping the boys back in line with a few words all those years ago. "Well, I think it's fine that Freddie is thinking about his future," Rufus said, and stepped up to pat Fred on the back. Dan still looked skeptical. "Can you still speak any of those languages you studied back at Baptist?" he asked. Fred nodded. "Yes, although German is probably my best. I practice on Claudia... it's nice having her in Brooklyn and since she's married to the skipper, I see her all the time. My Italian is still passable. French too. Latin? I've never used it, and probably never will." Dan's mouth twisted - he apparently still didn't think much of the idea. "I just can't see you talking to ambassadors and diplomats, Fred. I mean... you're a catcher!" "Hey, that 'tools of ignorance' stuff is a bunch of malarkey and you know it Dan!" Dan was about to reply when Alice again chided her sons, this time adding, "Let's stop the bickering. Today is a tough day for your father." They all turned to Rufus. Surprisingly, Rufus didn't look upset at all. He was smiling. "You should talk to Potentas, Fred," he said. "He knows more languages than you do!" Fred laughed while Dan shook his head and Alice simply looked at her husband and sons, a mix of amusement and frustration on her face. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

08-05-2022, 11:43 AM	#225
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	October 29, 1939: Egypt, GA: Rufus Barrell, retiree. While accurate, that particular moniker was still sinking in as Rufus walked back to the farmhouse. His dog, Blue (the fourth... or was it fifth? Or sixth?... in the series of 'Blues' the Barrells had owned since moving to Georgia from Brooklyn) was tugging on the leash, eager to get back inside and see what Alice was cooking. Blue the Fifth (or Sixth) was only on a leash because he was still little more than a pup and still rambunctious. "Slow down, boy, I'm not as spry as I used to be," Rufus said. And it was true. He had never really given much thought to his advancing age; part of him believed this was because his job kept him active. Now, less than three weeks into his retirement, he suddenly felt old. And useless. That part he wouldn't admit to anyone, especially his wife. He walked up the steps slowly, his knee and hip sending his brain brief but noteworthy signals of pain. He bent over with a small sigh, unclipped the lead from Blue's collar and swung open the screen door. The dog shot through the opening as soon as it was large enough and rocketed towards the kitchen. Rufus followed at a much more leisurely pace. Alice was frying bacon and as Rufus entered the kitchen he saw the coon hound had already seated himself at her right hip, his head tilted up with hopeful anticipation. Rufus sat down at the table, a small but audible grunt punctuating the procedure and drawing a look from his wife. "Your hip?" she asked, turning back to the skillet before he answered. "Yep. Been bothering me a lot lately," he replied. "Arthritis. You should go see Doc," Alice suggested. Rufus groaned. The last thing he wanted was to go for some poking, prodding and unwanted advice. Alice shot him another look, this one of annoyance. "I know, I know," Rufus said. The phone rang. Rufus wondered who would be calling this early. They had only recently had a phone installed in the kitchen, more a nod to their advancing age than a matter of simple convenience. Having an "extension" in the kitchen meant not having to go all the way into the sitting room to answer the phone. Rufus rose slowly and got to the phone as the second ring was still echoing in the kitchen. "Hello?" "Rufus, y'all have a long distance call," he heard the operator say. Egypt being such a small town, it still had an operator. Rufus had grown somewhat accustomed to the "automatic switching" that allowed direct dialing in Washington. But he'd known Doris Delacroix for decades. "Put it through, please Doris," he replied and added a "thank you." There was a click and then he heard, "Rufus? This is George Theobald." Momentarily taken aback, Rufus wondered why the legendary former manager was calling. He had a sinking feeling it was related to their shared grandson, Roger Cleaves. So he was surprised when Theobald said, "I want to offer you a job." "Beg pardon?" Rufus asked, so stunned he couldn't come up with anything else. "I want to offer you a job," Theobald repeated. A job? Theobald was a minority owner of the Detroit Dynamos, but Rufus knew that Dynamos owner Powell Thompson, the younger brother of the recently-deceased "Big Eddie" Thompson, had taken an iron grip on personnel matters. "A job? I just retired, George," Rufus pointed out. Alice turned and stared at him, a frown on her face. "Oh, I'm aware of that. But I think you might want to hear me out." "OK, I'm listening," Rufus replied and saw Alice's frown deepen into a disapproving scowl. He shrugged and gave her a small grin. She shook her head, plainly displeased. "How would you like to be my scouting director?" Theobald asked. "I thought you just hired Dutch Forrester?" Rufus replied. The Dynamos had recently hired Forrester to be their top scout. Rufus thought he was a bit pompous, but Forrester was a good scout. There was a moment of silence. Rufus was starting to wonder if Theobald was still on the line when he finally heard the other man say, "So you haven't heard?" "Heard what?" "I'm no longer with Detroit, Rufus," Theobald said. He went on to explain that the new owner, the younger half-brother of Big Eddie (who had been George Theobald's best friend), had managed to reduce Theobald's share in the club. Theobald described, with evident pain, Powell Thompson's stated opinion that the "game had passed him by" and it was time to leave it to "younger and smarter" men to run the team. Thompson was all too happy to buy Theobald's share in the Dynamos and significantly less happy when he got wind of what Theobald did next. "I partnered up with John Tice," Theobald explained. "Tice? The guy in Cincinnati who wants to buy the Cannons?" Rufus asked. "Yes, and this is part of what you haven't heard," Theobald said and then explained, "The deal is done. Banner and Tice are having a press conference with Sam Benton in DC to announce it. The Cannons are moving to Cincinnati, and I'm going to be both part-owner and manager." Rufus whistled. He hadn't heard that the deal had been made, though rumors had swirled for months that Oscar Banner, the Baltimore Cannons owner, was unhappy with his club's dismal performance and was ready to get out of baseball entirely. John E. Tice, the grandson of old James Tice, who had been such a thorn in the side of William Whitney as the owner of the old Cincinnati Monarchs. The grandson ran a soap company - and ran it well - and had money to burn. Money enough, apparently, to buy both the Baltimore Cannons and Monarchs Field in Cincinnati. Rufus knew Sam Benton had been opposed to having a team move - something unheard of in FABL. But it had happened. "I want you to be the Cannons scouting director," George Theobald repeated. "Why me?" Rufus spluttered. "I need a man who can help bring in good players, starting from the very bottom with the youngsters and going all the way up the chain. You've been scouting so long you already know every player in the organization, top to bottom. And I need that because this team is a real mess. Plus you happen to know one of our key players very, very well." "I'll do it," Rufus said firmly. He heard a crash and turned to see that Alice had dropped the skillet she had been carrying to the table. Bacon and grease were strewn across the floor - Blue leapt upon the unforeseen opportunity (the doggy equivalent of winning the lottery) and was happily snapping up bacon while Alice stood staring at her husband. "What was that?" Theobald asked. "Uh... that was my wife's reaction to me taking the job," Rufus said sheepishly. "Oh," Theobald said. His wife was long dead, but he'd been married long enough to know what to do. "I will let you go. Call me when you have some time to discuss details." Rufus thanked him and hung up. "What have you done!?!" Alice shouted at him. "I'm going to work for the Cannons," he said. "The Cannons? But that's where Deuce..." Alice said, the biting tone gone from her voice. "Exactly," was Rufus' smiling reply. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

10-13-2022, 11:40 AM	#226
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	January 1, 1940: Detroit, MI: "I'm surprised you made it this morning," Jack Barrell told his brother. Rollie Barrell smirked, but his bleary eyes told the true tale. "I'm tougher than I look," he said. "Obviously," Jack replied with a wry grin. He cut into his steak, then cut a piece of egg with his fork and shoveled both into his mouth, while Rollie watched, looking a little green around the gills. "I don't know how you can eat that stuff this morning," Rollie said. "Bah," Jack muttered as he chewed. After swallowing he added with a twinkle in his eye, "I too am tougher than I look." Despite his groaning headache, Rollie laughed. He definitely had imbibed more than was prudent the night before, and was feeling the after effects this morning. He looked down at the fruit plate he'd ordered for breakfast. "Francine read you the riot act this morning?" Jack asked. Jack and Marie had joined Rollie and Francie for a New Year's bash hosted by Rollie's Detroit Maroons football club. Jack had come directly from the arena where his team had downed the visiting New York Eagles by a 4-1 score. Surprisingly, even the normally taciturn Detroit Dynamos owner Powell Thompson had put in an appearance. Thompson owned the ballpark where Rollie's team played and the arena where Jack's played. He was also a partner in Jack's team and so nominally, one of Jack's bosses. Thankfully, from Jack's standpoint, Thompson stayed out of hockey. Rollie chuckled and shook his head, thinking about his wife. "She couldn't. She's got her own hangover to deal with," he said. "Marty, on the other hand, did give me a lecture." Jack laughed as he cut another piece of steak. "Ah yes, teenaged daughters. Now that's something with which I have some experience of my own," he said before adding, "I don't say I understand them because I certainly do not, but I certainly have experience." The brothers shared a knowing look. Rollie's daughters were 16 and 9. Jack's were 20, 16 and 10 - only 17 days separated Rollie's Martha and Jack's Jean while only six months separated their youngest daughters Alice (Rollie's) and Vera (Jack's). "How is Agnes handling college?" Rollie asked. Jack's eldest daughter Agnes was actually the daughter of their late brother Jimmy, but Jack was the only father she'd ever known and no one outside the family even knew he wasn't her father. She was in her second year at Bigsby College in New York. She had chosen it to be near her half-brother James, who lived in Brooklyn with his mother Claudia and adoptive father Powell Slocum when he wasn't playing minor league baseball. "She's doing very well," Jack said. "She likes being around James. With two younger sisters, finding out she has a brother nearly the same age has been a welcome change for her. She's a smart one too. Must get that from Marie, because you know Jimmy was no genius." Rollie smiled - Jimmy had been closer to him than to any of the other brothers. "Oh... you know Jimmy was smart enough, what he lacked was common sense." "Well, it certainly is true that he often leaped before he thought about the consequences," Jack replied, shaking his head as thought about Jimmy's reckless nature. "That's true. The same could be said of some of the rest of us..." Rollie pointed out. "You don't mean me, do you?" "Nah... I mean, don't most fifteen year olds run off to Canada to live with their grandmother so they can play hockey?" "Hey, that worked out quite well, thank you," Jack pointed out. "True," Rollie said. He popped a bit of melon into his mouth, forcing himself to swallow it before continuing, "Speaking of which, do you think you can win the Cup again this season?" Jack nodded. "Yes, we need to stay healthy, but I feel like this team might be better than last year's. Certainly Miles Barfield looks like he's taking the next step." Barfield, a right-winger, was the Detroit Olympians' best player. "You know, I would never have pegged you as the coaching type. But you've done a great job." "That a backhanded compliment? I wish I could say that I never saw you as a front-office type, but that'd be a lie," Jack replied and chuckled. "You were always better with numbers than the rest of us," he added. Rollie nodded. He and Jack shared a look - they were both thinking of Joe, who had treated school as if it were a communicable disease. They smiled ruefully, each realizing exactly what the other was thinking. "Can I make a suggestion?" Jack asked. Rollie's brow furrowed. "A suggestion? Sure." "Make Dewey Burnett your primary passer." Rollie sat back, perplexed. His team, the Detroit Maroons, had suffered through a bad 1939 campaign, finishing 5-6 despite having arguably the best pass catcher in history in Stan Vaught. Burnett was a tailback and Vernon Flowers, the incumbent passer, had a very solid track record. "What makes you say that?" Rollie asked. "Well... I've seen Burnett throw the ball. He's got better touch than Flowers. And a stronger arm. Vaught is your best weapon, and I think Burnett as the primary passer gets more out of him." Jack shrugged and added, "Just my opinion. Talk to Frank Yurik, see what he thinks." Yurik was the team's coach - and he was pig-headed, but Rollie put up with him because he was also an outstanding football coach. Rollie thought for a moment. Jack was an ex-player in the AFA and he knew football nearly as well as he did hockey. Rollie himself had always been impressed with Burnett's athletic abilities. He wasn't a scout like their father or brother Dan, but had always felt he had an eye for talent. And he realized that Jack might be right. He nodded, "You might be right. I'll talk to Yurik when he gets back from California." Yurik always went to Los Angeles at season's end. He claimed it was for "scouting purposes" but Rollie knew better. For one thing, no one was playing football in January, even in LA. Yurik just like to escape the Detroit winter, even though he was a native. Burnett to Vaught? Rollie knew something had to change - 5-6 was not the standard to which he'd become accustomed to his team playing. __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

10-14-2022, 11:10 AM	#227
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	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. . . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

10-18-2022, 08:27 AM	#228
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	June 14, 1940: Brooklyn, NY: Gloria Barrell glanced at her watch as she stood outside the single, unadorned door that she knew led into a tunnel-like hallway inside Kings County Ballpark. At the end of that hallway was a door leading into the visitor's clubhouse. The clubhouse where her twin brother was likely breaking something after losing to the Brooklyn Kings by a score of 3-2, a walkoff win that surely stung her brother's pride. It was nearing six o'clock and though she stood in the shade of the massive wall of the ballpark, it was warm, almost uncomfortably so. Gloria waited in a clump of people, most of them friends and family of Cincinnati Cannons players and staff. Gloria recognized most of the faces around her, and knew there wouldn't be many fans - the Cannons were not much loved outside of Cincinnati and their Baltimore days were not exactly far in the distant past. "Gloria! How are you?" she heard from behind her. Startled out of her reverie, she turned and saw her cousin Agnes shouldering past an older woman who threw her an annoyed look. Agnes didn't even notice. "Hi, Aggie! I'm fine. What are you doing here?" she said. Then she lowered her voice and pointed out that Agnes had just nearly run over the wife of pitching coach "Big George" Johnson. Aggie shrugged. Either her time in New York as a student at Bigsby College was changing her, or she was just channeling the "full-steam-ahead" mentality of her hockey-playing father Jack. "I'm here to see you," she said and then added as an afterthought, "And your brother of course." Gloria chuckled. She knew Aggie thought Rufus, or "Cousin Deucey" as she said in her inimitable nearly-French accent, was a hot-headed blowhard. "You, erm, weren't at the game, were you?" Gloria asked. "No, I was working." "Working?" Gloria didn't know her cousin was a working girl. Agnes waved a hand dismissively as she said, "Papa said I could only stay in New York if I found some, as he put it, 'worthwhile employment' to help pay for it. Mama, naturally, agreed with him." She shook her head and finished, "So I am a secretary at a publishing house." Gloria found herself a bit jealous. She was living with Deuce, charged with keeping him "on the straight and narrow." Now she discovered that she found the thought of having a "real job" exciting. "Oh, that sounds very interesting," she said. Aggie barked a short laugh and shook her head. "It isn't," she said. "Interesting, that is. What it is, is tedious. And the man I work for is like an octopus, if you know what I mean." Gloria's eyes widened. "Well, I hope you put him in his place," she said. "Oh, I certainly don't encourage it," Aggie told her. "But I need this job." Gloria shook her head. "I could mention this to Deuce...." she said. "No, no, no, I don't need any help," was Aggie's response. "Besides," she said with a wicked gleam in her eye, "I could always introduce Papa to him. He'll be in New York for a visit next week." Gloria grinned, knowing that her uncle Jack was, despite being in his forties, still an imposing man who'd made a living playing not one, but two, physical and sometimes violent sports. Much like Gloria's father who had always exuded a quiet, but palpable sense of physical menace. "Excuse me, ladies, is this the visitor's clubhouse door?" asked a voice. Gloria saw Aggie's face as her eyes shifted to the man who had spoken, a man Gloria couldn't see because he had approached her from behind. Aggie's wide-eyed look made Gloria turn around quickly. Behind her was a man in a shining white uniform, obviously a naval officer. Gloria immediately appreciated her cousin's reaction, the man was good-looking in that sort of boy-next-door kind of way. Gloria herself had always been more interested in the rough-and-tumble sort, something her mother said was "looking for a man like your father." Joe Barrell had certainly been rough-and-tumble (and then some). "Yes, this is the visitor's clubhouse," Gloria said, shooting a frown at Agnes, whose mouth was open as she stared. The man either didn't notice, or was nice enough not to say anything. He stuck out a hand and as Gloria looked down, thinking "ah, a modern mindset" he said, "My name's Bill. Bill McCullough. My brother Charley plays for the Cannons." Gloria shook his hand, giving him a firm grip that she hoped said, "I'm no delicate flower." "I'm Gloria Barrell. My brother Rufus is a pitcher for the Cannons, and I know your brother." Bill McCullough laughed, "Oh, yes, I've heard all about Deuce. My brother says they're fast friends." "That they are," Gloria said with a smile. She glanced at Aggie who was still staring. "This is my cousin, Agnes Barrell." Bill thrust his hand out again and Aggie shook herself out of her... whatever it was... and shook his hand. Gloria looked at Bill's uniform, for that was certainly what it was. "So, you're a Navy man, apparently," she said. Bill laughed and said, "Yes, afraid so." Gloria pointed at the black epaulets on Bill's shoulder. "I'm afraid I can't tell what that means," she said, quickly adding, "I know it's your rank, but...." Bill nodded and said, "I'm a Lieutenant." Gloria said, "If you say so..." and laughed. The door they had all been waiting on finally swung open. First out was George Theobald. The old man was tall and thin - too thin in Gloria's opinion (someone needs to feed that man, she had told Deuce several times). Behind him was the pitching coach, whose wife whispered in his ear and pointed at Agnes. For her part, Agnes was oblivious, still enchanted by Bill McCullough. Fred Galloway came out, and made a point of stopping to talk with Gloria. Deuce had already told her that Freddie was sweet on her. She had known this of course; she wasn't blind. But Galloway was short - just 5'5 and Gloria had a couple of inches on him. That wouldn't do, even if he was kind of cute. She politely talked to him for a few minutes, then he wandered over to the team bus, idling just far enough away that the group of family and friends wasn't suffocating in its fumes. Deuce emerged, walking with Charley. Neither man was speaking and Deuce had a frown on his face. Yep, he was still angry about losing the game. "Get over it, Rufus," Gloria told him before saying anything else. He glowered at her. "You know that's what gramps would say," she added. He nodded, but the frown stayed in place. Meanwhile Charley and his brother were hugging and backslapping, while Aggie continued to eye Bill. "OK, two questions," Deuce said. Gloria raised an eyebrow in response. "First, what's she doing here," he pointed at Agnes. "And second, why does she look like she got hit in the head by a fastball?" Gloria laughed and explained that Aggie had come to see her, knowing she'd be at the game. And she had been poleaxed by Bill McCullough's appearance on the scene. Deuce laughed and said, "Oh, poor Aggie." "Poor Aggie, why?" Gloria asked. "Well, Bill's on leave. He's only here for a few days." "So?" "So, he's in the Navy, serves on a battleship and that ship is based at Pearl Harbor." "Pearl Harbor? Where's that?" Gloria asked. "Hawaii," Deuce told her. Gloria hadn't been much for geography in school, but she did know that Hawaii was very, very far away from New York. Poor Aggie indeed. Deuce leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Charley's been mooning over you again, sis." Gloria sighed. This had become something of a theme. Charley McCullough was a nice enough fellow, and though he was just 5'9, that was taller than she was (unless she was wearing heels) and wasn't half-bad looking. But he was also a "nice guy" and lacked that certain element of danger that Gloria found interesting. "Maybe he should date Aggie," Gloria told her brother. Deuce shook his head. "Look, Gloria. Aggie's sweet, but Charley only has eyes for you. And he is a good guy." Gloria took a half-step back and eyed her brother. "Since when are you so set on pairing me up with your buddy?" "Aww, come on, Gloria..." Deuce moaned. "Don't be so difficult. Just think about it." Gloria folded her arms. "Oh, I am thinking. And what I'm thinking is that he should be man enough to tell me these things himself." Deuce shrugged and looked over his shoulder. Charley was still talking with his brother and thankfully hadn't heard any of that exchange between Deuce and his sister. And Aggie was still standing a few feet away, trying - and failing - to not look like she was staring at Lt. Bill McCullough of the USS Arizona. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

11-02-2022, 09:59 AM	#229
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	June 24, 1940: Detroit, MI: "Getting a little paunchy there, Rollie," a smirking Jack Barrell told his brother. Rollie Barrell looked down at his midsection and frowned. It did bulge considerably more than it did when he was a younger man. The brothers were standing in the owner's suite at Thompson Field. That the owner was no longer Big Eddie Thompson was obvious, even to Jack, who'd only been there a few times. The new owner, Powell Thompson, the younger half-brother of Big Eddie, was an austere man and he took that austerity seriously. Where Eddie had hung valuable paintings on the wall, Powell had removed them. The only sign anything had ever hung on the walls were the slightly lighter shades of the paint in the squares that the paintings formerly covered. Powell himself was absent. He didn't frequent the games, despite the Dynamos being in the thick of a pennant race with the Pittsburgh Miners and Philadelphia Keystones - the latter of which was the visiting team. That the 'Stones were the visitors was the primary reason for both Rollie and Jack being at the game. Their brother Bobby was playing left field for Philly. Rollie sighed and said, "You know, sometimes I'd trade my life for yours," he told his brother. Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really. Why exactly is that?" "Well, you're a sports legend. I'm just a guy in a rumpled suit working in the background." Jack chuckled and shook his head. "That's funny, brother," he said. Then he looked out at the field where Bobby was standing in left field. It was the bottom of the fourth and Philadelphia had already streaked out to a 5-2 lead. "It's not as glamorous as you might think," Jack said with a slight frown. "For one thing, you're gone a lot. I miss a lot of time with my wife and daughters, and that's time you don't get back." He turned back to Rollie and continued, "Not to mention that my left knee aches, all the time. And finally," he smiled and patted Rollie on the shoulder, "You have a lot more money than I do. Trust me, you're better off." Rollie shook his head and gave a small, rueful chuckle. "You know, I've never told anyone this before, but I've always been jealous of my brothers. You guys were all pro athletes. Me...," he trailed off. Jack knew he was thinking about Rollie's aborted golf career. Rollie had also been a fair basketball player. Until some Bigsby thugs had nearly beaten him to death. Jack looked at him seriously for a second, then grinned and said, "Jealous, huh? Even of Tommy?" Rollie was perplexed. "Tommy? Yes, him too," he said and then asked, "Why?" Jack shrugged and said, "Well, you do know that Mom is on his back all the time about finding a wife. I wouldn't wish that on anybody." Both brothers laughed. Jack said, "If Joe was here, he'd slap you in the head for being a fool." Rollie nodded, knowing that was true. Jack told him, "Joe told me, right before he died, that he was jealous of you. I bet you never knew that." "No," Rollie said. "It's true. Joe could get a little melancholy sometimes," Jack said, then nodded at Rollie and added, "Like someone else we know. Anyway... he felt like he'd blown it with Edna, leaving his kids without their father. He and Dorothy had what Joe called a 'rocky' relationship and he worried about both his kid with Charlotte Cleaves and little Charlie. He told me that he wished he was more like you - rock solid, dependable and a really good father." Rollie swiped at his eye, hoping Jack hadn't noticed the tear welling up there. "Wow," he said softly. "Joe was a blockhead a lot of the time," Jack said, adding, "But he had his moments." "That he did," Rollie replied. The brothers settled in to watching the game. With Powell Thompson nowhere to be found it was safe for Rollie to root for the Keystones. Bobby doubled in the fifth and then in the sixth hit the 250th home run of his career. Jack, smiling, told Rollie, "If you want to be jealous of someone, it should be Bobby." Rollie nodded. It was true, Bobby was probably the best athlete in a family in which that was really saying something. He finally seemed to be putting the gunshot wound firmly in the past and having a terrific season. And his team was good - the Keystones had a pair of extremely talented youngsters bracketing Bobby in their lineup: Billy Woytek hitting third and Hank Koblenz fifth with Bobby in the cleanup spot. "Have you seen his son?" Jack asked. Bobby and Annette had welcomed their first child, Ralph Robert Barrell on April 13th. Rollie shook his head, "No. I haven't been to Bobby's since the wedding." "The kid's big, looks like he's going to be a bruiser," Jack said with a grin. "Reminds me of Charlie... Joe's youngest," he added. Rollie hadn't seen Charlie Barrell in a while, and realized the kid must be about 10 years old now. Rollie narrowed his eyes. "How is it that you keep up with our far-flung clan better than I do, Jack?" he asked. "Well, I'm in my off-season now, so I have time to get to Philadelphia to see my youngest nephew," he said. Then he grew a bit solemn and added, "As for Charlie... with Joe being gone, I do my best to keep tabs on the kid. Don't want him to forget he's a Barrell. He is living out there in Hollywood with all those movie types, you know." Rollie laughed - he knew Jack had a dim view of the people he called "Hollywood types." "Don't laugh at me," Jack said. "I don't trust those people." Rollie waved a hand at him. "Bah, they're just people like anyone else," he said dismissively. Jack raised an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirked up. "Whatever you say Rollie..." he said. After dinner the brothers grabbed Bobby and took him out to dinner with their families. Rollie finally got a look at a snapshot his nephew. He whistled and said, "Well, I think I'm looking at the #1 pick of the Detroit Maroons in the 1962 AFA draft!" Bobby laughed and said, "Annette's got him pegged for track and field." Jack scoffed at this. "Not a chance, that kid's got too much of Grampa Reid in him." He tapped his chin and added, "Could be a wrestler. Or maybe a boxer like Joe." Bobby's eyes widened in mock terror. "No...." he moaned. Then he leaned forward and said with more than a touch of pride in his voice, "He'll be a ballplayer. Just like his old man." Rollie's daughter Allie, a stern look on her ten-year-old face, said, "You can't look at a baby and know what he's going to be when he grows up!" Bobby grinned and said, "That's right dear." He patted Allie on the hand. "After all, when you were a baby your father told me you'd grow up to be a know-it-all." Jack busted out laughing while Rollie slapped Bobby on the shoulder and immediately told his daughter, "That's not true!" Marty, Rollie's older daughter, was also laughing and said, "That would have been such an amazingly accurate prediction, Dad!" . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

11-16-2022, 12:54 PM	#230
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	October 9, 1940: Brooklyn, NY: "You're really thinking about doing this?" Tom Barrell asked his nephew. James Slocum nodded firmly. "I am, even if my mother is dead set against it and Dad thinks I should stick it out," he said. Tom reflected on just how much the kid reminded him of his long-dead brother Jimmy. Jimmy had not lived long enough to even see James born, let alone spend any time with him. But he had imparted his face, mannerisms and stubborn daredevil qualities to his only son. The kid, rightly so, considered Powell Slocum his father. Ironically, Agnes, Jimmy's daughter with Marie Dupuis (now married to one of Tom's other brothers, Jack) also bore the same similarities to Jimmy Barrell. Blood runs deep, Tom thought. "Well, I certainly wouldn't try to stand in your way," Tom said and patted James on the shoulder. The discussion centered around James' desire to join the United States Army Air Corps in December. He was on pace to receive his Bachelor's Degree (in Business) from Brooklyn State that month, making him eligible to join the military as an officer. And being an officer was a necessity if you wanted to be a pilot. The kid was, as far as Tom's limited knowledge could inform his opinion, already an accomplished pilot. Having a mentor who was a fighter pilot ace and who not only owned an airline but also was a big mucky-muck in the Air Corps Reserve was a definite point in James' favor. That mentor, Bill Merlon, had been Jimmy Barrell's best friend during the Great War and like Tom himself, was looking out for the welfare of Jimmy's son. "Bill thinks you're ready?" Tom asked. He hadn't seen James in a while. Both had been busy playing baseball - Tom for the Brooklyn Kings and James for the Kings' Class A affiliate in Springfield, Illinois. The kid somehow managed to hit a respectable .278 while juggling baseball, correspondence courses for Brooklyn State and flying practice whenever he could get a chance. Thanks to Bill Merlon, the latter was more often than pretty much anyone else in James' position could have garnered. Tom had been persuaded by Claudia to take her son out to lunch. Given that Claudia's husband was Tom's manager with the Kings, he felt it prudent to take her "suggestion" as more of a request. He did like the kid and it wasn't like he had much else to do, aside from packing up for the winter and catching a train to Georgia. As the last unmarried child of Rufus & Alice, Tom felt his duty was to go home and spend time with his parents who were both approaching 70 years of age and would otherwise be alone on the farm. The waitress walked up to the table. "Hey, Tom," she said with a smile. Tom was a regular at the diner. Tom nodded in greeting and gave her a smile. "Hi, Flo," he replied. She winked at James. "Haven't seen you in a while, Cricket," she said with a wink. Tom knew that Flo was around James' age and he suspected she liked the kid. "Cricket?" James asked with a look of confusion on his face. "Sure," Flo replied, cracked her gum and laughed at James' confusion. "You know, like Jiminy Cricket from that movie... whatchamacallit, Pinocchio." "I don't see many movies," James replied. Tom almost laughed at the expression on his nephew's face. It was an amusing mix of confusion and interest. "Hmm. You should," was Flo's reply. "You know, for culture." James looked skeptical. "What's a Jiminy Cricket, anyhow?" he asked. "A talking bug," Tom said and laughed. "You guys ready to order?" Flo asked, getting back to business. James was still confused by the whole idea of Flo calling him a cricket - at least that's what Tom read on his face. "I'll just have the usual, Flo," Tom said. Flo looked at James. "What about you, Cricket?" "Uh... I'll just have a burger. And milk," James replied. Flo wore a small smile as she wrote their orders down and then turned and sashayed away. James watched her until she disappeared into the kitchen. "What was that all about?" he asked Tom a moment later. "I think she's sweet on you, kid," Tom said. "Huh," James muttered, as a thoughtful look replaced the confusion on his face. He turned and stared out the window watching the traffic and pedestrians outside on Flatbush Avenue. "Hey, isn't that Harry?" he asked a moment later, pointing out the window and behind Tom. Tom craned his neck and sure enough, his youngest brother was walking hurriedly towards the diner. He burst in and made a beeline to their table. "I thought I might find you two here," he said breathlessly. "Hello to you too, Harry," Tom said. "Hi, Uncle Harry," James piped in. "Hey James, good to see you," Harry said quickly, then plopped down beside Tom. "I've been looking for you, Tommy," he said. "Well, I'd say you found me, Tom replied. "Yeah..." Harry said with a frown. "You, uh, haven't talked to Powell today, have you?" he asked. Tom shook his head. "Nope. James and I met up here at the diner. I haven't been over to the house, or seen Powell since the season ended." "Oh," Harry said. He looked sad for some reason. Tom was growing agitated. This bore all the same hallmarks as that terrible night when Bobby had been shot in Chicago. "Spit it out, Harry. What the hell is going on?" he snarled. James' eyes widened in surprise. "Well... you just got traded," Harry replied. Tom's mouth dropped open. "You're kidding," he said. "I wish I was," Harry answered. "I heard it on the radio back at the apartment. Sarah was feeding the baby and the news came on. They said you were traded to Pittsburgh. I called Powell and he confirmed it. Said the front office thought it was time for a change." All that had come out in a rush and Tom sat silently as it sank in. He'd spent the vast majority of his career with the Kings. Granted, 1940 had been a terrible season for him. He'd been hurt in '39 and never really had his good stuff this season. And it showed: a 10-17 record with a 5.50 ERA for a team that finished 73-81 and in sixth place. "Does Freddy know?" Tom asked. Fred hadn't had much of a season himself. Only Harry of the three Barrells playing in Brooklyn had enjoyed a respectable season statistically. "No, I called but no one answered," Harry replied. "I think they might have gone out of town to visit Tillie's family." Tom nodded absently. Pittsburgh? He'd never played in the Federal Association. He immediately thought: "I can ask Bobby for the dope on the hitters" and then realized he'd have to face Bobby now too. "Sorry to hear that, Uncle Tom," James said. The kid looked sick. Tom nodded in thanks. Flo showed up. "Heya Harry," she said. "Want something?" "Yeah, I'll have whatever Tommy's having," Harry said. Flo wrote on her pad and left again. "I'm going to regret asking, but what did the Kings get for me?" Tom asked Harry. "Radio said some outfielder, Zavala I think? And a draft pick," Harry replied. "Look at the bright side," James began. Tom looked up, unhappily, and James swallowed before continuing, "The Miners just went to the Series. You're going to a contender and get to play with Lefty Allen!" Tom nodded. He knew the kid meant well - and was right to boot - but... he felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Flo returned and put a milk in front of James and chocolate milkshakes in front of Tom & Harry. "Oh man! You guys are having shakes? You should have told me," James complained. "Look at the kid," Tom told Harry. "I get shipped out of town and his biggest concern is that he didn't order a milkshake." Harry nodded his chin at James, who was watching Flo as she walked to another table. "I don't think that's his biggest concern, Tom," he said and chuckled. Tom shook his head. "The kid's going to quit baseball," Tom told his brother. "What?" Harry spluttered. "I'm going to join the Air Corps as soon as I graduate in December," James told him. "Does Claudia know?" Harry asked Tom. Tom chuckled. "That's why I'm here, Harry. She thinks I can convince James that the best place for him is a baseball diamond and not a cockpit." He took a pull on his shake. "Problem is," he continued, "I'm not sure I believe that." Harry tipped his head to the side. "Huh. Yeah, you might be right there, Tom," he said. James grinned for a moment then went back to not-so-surreptitiously watching Flo as she made her way around the diner. Tom laughed and told Harry, "Wait til you hear what Flo's taken to calling the kid." "Oh, come on!" James exclaimed, shooting a glare at Tom. "Jiminy Cricket!" Tom told Harry. Harry began crooning "When You Wish Upon a Star" and a moment later the brothers were both laughing and James looked like he wanted to slide under the table. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

11-18-2022, 11:13 AM	#231
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	December 8, 1940: Detroit, MI: "We have the receipts, sir," an excitable young man told Rollie Barrell. As Rollie opened his mouth to tell the kid (an intern from Detroit City College named Jack McCarver) for the umpteenth time to just call him "Rollie" (which the lad wouldn't countenance) or at least "Mr. Barrell", Powell Thompson butted-in (as he was wont to do). "Give me that, kid," he said and grabbed the piece of paper from McCarver's outstretched hand. Rollie frowned, but he was just the tenant here. For about the one-hundredth time he wished Big Eddie was still around. But Edward Thompson was gone to his heavenly reward and his little brother (both literally and figuratively) was now the owner of Thompson Field, the Thompson Palladium and the Detroit Dynamos baseball team. He was therefore, much to Rollie's chagrin, his landlord and under the lease agreement half of the proceeds from ticket sales were his. "32,980. Not bad," Thompson said. "Could be better, but this football thing of yours is doing well, Barrell." "Thanks Powell," Rollie replied. Thompson looked up at him, his eyes slightly narrowed in annoyance. Rollie was momentarily confused, then took a step back. Thompson was short, and as such he didn't like it when taller men (Rollie was six feet tall) "hovered over" him - which apparently meant standing within three feet or so. The door to the suite opened and Jack Barrell walked in. "Sorry I'm late, Rollie," he told his brother. He turned to Thompson and shook his hand, "Mr. Thompson," he said with a nod. Jack was the coach of the Detroit Olympians hockey club, which also played in a Thompson-owned venue: the Thompson Palladium right across the street. "Shouldn't you be getting ready for your game?" Rollie asked Jack. "Naw, I'm just the coach. Not like I have to limber up or anything. Besides," he looked at his watch, "our game doesn't start for another four hours." Thompson was eyeing young Jack McCarver. "How old are you kid?" he asked. "Twenty-one, sir," McCarver replied. "He's a senior at City College," Rollie told Thompson. "Hmm. That so?" Thompson was still glaring at the kid. "Yes, sir," McCarver replied warily. "What are you studying?" "Business, though I hope to play pro football first," McCarver replied. Thompson rolled his eyes. "So you're just another jock... fantastic!" He pointed at Rollie and said, "I want to check these receipts." He turned his pointed finger to McCarver and added, "Let's go, kid. These numbers better be right or I'll kick your tail to Kalamazoo. I don't trust so-called athletes with anything that requires using their noggins." Thompson grabbed McCarver by the arm and headed for the door. Rollie threw the youungster a look of commiseration. After the door to the owner's suite banged closed, Jack raised his eyebrows and said, "That guy sure is a laugh, isn't he?" "You said it brother," Rollie replied. The two men settled in to watch the game, chatting off and on. Jack was a former pro football player and caught as many of the Maroons games as he could given his duties as the Olympians coach. It still surprised both brothers that they, born in Brooklyn and raised in Georgia, had ended up making their careers in Detroit of all places. The scoreboard showed 7-0 for the visiting Brooklyn Football Kings over Rollie's Detroit Maroons as the gun sounded to end the first quarter. Rollie explained that the Kings had taken the lead on a 5-yard run by Jackie Herstad. Jack nodded and said, "Herstad runs hard, I like him." "I'd like him too if he wasn't playing for the opposition," Rollie muttered, making Jack laugh. Making matters worse, the Kings were at the 1-yard line looking for their second touchdown of the game. This was the AFA Championship Game, and Jack was rooting for his brother's club, but he also enjoyed good, hard play and harbored a soft spot for his former team the Chicago Wildcats. Rollie's club had outlasted the Wildcats to capture the Western Division title and the right to host this title game. On the first play of the second quarter Brooklyn increased its lead as QB Hal Collett shoved his way into the endzone and then booted the extra point himself to make it 14-0. "Your boys need a scoring drive," Jack told Rollie. Rollie shook his head and bit back a sharp retort. Things took a bad turn when the Maroons' Joe Shores fumbled after taking the kickoff out to the 36 yard line, giving the Kings the ball right back. The Detroit defense forced an incompletion on first down, stuffed Russel Hitzeman for a two-yard loss and then Collett missed an open receiver to force fourth down. Hitzemann attempted a 34 yard field goal, but it went wide left and the score remained 14-0. Rollie breathed a sigh of relief and gave a cheer a moment later when Detroit QB Dewey Burnett hit end Stan Vaught for a 31-yard gain pushing the ball just past midfield. "I told you that pair would work well together," Jack told his brother. Rollie smiled and nodded. The Maroons pushed the ball to the Kings' 29 yard line. On 4th and 3, Maroons coach Frank Yurik elected to go for it. Jack muttered something under his breath that sounded like he thought this was risky and Rollie also didn't like it. Burnett took the snap, dropped back and tossed the ball deep towards Vaught. The throw went long and a collective groan went up across the ballpark. Rollie shook his head and heard Jack mutter a word that would have earned him a stern look from Alice Barrell. Neither team did much, though the Detroit defense did intercept Collett twice before halftime (one of them by Dewey Burnett). The score remained 14-0 at halftime. Jack McCarver appeared in the suite during halftime as a Coast Guard band played "Yankee Doodle" on the field. He told them that Thompson had left after verifyng that the ticket sales totals were accurate. "I don't like that guy," McCarver told the Barrells who both nodded and chuckled. The Kings added a field goal to their tally in the third quarter while their defense continued to blank the Maroons. It was 17-0 as the final period started and Rollie was growing ever more resigned to losing the championship game at home. Brooklyn pushed their lead to 23-0 early in the final stanza. "Well, right now, I'd love to see my boys at least avoid the shutout," Rollie told his brother. The normally accurate Burnett was just... off. To Rollie's eyes he was missing more receivers in this game than he normally did in a month of games. Finally, with 3:44 left to play, Burnett hit Morris Huffamn for a nine-yard score to put Detroit on the board. The defense forced a three & out but Burnett was interecepted by Don Ludwigs with 1:50 to play and that sealed any hope of a miraculous comeback. The final was 23-7, Brooklyn. "I know you're down in the dumps right now, Rollie," Jack said. "But I think you've caught lightning in a bottle. Vaught might be the best end I've ever seen. And Yurik's an arrogant prig, but he knows football. He's going to center the offense around Vaught and he's going to change the game. Your boys will have an excellent shot at winning this thing in the next few years." Rollie gave a small, sad smile and nodded. He patted Jack on the shoulder and said, "Thanks." "I'm not blowing smoke, Rollie. That's the unvarnished truth, as Pop would say." "Maybe," Rollie said. "I just hope we don't end up getting pulled into the war. I'm not sure the league would survive if half our players ended up in the Army, you know?" "Yeah," Jack said with a frown. "I can relate. Most of my players are Canadians and Canada is already in the war. So far, it hasn't disrupted us much, but that's liable to change with Britain and her Commonwealth standing pretty much alone." . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

01-03-2023, 11:00 AM	#232
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	April 26, 1941: Detroit, MI: "Talk about a whirlwind romance..." Gloria Barrell said to her cousin Marty. Marty Barrell's mouth curled in a knowing smirk, causing Gloria to ask, "And what's with that look?" "Oh, nothing," Marty said, although it was obvious she was holding back laughter. "C'mon, give over," Gloria said with more than a hint of exasperation in her voice. Marty Barrell sighed dramatically and said, "Well, I would say that your statement had more than a bit of the old 'pot calling the kettle black' in it." Gloria frowned and she shook her head. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean," she said, though of course she knew exactly what her cousin meant. "Oh yes, you do!" Marty blurted and burst into laughter. Gloria huffed and said, "Aren't you a little young to be so...." she trailed off and just shook her head in frustration. Marty choked down her laughter and pointed at the dance floor where the groom was whisking his new bride across the floor while the band Jack Barrell had hired did a fair version of "Stardust," a song Marty found terribly old-fashioned. "Do you think Charley would cut the same dashing figure as his brother?" she asked, nodding her chin at Bill McCullough. Now it was Gloria's turn to laugh. "I can't imagine Charley McCullough in a military uniform. Even in those baggy baseball uniforms that man looks sloppy. Half the time his shirttails are hanging out," she said. "Well, I will say this much: of all my cousins I can't say I would have pegged Aggie as the first to tie the knot," Marty said. And this was true, Agnes Barrell, it was said, took after her late father Jimmy Barrell in that she lacked what Marty's father Rollie would call "a serious mindset." But Aggie, at the ripe old age of 21 (two years younger than Gloria and three older than Marty) had caught herself a dashing Naval officer. Even Marty, whose father called her a "blazing beacon of women's liberation" thought that Bill was heart-crushingly handsome in his dress whites. Even worse, it reminded her that she didn't have a boyfriend, let alone a fiance like Gloria did. Charley & Gloria hadn't set a date yet, but it would certainly not happen until after baseball season. Charley was playing second base on the same Cincinnati Cannons team as Gloria's twin brother Rufus, or Deuce as he insisted upon being called (Marty thought that was a particularly asinine nickname). "What I can't believe is Aggie gets to go live in Hawaii, of all places," Gloria said, snapping Marty out of her reverie. "It's so far away," they heard from behind. Marty rolled her eyes. She knew that voice all too well. "What do you want? Can't you see your elders are talking?" she snarled as she spun and shot a withering look at her sister. Allie Barrell was just 11 years old and therefore more of a nuisance to the almost-eighteen-year-old Marty than she had been just a few years earlier. "Oh, lighen up, Marty," Gloria said and smiled at Allie before adding, "Yes, it sure is far away. But Bill said that this fall the Arizona is due to head to Seattle for a refit... or something... I don't understand all that military jargon... Anyway, that'll mean Aggie will be back on the mainland in no time." "Bill told me that his ship is over six hundred feet long. That's more than two football fields!" Allie said. Marty rolled her eyes again; her sister was fascinated by the most mundane things, and entirely too interested in football - all because their father happened to own the Detroit Maroons football team. Jack and Rollie walked up. "What are you gals up to?" Jack asked. "Dad, Allie's bothering us," Marty complained to her father. "Am not!" Allie cried. "Oh stop it Marty, Allie is not a bother at all," Gloria said and gave a half-smile to her uncle Rollie. He winked back at her. Ever since Joe Barrell had died, Rollie - and Jack for that matter - had made a point of staying in touch with both Gloria and Deuce, trying to help fill the gap left by Joe's untimely death. "We've talked about this Martha," Rollie told his older daughter. She frowned, knowing that when he used her full name it meant he was serious. She frowned and muttered a "sorry" while her sister grinned. "I suppose this means you're next, Gloria," Jack said. Rollie added, "And when you marry Charley, you and your cousin will become sisters-in-law... or is it sister-in-laws?" Jack laughed and said, "I think it's the first one, Rollie." "Too bad more of the family couldn't be here," Gloria said, hoping to change the subject. She had agreed to marry Charley but sometimes wondered if she did it just to get him off her back. She believed that she did love him, and she definitely loved how uncomfortable their relationship made her brother, but marriage was a b-i-g deal and she wasn't a "leap before you look" type like Agnes. "Well... it is baseball season," Jack said. He nodded to the head table where his parents were sitting, both smiling as they gazed at their granddaughter dancing in her white dress. "I'm just glad Pop could make it. I guess being the head scout for the Cannons means he can skip a game or two if he wishes," he finished. The Cannons were in Toronto and though Rufus didn't often travel with the team, he sometimes did do so - largely, in Jack's opinion, so he could spend time with his namesake grandson. "Too bad James couldn't make it," Rollie said. Jack nodded - James Slocum was Aggie's half-brother after all. "He's busy with flight school. Aggie told me he graduated first in his class and is now in advanced training. Apparently he wants to fly that new bomber... the B-17." "They like to keep in touch, huh?" Allie asked. "Yep, they sure do," Jack told her. "Jimmy would be so proud," he said in a soft, near-whisper to Rollie, who nodded slowly. Marie appeared out of the crowd. "Jack, I need you," she told her husband. Jack excused himself and followed his wife to the table where Bill McCullough's parents were sitting. "I love her accent," Allie said. For once, Marty didn't roll her eyes at her sister but instead said, "Me too." Rollie looked at Gloria. "Did you set a date yet?" Gloria shook her head. "No. We do need to wait til the offseason and Charley said he really wants Bill there as best man." "Understandable," Rollie replied. Bill needed to get back to Hawaii and the Navy wasn't taking no for an answer - which was the only thing that kept Charley McCullough from attending his brother's wedding. "Yes, of course," Gloria said before continuing, "Bill's ship is supposed to go into drydock in Bremerton in November, and hopefully he can get some leave. So maybe early December?" "Hmm..." Rollie said. He pulled a small book out of his jacket. "Oh, boy, here comes the planner," Marty said. She looked at Gloria and explained, "My dad keeps everything in that book. I mean everything." Rollie shook his head. "Don't exaggerate Marty." He thumbed through the book. "Well, let's see. Looks like the Saturdays... assuming you want to get hitched on a Saturday... are the 6th, 13th, 20th and 27th. Last one's probably out because of Christmas..." He flipped the book closed. "Not that my schedule matters, but our season ends November 30th. The championship game would be on the 14th, so... maybe the 6th or the 20th?" "Don't schedule your wedding around my father," Marty told her cousin. "Oh, but I want to go to the wedding!" Allie said. "We could just go with Mom," Marty told her sister. "No, no," Gloria told her cousins, "I want you all to be there." She put her hand on Rollie's arm, "It would mean the world to me to have you there, Uncle Rollie." Rollie grinned. "And it would mean that much to me to be there!" Marty shook her head. Weddings... . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

01-04-2023, 01:56 PM	#233
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	October 23, 1941: Washington, DC: "Bah, this new guy in St. Louis... what a blowhard!" Rufus Barrell threw the newspaper down in disgust. He looked up and across a desk that not so long ago was his. Sitting in his old chair, his son Dan was giving him a wry look, a small smile curling the ends of his mouth. "What, do I have mustard on my tie?" Rufus asked. The two men had just finished lunch. Rufus, back in his old digs (ostensibly to see Dan, Gladys and his grandsons), had taken the opportunity to get his favorite lunch - a pastrami sandwich with extra mustard from the local deli. "No, but I bet you almost gave Mr. Klein a heart-attack when you walked into the deli today," Dan said with a laugh. He was more of a ham-and-cheese type of guy himself. "Then why that look?" Rufus asked, not willing to get shifted off-topic. "I'm always amused when you get riled up about something like that," Dan replied. "What? That some Hollywood blowhard has bought his way into FABL and is going to stir up trouble?" Dan leaned back in his chair and Rufus had a momentary jolt: his boy had become a man comfortable with his station in life. Dan said, "First of all Pop, Dee Rose had the money to buy the Pioneers, the other owners voted on whether he could join their oh-so-exclusive club and he was unanimously accepted. Where, or how, he made his money is irrelevant. And second," he paused and tented his hands on his chest before continuing, "you're just worried that he's going to move the team to Los Angeles." "FABL isn't ready to have a team in California," Rufus stubbornly shot back. "Well, I would say that's not really your call, Pop," Dan said with a grin. Then as Rufus opened his mouth, Dan raised a hand and added, "Nor is it mine. But I'll be honest, I think the LA talk is just that: talk. Rose is a movie man, and I'd say he's playing to his audience. Particularly the one in St. Louis. Best way to guarantee people take an interest in their team: act like you might take it away from them." Now it was Rufus who sat back in his chair, stunned. Dan was right. This talk of moving the team to LA was a smoke screen. The real story was Rose's vehement denial and the follow-up that he'd build a "baseball palace" in St. Louis. He was priming the pump, trying to get the fans to re-invest in a club that had fallen on hard times. "Smart," Rufus said. "No one said Rose wasn't intelligent," Dan replied. "I meant you," Rufus replied. Dan smiled and said, "World's a-changin' Pop, you need to steady yourself because big things are going to be happening." Before Rufus could ask for clarification there was a buzz and Dan pressed a button on the intercom sitting on his desk. "Yes, Sally?" he said. "Mr. Barrell, Admiral Stockdale is on line one," came a tinny voice. Rufus decided he still preferred the phone to these fancy brown boxes. "Thank you Sally," Dan replied and picked up the phone. "Hello, Admiral," he said. Rufus wondered why old man Stockdale (who owned FABL's capital city entry, the Washington Eagles) wanted with Dan. Rufus himself had been friendly with the retired Admiral but they were of an age, so it was a little surprising that Stockdale would call Danny. "I see," Dan said, and a frown creased his face. "I will tell him, sir. In fact, he's sitting right across from me at this very moment," Dan said and winked at his father. "Certainly," Dan said before handing the phone over to Rufus. "Hello, Bill," Rufus said. "Rufus, you salty old s.o.b.!" he heard. "What are you doing in this pit of vipers we call D.C.?" "Just visiting Dan and my grandkids, Bill," Rufus said with a smile. "Ah, well, I won't take much of your time. I was just telling Dan that I heard some news y'all might be interested in hearing." Like Rufus, Stockdale was a son of the south, born in Virginia and raised in Georgia and when he got worked up, the old accent popped out. "What's that?" Rufus asked. "Well, as I recall, your granddaughter's married to an officer on the Arizona?" Stockdale's phrasing made it apparent this was a question. Rufus was impressed that his old friend remembered that Agnes had married a Navy man. But that was precisely the kind of thing the old Admiral would remember, Rufus realized. Stockdale had been the USS Arizona's first captain, just before being promoted to admiral. "Correct as always Bill. My granddaughter Agnes is married to a Lieutenant McCullough." "Now don't get too worked up, but there's been an accident, Rufus." "What kind of accident?" "Well, the Oklahoma rammed Arizona in the fog. Seems the damage was bad enough that her scheduled refit in Washington state has been postponed. She'll have to stay at Pearl for repairs." "Oh..." Rufus said, finally getting the point. If Arizona was stuck at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, his granddaughter and her husband would likely miss Gloria's wedding in December. "One of your other granddaughters is marrying McCullough's brother?" Stockdale asked. "Yes, on December 6th," Rufus replied. "I could maybe pull some strings..." Stockdale offered. "No, no, that won't be necessary," Rufus replied. He preferred not to get preferential treatment like that. "Well, you know that the Japanese have been rattling their sabers and it's likely there'll be no leave for personnel stationed at Pearl..." Rufus didn't know that, but it made sense and he admitted as much. "Thank you for the information, Bill," he told his old friend. "My pleasure, Rufus. What's the point of being an old, retired Admiral if a man can't use his contacts to keep an old friend apprised of things?" Stockdale replied and gave a dry chuckle. The admiral didn't laugh much and sounded out of practice. Rufus thanked him again before hanging up. "Gloria's not going to like this," he told Dan. Dan shook his head in agreement. Then he looked at his watch. "If we leave now, we can swing by the school and pick up Michael & Steve." That sounded like a grand idea to Rufus. He loved spending time with his grandkids. Even better, Michael was almost eight and looked to be a promising ballplayer. Steve was just five, but Rufus was already trying to apply his "scout's eye" to the younger boy too. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

01-05-2023, 02:33 PM	#234
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	November 30, 1941: Detroit, MI: "Well, damn," Rollie Barrell muttered as he looked at the out-of-town scoreboard. His Detroit Maroons were wrapping up a 16-0 win over the visiting Pittsburgh Paladins. A win that would give them an 8-3 mark for the 1941 American Football Association season. But... the bad news was that in Philadelphia the Chicago Wildcats were torching the Frigates by a 49-7 margin. That win would make the Wildcats 8-2. And Chicago would be visiting Pittsburgh on December 7th to wrap up the season. Rollie's Maroons were playing their last game today, so that meant that he'd have to sit and hope for the Paladins to shake themselves out of their doldrums and beat the Wildcats. That would put Rollie's team in the AFA Championship. But if the Wildcats won.... "Damn!" Rollie muttered again. "Dad...." Allie Barrell chastised her father. "Sorry squirt," he said and squeezed her shoulder. His younger daughter had entered a phase in which she shadowed her father and showed a big interest in everything he did - down to and including his time at Thompson Field running the Maroons. It was a situation he found amusing, his wife found slightly concerning and his older daughter found ridiculous. And Marty wasn't big on hiding her feelings. "What are you writing there?" Rollie asked. Allie had a small book, much like his own planner, and was writing in it. "Oh... I was keeping track of Stan Vaught's catches." "Really?" Rollie asked. "Sure," Allie replied with a shrug. "Did you know he might finish this season with more than twice as many catches... and... twice as many yards as any other player in the AFA?" Rollie didn't know that, not exactly, and he was impressed. "No. I know Stan's been having a great year, but I didn't know that." He gave her shoulder another squeeze, "That's impressive, Alice." "Dad, do you think a girl could run a football team?" Allie asked. Rollie almost laughed, because in his heart he found the thought ridiculous. But, he caught himself and inwardly, he felt embarassed to have a thought like that. His wife was an intelligent, strong woman and both their daughters had fully inherited those traits. "If anyone can do it, it'd be you Alice," he told her with a smile. Seeing her smile in return made him forget his frustration with those.... dang.... Wildcats. "Because, I've been thinking..." his daughter said. "Yes?" he prodded. "Well, someday you'll get old. Like grandpa Rufus," she said, a serious look on her face. She reminded him of Francie so much when she did this. "And well... someone will need to run the Maroons after you retire... or you know, die..." Rollie laughed. "I'm not going anywhere for a long time, Alice," he said. "Oh, I know," she said quickly. "But someday..." Rollie laughed and said, "Alright, I get the gist. And yes, if... after you go to college and start your life... if you want to work with me, that will be fine." He figured she'd forget all about this "run the team" stuff once she was an adult, got married, and so on. If he was being honest with himself, Rollie kind of thought he'd sell the team someday, since he didn't have any sons. The idea that one of his girls could own the team.... had never really crossed his mind. If it had, Rollie would actually have expected Marty to be the one to follow in his footsteps - she hadn't really exhibited any interest in boys yet (for which Rollie was surprisingly thankful) despite having passed her 18th birthday back in May. As if reading his mind, Allie said, "I miss Marty." "Me too, squirt," Rollie said. Marty was a freshman at Noble Jones, and was hoping to get a degree in Accounting, just like her father. She was also playing golf, like both her parents. "I thought she'd be at the wedding..." Allie said. Rollie nearly swore aloud again - he'd almost forgotten but Gloria's wedding to Charley McCullough was taking place in just six days on December 6th in Cincinnati. He started doing some quick calculations in his head... could he get from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh on the morning of the 7th to watch the Paladins take on Chicago? He pulled out his planner. "What are you doing?" Allie asked. "Trying to see if I can get from Cincinnati to Pittsburgh in time for the game on Sunday afternoon." "So you can root for the Wildcats to lose?" Rollie smiled - his kids were no dummies. "Got it in one," he said. "Can I go with you?" she asked. Rollie paused in his flipping through the book (he'd been looking at air charters) and smiled adoringly at his daughter. "You'd really want to go with me?" he asked. "Of course," Allie replied. "If I'm going to own this team someday, I better start spending even more time with you, Dad." Rollie burst out in laughter. Allie seemed bewildered, but then she started laughing too. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

01-06-2023, 01:37 PM	#235
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	December 6, 1941: Cincinnati, OH: "I appreciate you doing this for me, buddy," Charley McCullough said. Deuce Barrell nodded. "Well... this is my twin sister you're marrying, Charley," he said. Charley cocked an eyebrow and said, "I still don't know how you two could be twins and be so... different." Deuce laughed. "We're fraternal twins, not identical." Charley shook his head and said, "That's not what I mean. I mean your personalities..." Deuce shrugged. "Apparently, I'm more like my father and Gloria's like Mom." Charley shuffled his feet and said, "I've heard your Dad was quite the athlete." "He was. He was also hot-headed and tempestuous," Deuce replied. "Tempestuous?" Charley's eyebrows had climbed nearly to his hairline as he said this. "Haha. I'm not dumb, Charley," Deuce said. "I only act like I am," he added with a grin. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Quit squirming or I'll stick you with this pin," Edna Daniels told her daughter. Gloria sighed. "This dress is too big," she moaned. "Well now, that's why I'm pinning it," Edna shot back. She knew Gloria was nervous, but the fidgeting? She might as well be five years old, not twenty-four. "You think Charley's nervous?" Gloria asked. Edna snorted in laughter. "I doubt it," she replied. "Men are too dumb to get nervous. He's probably looking forward to the party... and the wedding night," she finished. Gloria blushed and blurted out, "Mom!" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "That's two in a row," Jack Barrell told Rollie. "Two in a row what?" Rollie replied. "Two weddings in a row where the bride is the kid of one our deceased brothers," Jack said. Rollie gave his brother a sidelong look. Jack looked more than a little melancholy. "Yeah, I miss them too, Johnny." Jack frowned and growled, "Johnny? I thought I beat that out of you back in, oh, 1905 or so." It had been a ploy, cooked up by Joe, to get Jack's goat by calling him "Johnny" - and it had worked. Rollie and Joe had referred to their younger brother as Johnny for the better part of the summer until Jack had snapped and jumped both his brothers. Luckily the tussle had been broken up by their mother before any damage could be done. Jack was game enough, but Joe alone would have been too much for him to handle, let alone Joe and Rollie together. "I heard you're scheming to fly off to Pittsburgh after the reception," Jack said to change the subject after both brothers took a trip down memory lane, thinking of Joe. "Yep. And would you believe it, James is going to fly the plane." Jack shook his head. Rollie had somehow managed to find a fellow with a plane, only to discover the man wouldn't fly. "Too cold in December" was his reason. But James, on leave from the Army Air Corps for the wedding, was more than willing to fly, anywhere, anytime. The old codger who owned the plane had agreed to let James fly Rollie and Allie to Pittsburgh as long as he flew straight back (and after Rollie had paid a handsome "rental fee" of course). "Try not to let that kid get in trouble," Jack said. Rollie looked offended. "I would never," he said. "Well, he is Jimmy's son and lord knows Jimmy got into plenty of trouble with you by his side," Jack said. Rollie laughed and replied, "True, but James has too much of Claudia in him for any shenanigans. Plus I have wife and daughter with me, and I would never let anything happen to them." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ An hour later Gloria Barrell was a married woman. Her family was well-represented in the wedding party. Charley's brother Bill was, as Admiral Stockdale had predicted back in October, stuck on his ship due to increasing "aggression" from the Japanese, and the two McCullough brothers had but one other sibling, a sister, who acted as Gloria's maid of honor, with Gloria's cousins Jean, Vera and Allie acting as bridesmaids. Deuce was Charley's best man and his groomsmen included James Slocum and Gloria's half-brothers Roger Cleaves and Charlie Barrell. Charlie's mother, the actress Dorothy Bates, was there too, looking so distractingly beautiful that she drew the eye of Deuce so often Gloria wanted to slap the silly grin off his face. Of all the Barrells and their offspring only Marty (off at Noble Jones) and Aggie (with her husband in Hawaii) were not on hand. Even Betsy's football-playing husband Tom Bowens was there (like Detroit, Boston's season had ended the previous week). Charley had joked to Gloria that "I hope you don't think I'll ever be able to remember everyone's names." She did expect just that, but decided not to make an issue of it on their wedding day. As the party wound down and the happy couple headed off for Niagara Falls, Rollie sidled up to James Slocum. Looking extremely fit in his tuxedo and achingly like his dead father, James asked for a moment to change and say goodbye to his mother, stepfather (Powell Slocum), favorite uncle (Tom) and grandparents. Rollie couldn't begrudge the kid - he hadn't seen most of the family in well over a year, after all. But he was itching to get to Pittsburgh. He had half a mind to see if he could get Carl Boon drunk. Boon, who owned (and coached) the Wildcats was known to tip the elbow occasionally and he was an old friend & team mate of Rollie's brother Joe. Rollie pretended not to hear the conversation between James and his mother when the youngster returned from the restroom. "Now you be careful, and be sure to be back here as soon as possible. I will worry," Claudia told her son. "Mom, I'm an officer in the U.S. Army now," James replied. "You are, and always shall be, my baby," she said. "Aw, Mom, come on," James moaned. Rollie could almost picture the blush. "Let's go Uncle Rollie," James said a moment later, having kissed his mother and shaken hands with Powell Slocum. Rollie collected Allie and Francie and they headed out. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Deuce Barrell was caught staring once too often. Not by Dorothy Bates, but by his mother, which was infinitely worse. "Quit staring at that woman," she told him. He considered denying that he was doing any such thing, but he'd never been able to fool his mother. He wondered if she was jealous - Dorothy had been Joe Barrell's second, and final, spouse. And she was a knockout. He shook his head, looked sulky and offered a muttered, "Fine," instead. "Did you meet Roger?" he asked Edna, knowing this would throw her off-balance. It wasn't quite fair but Deuce was never content with allowing someone else to have the moral high-ground. It took Edna a moment before she said, "No. Why would I?" "Well, he is the half-brother of two of your kids, you know." "I am aware of that Rufus," she replied. "And that's precisely why I don't want to meet him." Deuce leaned forward. "You know, it's not his fault," he told her softly. "He's an innocent victim in all this." Edna's mouth firmed in a solid line for a moment, but then relaxed. "I know," she replied. "But I'm sure you know that it's a sore subject for me." Deuce did know this - heck, he'd felt the same way himself. The kid - he was nearly eighteen now - was a walking, talking reminder that his father had cheated on his mother and destroyed their marriage in the process. Deuce told his mother this, adding, "But I've come to terms with it. No one picks their parents but they do sometimes end up dealing with the mess they leave behind." Edna nodded and gave him a small, sad smile. "You still surprise me sometimes," she told him. "Huh? Why?" he asked, genuinely puzzled. "Well, you remind me of your father," she said and looked even sadder. "I desperately loved that man, but if Joe Barrell was anything, he was a living contradiction. He could be a complete brute and utter fool, but he was also heartbreakingly sweet, utterly charming and devastatingly handsome." She paused and shook her head. "Which was the problem - he attracted women like a magnet attracts metal shavings. But one thing he never really was..." she paused again and said, "Was insightful." She patted his arm. "And what you just said was incredibly insightful," she said, then smiled and added, "Must have gotten that from me." She stood up and looked across the room where Roger was standing and talking with Betsy and her husband Tom Bowens. "So introduce me to your brother, why don't you?" . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

01-11-2023, 12:03 PM	#236
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	December 7, 1941: Cincinnati, OH: "Rufus, we're going to miss the train!" Alice Barrell shouted at the bathroom door. "Tommy is probably already waiting for us!" "I'll be out in a minute!" she heard her husband shout back. "I swear you're worse than any woman I've ever known!" Alice replied. She was always amazed at how close Rufus cut things like getting to the train station on time given that he had traveled extensively for decades. The joy of seeing most of her large family together in one place was almost, not quite, but almost not worth the stress of traveling with her husband. "Mr. Last-Minute, same as always," she muttered. A moment later Rufus, looking ashamed, bustled out and grabbed his hat. "Let's go, I'm ready!" he said. Alice shook her head and grumbled something Rufus didn't hear, then grabbed her bag. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ A similar scene was playing out in a room just down the hall where Bobby was impatiently waiting for his wife. "Annette? Get a move on, Harry has a cab waiting for us," he told the closed bathroom door. At his feet, his 19-month-old son Ralph was playing with a toy car. The door opened and Annette's head appeared in the gap. "One cab won't hold all of us, Bob," she said. "Two couples and two kids. You guys aren't single any longer." Bobby shook his head. "I'm aware of that, which is why Harry's holding two cabs. One for us, and one for them," he replied with a wry look. "So get a move on." "Fine," she shot back and closed the door. Bobby looked at his watch and sighed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ In the small downtown apartment he normally shared with his sister, Deuce Barrell was reading a note sent to him by Dorothy Bates the night before. He'd read it about fifty times already. "Dearest, Rufus," it began, "You're a sweet kid and you remind me of your father so much it breaks my heart. But you're far too young for me. If you're ever in Hollywood, look me up and I might have someone more age-appropriate to whom I can introudce you. Love, Dot." "Bah!" Deuce said, throwing the note down. Ten years wasn't that much of an age difference.... was it? He wished he could ask Gloria whether it was weird to be attracted to his step-mother. He knew what she'd say, but he also knew he probably needed to hear it. Unfortunately, Gloria was halfway to Canada by now. From the sofa, a bleary Roger Cleaves raised his head and said, "Why are you making noise? It's too early." Deuce replied, "You should talk. You snore, you know. I could hear you through the door." Roger waved a hand in dismissal and dropped his head back onto his pillow. He was soon snoring softly. Deuce looked at the half-brother he barely knew. The kid had gotten into the liquor at the reception, somehow avoiding the eagle eye of their grandmother. Alice usually could spy that kind of thing from a mile away. Deuce hated to admit it, but he was impressed. The whole situation was a bit surreal. Not only was Roger his and Gloria's half-brother, but he was also the half-brother of a pair of really good FABL ballplayers in Jack and George Cleaves. Deuce was thankful both those guys were playing for the Miners over in the Fed. Having a shared half-brother didn't make them exactly related, by Deuce's reckoning, but he wasn't sure what it made them. Regardless, let them tear up the pitching in the other league, thank-you-very-much. Deuce rubbed his chin, thinking maybe it was a good thing to have a brother reasonably close to his own age. Charlie was really just a little kid after all but Roger was going to turn eighteen in January, and he was certainly rough around the edges, but having a brother he could talk to had to be a good thing, right? ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Same day, Niagara Falls, ON: "I swear, I don't know how you ballplayers do it," Gloria McCullough (that hadn't taken long to get used to) told her new husband. "Do what?" Charley asked as he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and a finger jammed in his ear, twisting back and forth. "Sleep on trains. All that rattling... ugh!" Charley grinned and said, "Ah, you get used to it. Besides, we didn't do all that much sleeping last night." Gloria blushed and shook her head. "Hey, we're married now, so we don't need to worry about being so prim and proper," Charley said and leered at her. "You have a point," Gloria said and reached for the towel. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Later that day, Pittsburgh, PA: Rollie was in the owner's box at Fitzpatrick Park. Dan Fitzpatrick himself had provided it for him, claiming he didn't care for football, despite having bought a fifty-percent stake in the Pittsburgh Paladins. Sometimes the fringe benefits of having the last name Barrell was a blessing, thought Rollie. Still, Rollie couldn't help but compare it to Thompson's box, and he found it rather plain in comparison. Thompson Field's owner's box had been built by Big Eddie Thompson and that man had never done anything small. Rollie still missed him. Francie sat beside him on his left and Allie on his right. She had her notebook out and was carefully drawing something in it. "What are you doing?" Rollie asked his daughter. "I'm going to see if I can chart some of the Wildcats' plays." Rollie was taken aback. "What? Why?" "Well, I can give them to Mr. Coach Yurik." Rollie started laughing. "It's just Coach Yurik, kiddo. We have scouts and assistant coaches to do that. And there hasn't been a play run in football yet that Yurik hasn't seen before." Allie gave him a stern look. "I think I should know all about the team and how everything works now that I am your heir-apparent. I could never tolerate having someone who works for me knowing more than I do." Rollie turned to his wife. "You hearing this?" France pinched his arm and said with a smirk, "What I heard is that you promised to let Allie run the Maroons when you retire." She paused and added, "Or die." "She told you that?" Rollie asked. "Of course, a girl her age tells her mother things. We have no secrets in my house, Roland." "Of course, dear," Rollie said with a shake of his head. Rollie was impressed with Allie's determination, but he still privately thought she'd grow out of this. You just didn't see grown women running big businesses and make no mistake, a pro football team was a big business. Of course, things on the field couldn't be going worse for the Detroit Maroons. The Wildcats & Paladins had played a scoreless first quarter, but the wheels started coming off for Pittsburgh in the second frame. First the Wildcats had gone on a 91-yard drive to break the ice with a 1-yard TD run by Leon Stone. Then as halftime approached, the Paladins had botched a punt return, handing the ball to Chicago on the Pittsburgh 13 yard line. Needless to say it was soon 14-0. Pittsburgh QB Warren Howard threw an interception on literally the first play of the second half leading to a third TD for the Wildcats, who missed the extra point, leaving it 20-0. And that's where it stood as the clocked ticked down towards the end of the third quarter. Rollie was seriously considering leaving. Francie looked bored - she was gamely trying not to show it, but Rollie could tell. Allie though... he figured she'd fuss if he wanted to leave before the game ended. After all, she'd miss out on precious intelligence about not one but two rival clubs. Rollie was still ruminating when the public address announcer, after announcing the results of the play (another Howard incompletion) said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention please. We have just received word from the White House that the Japanese have attacked Pearl Harbor. Would all servicemen in attendance please report to your units. I repeat, all servicemen in attendance, report to your units immediately." Francie and Rollie immediately turned to each other, their eyes wide. Beside them Allie said, "Pearl Harbor? Isn't that where cousin Aggie lives with her sailor man?" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Same day, en route to Atlanta, GA: Rufus Barrell was in the dining car with his son Harry, his daughter-in-law Sarah and their 16-month-old son Reid (whose full name was Joseph Reid Barrell in honor of Harry's maternal grandfather). "Thanks for having a late lunch with me, Harry," Rufus said. "Harry is able to eat anytime, anywhere, and virtually anything," Sarah told her father-in-law, following it up with a playful shove of her husband. "Impressive," Rufus said, pointing at Sarah. "That you can hold your son and give your husband a shove at the same time," he added with a twinkle in his eye. "I'm a versatile gal," Sarah said with a grin. Reid, as toddlers are wont to do, simply stared at various people and things, including the Tennessee countryside passing outside the window. "Here comes Tom," Harry said and Rufus craned his neck to see his son walking quickly towards them. "Hungry?" Rufus asked, pointing at his plate with his fork as Tom arrived. "What?" Tom asked. He looked breathless. "No," he added. Harry frowned up at his brother. "Something wrong, Tom?" he asked. "Bob and I were in the smoking car, listening to the radio," Tom said. Rufus shook his head. "If your mother hears that you were smoking," he began. Tom raised a hand. "I wasn't smoking, Pop. I wanted to hear the football scores. And you know Bob would catch it from Annette if he even considered lighting up." Rufus nodded and Tom said, "None of that matters anyway. What does is what I just heard on the radio." "And that was?" Rufus prompted. Harry was shoveling a forkful of potatoes into his mouth when he heard Tom say, "The Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor." The potatoes plopped onto the plate as Harry stared wide-mouthed at Tom. "You're joking," he said. "I wouldn't joke about this, Harry," Tom said coldly. "It's true. Apparently they hit the naval and air bases there first thing this morning and are still at it." "It would still be morning there," Rufus pointed out, then asked, "Does your mother know?" "No, I came here first," Tom said, adding, "And Bob went to tell Annette." Rufus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "OK, I will tell her. She's going to be worried sick until we know that Aggie and Bill are safe." What Rufus didn't say was that now they were in it, and in it for the duration. And that meant his sons - and even his grandsons - might be going into harm's way. He'd thought they were past that back in 1918... but here it was again, with a whole new group of young men about to be fed into the meatgrinder. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

01-12-2023, 03:23 PM	#237
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	December 8, 1941: Pearl Harbor, HI: Sunday had been the longest day in Agnes Barrell McCullough's life. Now it was Monday and she didn't know what to do with herself. She had been in the kitchen making breakfast when the Japanese planes had zoomed overhead. She and Bill had a small house on Ford Island that the Navy personnel had dubbed "Nob Hill" and which overlooked Battleship Row, where all the big battlewagons (as Bill called them) were moored. Aggie was still getting used to life as a Navy wife. Bill was something of a rarity among officers his age by the simple fact of being a married man. He was working, Sunday or not; Arizona was having repair work done. He'd spent the night, but headed to the ship just before seven. From her kitchen window Aggie could see the repair ship USS Vestal alongside the Arizona in her berth. Bill had told her it was berth F-7 (not that she really cared, but she loved it when Bill explained these little details that meant so much to him). Lt. McCullough was supervising the repairs. He had joked the previous night that he was senior enough to supervise the work but not senior enough to pass the job along to a more junior officer. She had just finished cleaning up after breakfast and was debating whether to go to church with Fannie Tidwell, whose husband was also a Lieutenant on the Arizona (but who was herself a bit of a busybody) when she heard the drone of planes overhead. This wasn't alarming in any way, not at first at least, because this was a military area and there were almost always planes flying about - Ford Island itself had a Naval Air Station and the Army flew from nearby Hickam and Wheeler Fields. Still, she was new enough and planes flying this early on a Sunday strange enough that she leaned over the sink and peered out the window. She spotted the aircraft immediately. They were green and had red circles painted on them. At first Aggie was confused and her nose scrunched up as she thought about why those planes looked... different. She remembered one of Bill's buddies joking about how the Japanese painted "meatballs" on their planes. And just as she realized what she was seeing the air-raid alarm went off. She ran outside and watched in horror as the first bombs fell from the planes far overhead while the ships in the harbor began firing at them. The bombs began exploding on and near the Arizona... where Bill was. Bombs were falling on and near the other battleships as well, but Aggie kept her eyes on the Arizona. It only took about ten minutes for Aggie's life to be changed forever. At 8:06 the fourth and last bomb to actually hit the USS Arizona struck near Turret II, penetrated the deck and within seconds detonated the ship's forward magazines in a massive explosion. Aggie was thrown to the ground by the shockwave. As debris from the ship fell nearby, she rose to her knees, knowing in her heart that Bill was gone. Time passed, she never knew how long it was, and then Fannie Tidwell found her there crying on her knees in the grass and pulled her away. Massive plumes of black smoke were rising from Battleship Row. Fannie spoke - maybe even shouted to her, but she couldn't hear anything but a faint buzzing. They would spend the rest of the day in the basement of Quarters K, which was the home of Admiral Bellinger, but also the former Battery Adair, a retired portion of the island's defenses and was therefore heavily fortified. From the slits that formerly housed big guns, some of the civilians watched as the second wave of Japanese attackers came in. Aggie didn't watch. The attack had lasted about ninety minutes - or at least that's what they'd told Aggie. They'd also told her not to assume the worst, several hundred members of Arizona's crew had survived. Several hundred - out of over 1500. But the truth sat like a stone on Aggie's heart. She simply knew - Bill was gone. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Same day, Niagara Falls, ON: "Come on, get up," Gloria told her husband. They'd spent the entire previous day in bed, or near the bed. They'd had room service for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Now Gloria wanted to go out. Sure it was winter and freezing outside, but she wanted to see the Falls. "Get up!" she said more forcibly and kicked Charley with her bare foot. She'd tried to give him some extra time for sleep, taking a shower and leisurely getting herself dressed. But now it was after nine, and she was both hungry and wanting to get out of the hotel room and into the fresh - if cold - air. He groaned and muttered something she couldn't understand. "I'm going out to look at the Falls," she told him, getting another grunt in reply. She threw a pillow at him as she left, feeling a little embarrassed but also hopeful that her parting shot hit squarely enough to roust her new husband from bed. As she went through the lobby she noticed things were a bit more subdued than they had been when they'd arrived on Sunday morning. But it was Monday - maybe everyone was already at work. She decided to skip the hotel restaurant and see what she could find outside. The hotel was only a couple of blocks from the falls. The weather wasn't too bad. It was cold, but above freezing. She could hear the noise of the falls in the distance. She stopped outside a coffee shop, debating whether to go in when she heard two men talking nearby. "Well, they're in it now," said the first man. "Yes, but will they focus all their attention on the Japanese, or will they help get rid of Hitler too?" the other asked in reply. "Pardon me, but has something happened?" she asked, after some more non-specific back and forth between the two presumably local gentlemen. "Haven't heard, eh?" the first man asked. "Newlywed from the States, I assume?" the second queried at approximately the same time. "Yes, and yes," Gloria replied with a smile. "Sorry to be the one to break it to you miss, but your country was attacked yesterday," the first man said. "The Japanese pulled off a sneak attack in Hawaii," the second added. Gloria's eyes widened in shock. "Is there a newstand nearby?" she asked. The men pointed her in the right direction and, breakfast now forgotten, Gloria sped to the newstand and bought a paper. She stood, stunned, reading the headline story, then rushed back to the hotel. When she burst into the room, Charley was brushing his teeth. His wet hair stuck out in all directions and because he was alone he was also stark naked. "Put on some clothes," Gloria barked at him, waving the newspaper. "Then sit down," she added. "What's going on?" Charley asked. "And why'd we decide on Niagara Falls? We could have gone to California, where it's warm..." "Get. Dressed. And. Sit. Down." she said deliberately, thinking how much this was like dealing with Deuce. Aside from the nudity, of course. Bewildered, Charley did as she asked. When he plopped down beside her on the bed, he again asked, "What's going on?" "The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor yesterday. We're at war," she said simply. Charley's mouth dropped open in shock. She shoved the paper at him. "Read this," she said. Now that she had gotten back into the room and told Charley, Gloria began to feel overwhelmed. She knew that Bill and Aggie were there, and she was afraid of what that meant. "Oh my God!" Charley moaned. "Did you read all of this?" he asked. Gloria nodded. "They estimate that nearly twenty ships were sunk..." Charley muttered, and Gloria nodded. "And one of them was..." he choked up and it was a moment before he could finish, "the Arizona. Oh Bill..." Gloria and Charley hugged, and Charley cried. Then, after perhaps five minutes, she felt him steady himself. He broke the embrace, stood up and said, "Let's get packed. I need to get back." "What? Why? There's nothing we can do," Gloria said. "That's where you're wrong, dear. There is something I can do," Charley told her. "And I'm going to do it." . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

01-13-2023, 04:54 PM	#238
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	December 9, 1941: Cincinnati, OH: "You have some nice things here, brother," Roger Cleaves told Deuce. Deuce shrugged and said, "I guess so. Gloria bought most of it." Roger sauntered over to the Viking Phonograph player, sitting on a stand beside a Victrola cabinet radio that Gloria had bought. "You know how much these things cost?" he asked, a sly look on his face. Deuce shrugged again and admitted that no, he did not. "Like I said, Gloria buys all that stuff." "So you let your sister," Roger replied, waited a beat then corrected himself, saying, "Sorry... our sister... buy everything? You buy your clothes?" "Nope," Deuce admitted. Roger laughed and shook his head. "Wow," he said. Roger and Deuce had been drinking. Deuce blearily thought that his brother might not be all that great an influence on him and then, as it came to mind, asked, "Are you making fun of me?" Roger laughed again and said, "I think you're making fun of yourself, Deucey." "Oh?" "Yeah... think about this: Gloria's married now and she'll be buying stuff for herself and her new husband. You're on your own now, bub." Deuce nodded slowly. "Yeah, you're right," he said, not hiding the hint of sadness he felt. "How much money you make playing ball anyway?" Deuce had to think about that one. Gloria really did handle all the money. "Uh... I think 18, 19 thousand." Roger's eyes goggled. "What! You make that much scratch for throwing a baseball!" Deuce shrugged yet again. "Sure, I guess." He rubbed his chin and added, "I think I'm going to get a raise too. I got hurt and missed some time but I still had a good season this year." Roger was stunned and silent, just staring at Deuce with his mouth open. The door swung open and Gloria walked in. Seeing Roger staring at Deuce she stopped dead in her tracks. "What in tarnation's going on here?" she asked. Roger raised his eyebrows and said, "Tarnation?" Gloria waved a dismissive hand at him, looking at her twin. "Rufus? What's going on? Why is..." a definite pause... "he still here?" She nodded her chin at Roger - it was true that he should have been back in New Jersey and back in high school where he belonged. "Hey, don't be mean. You're my favorite sister you know," Roger said with a grin. "I'm your only sister and this isn't a Three Stooges skit," she snapped at him. "True. You'd make a terrible Moe... but a cute Curly, maybe... you would have to shave your head," Roger said, his grin growing wider. Gloria ignored him. "Rufus?" Gloria had narrowed her eyes as she looked her twin up and down. "Have you been drinking?" she asked, wrinkling her nose. "Just a little," Deuce replied. "Aren't you still underage?" Gloria asked, turning to Roger. "Bah, who cares?" Roger replied. Gloria shook her head angrily. Then her face crumpled up and she began crying. "Whoa, whoa, whoa... What's this all about?" Roger asked. Deuce stepped forward and pulled his sister into a hug. "What's wrong Gloria?" he asked. Gloria pushed herself away and pounded a fist on Deuce's chest. "You dolt! Haven't you noticed I'm alone?" Roger looked through the open door into the hallway. "Yeah, where is old what's-his-name anyway?" Deuce frowned at Roger and shook his head. "OK, I'm sorry. Where is Charley?" he asked. Gloria sobbed and said, "He joined the Navy. He's on his way to training, or whatever they call it." "He joined the Navy?" Roger asked, then shaking his head, he looked at Deuce and added, "You won't catch me doing that. I'm patriotic enough, but if Uncle Sam wants me, he can come get me. I ain't volunteering to get my..." he trailed off as he noticed that Gloria was glaring at him. "Sorry," Roger muttered. "He joined the Navy?" Deuce asked. "Did he ask Mr. Theobald first?" Roger laughed again and said, "Oh, Deuce. You need to get out more. Charley don't need my grandfather's permission to join the Navy." Deuce scowled at Roger, then looked at Gloria and asked, "Now why would he go and do something like that? Aside from the fact that the Cannons need him, he just got married!" Gloria had a surprised look on her face. "You don't know, do you?" she asked. Before Deuce could answer Roger said, "There's a lot he doesn't know, in case you haven't noticed sis." Gloria said, "Bill was killed on the Arizona. My husband's off thinking he can take on the whole Japanese Navy and avenge his dead brother while my idiot brothers are here drinking and acting like fools." She stomped off towards her bedroom. "You," she said, pointing at Deuce. "Need to sober up." Then she pointed at Roger, "And you need to get your tail back to New Jersey. You have school, remember?" She slammed the door behind her. "She always like that?" Roger asked Deuce. Deuce said, "Nah, she's variable. Like the weather." "You really make almost 20 thousand a year?" Roger asked. "Yeah, unless Gloria's lying to me," Deuce replied. Roger had an angry look on his face. "I think Jack and George have been holding out on me. If you make that much scratch they have to be making just as much... if not more." He shook his head and muttered something, but Deuce only caught the word "stingy" and perhaps something else that his mother would've washed his mouth out with soap for uttering. Roger looked at Gloria's closed door. "I think our sister's right. I need to get back to school. I'm thinking if I have a really good season maybe I get drafted by a FABL team before Uncle Sam gets to me." He puffed out his chest, and for a moment Deuce saw their shared father in Roger more than he ever had before. "I am, after all, both Cleaves and Barrell, and I'm a catcher just like my brother George. I need to get my hands on some of that baseball money!" . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

01-16-2023, 06:37 PM	#239
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	February 17, 1942: Washington, DC: Dan Barrell walked down the hallway of the New Congressional Office Building, built in 1933 when the so-called "Old" office building had grown too crowded. Beside him walked three of his nieces and they were the main reasons for his visit. It occurred to him as he walked that though he had lived or worked in Washington for a significant number of years this was the first time he'd visited any building relating to the U.S. Capitol. "You girls sure you want to do this?" he asked. The eldest of the three, Agnes Barrell McCullough, sighed. "You've asked us that several times already, Uncle Dan," she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation. Her single-mindedness reminded Dan of her father Jimmy - a trait her half-brother James had also inherited. Aggie's half-sister Jean and Rollie's eldest daughter Martha both nodded in agreement. It was only as a favor to the girls' fathers, Jack and Rollie, that Dan had even agreed to do this. Most everyone in the family knew how he felt about the man they were going to be visiting. The congressional page who was escorting them gave him a tight-lipped half-grin that Dan suspected meant she knew exactly what he was thinking. They stopped outside the Congressional office of the esteemed representative of Ohio's 17th Congressional District: Maurice D. Morris. Dan frowned momentarily - he hadn't know Morris' first name was anything other than Max. The page opened the door and motioned them inside. A thin young man was sitting behind a desk in the small room. A large and heavy-looking door was situated to the left. The man was obviously Morris' assistant and the man himself was behind the door. "Welcome Mr. Barrell, Mrs. McCullough, Miss Barrell and, er, Miss Barrell," the man said with a warm smile. "The congressman will see you momentarily." The page left and a scant moment later an older man came in from the hall. "Ah, you must be the people here to discuss our bill," he said. He stepped forward and shook Dan's hand. "I'm Bill Dietrich, representing the 14th District of Michigan." He smiled at the young women. "I believe you three young ladies are from my constituency." "We are," Aggie said. She wasn't smiling - her smile hadn't been on display much over the past two months. "I voted for you, sir," she told the man who nodded his head and smiled in return. "My sister and cousin, alas, were too young to vote in 1940, but you can be assured of their support this November, I would think," Aggie added. Jean and Marty both nodded. The cousins were just 17 days apart in age and though both were similar in height and slimness, Jean looked like her mother Marie while Marty took after Rollie. The door to the inner office opened and the familiar burly form of Max Morris filled the doorway. Dan still didn't care for the man, though his outward appearance had changed since that day all those years ago when Dan had been a high-school student and Morris the most famous ballplayer in the country. "Dan Barrell!" Morris said in his familiar booming voice. "How long has it been?" the big man asked as he grasped Dan's hand in a meaty paw and gave it a bone-crushing squeeze. Morris cleaned up well - his tailored suit looked good on him. Dan gave back his best squeeze as he answered, "Oh, what? Six years or so - wasn't '36 your last year with the Foresters?" "Yep, it sure was. Had my last dance with the Dynamos in '37 and then it was off to Washington for me," he said, then added a hearty laugh and added, "Now that was a twist I did not see coming!" Dan laughed despite himself. His father had told him of how Morris had been all but drafted in Rufus Barrell's office - the very same one Dan now called his own - back in the winter of '37-38. "I see you've met Bill Dietrich," Morris said. "Bill and I are going to co-sponsor this bill for you ladies." Morris cast his appraising eye over Dan's nieces and Dan fought a barely successful inner campaign not to sneer at the old lecher. Morris had to be approaching fifty and the girls... well, young ladies, were 22 (Aggie) and 19 (Jean & Marty). "Nice to meet you, Mr. Morris," Marty said, stepping forward and thrusting out a hand. Morris looked at Dan and raised an eyebrow. "You must be Rollie Barrell's daughter," he said when he'd turned back to Marty and plastered his smile back onto his face. "I am," Marty replied, a look of surprise on her face. "Oh, don't be too surprised young lady," Morris explained, "I've known your father for a long time and you bear more than a passing resemblence." Marty nodded. "I have heard that, yes," she said. Aggie spoke up, and got right to business, "Sir, do you think this bill has a chance?" she asked. Morris turned to her. "You're Mrs. McCullough, I take it," he said. Aggie nodded and he added, "Sorry to hear about your husband, but rest assured we will pay the Japanese back a thousand-fold." "Thank you," Aggie said quickly. "But the bill?" This time it was Dietrich who spoke up. "Yes, well... there will be some resistance," he said. "But the bill for the Army passed last year," Marty spoke up. "True," Dietrich said. "But, that's a bit of a horse of a different color as it were. The Women's Army Auxiliary Corps allows women to serve alongside the Army, but separate and not inside it. What our bill is suggesting is adding women to the Navy directly." Marty was about to speak again, but Morris raised a hand. "It's not all doom and gloom, young ladies. I've spoken with Rear Admiral Nimitz and though he was initially reluctant, I believe he's come around to seeing the usefulness of women working in non-combat roles, and here in the States away from combat zones, to free up men for fighting." "That is all we are asking," Aggie put in. Her determination was all but oozing from her pores as she stood there, hands clenched in front of her. "I know this is personal for you," Morris told her. "Bill and I will do our best to get this bill passed. Then we just have to get it through the Senate and to the President's desk. Mrs. Roosevelt has come out in favor of it, and her influence with the President is not trivial." Dietrich nodded and added, "And Secretary Knox is also in favor. I am confident we can get this bill passed in the House. There will be opposition in the Senate too, but I've been speaking with a few Senators, off the record, and they think they can get it passed there too." Frank Knox was the Secretary of the Navy and his endorsement would carry a lot of weight. Aggie's mouth curved in the merest shadow of a smile. Marty and Jean bore looks of excitement. Morris waved towards the door into the inner office. "Why don't we step inside and discuss the particulars. Secretary Knox has asked for us to create a list of possible members - all women of course - of an Advisory Council and perhaps, after the bill passes, to hold leadership roles in the women's program. We'll also need a name." The trio of young women trooped into the office. Morris winked at Dan, who wasn't sure what the Congressman meant by that, but he gave a thin smile in return and followed his nieces into the office with Morris and Dietrich entering after him. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era

01-17-2023, 09:46 AM	#240
legendsport Hall Of Famer Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: Behind The Lens Posts: 2,928	March 3, 1942: Tampa, FL: Fred Barrell trudged past the fans lining the fence. The days when they would shout his name were in the past. He saw Al Wheeler chatting with a clump of well-wishers - the Wonder Wheel was only a couple years younger than Fred, but he was also an established star who had enjoyed a solid season in '41, clouting 24 homers and hitting .291 on the year. Fred? He'd hit a measly .236 and power had never been in his repetoire. Harry ran past, waving at some fans who called out to him. He slapped Fred on the back on the way by. Fred wished he still had Harry's energy, but years of catching had taken a toll. Sometimes he felt like the years had worn him down to a nub. He entered the shack the Kings called a clubhouse. In a cost-cutting move a few years back owner Daniel Prescott had decided to have the big league team do their spring training in Tampa and use the Class C Tampa Cigar Kings' park - and clubhouse. Class C was the lowest rung on the professional ladder and amenities weren't just hard to find... they were non-existent. "Barrell!" he heard as he entered and groaned. A familiar rumpled figure made his way towards Fred, navigating his bulk carefully through the tight quarters of the clubhouse. "Fred, got a minute?" For a second Fred wanted to say "no" but his mother had raised him to be better than that, so instead he asked, "What can I do for you, Brinker?" John Brinker was a sportswriter, although he put on airs, claiming he was a "feature writer" as if that meant anything to ballplayers. He also apparently believed that he should be the chronicler of all things Barrell, from Rufus down to Harry and perhaps beyond now that Deuce had become the first of the next generation to make it to FABL. Despite evidence such as Jack once threatening to rearrange his face, both Bobby and Harry taking pleasure in tormenting him with nonsense answers to his questions, and Tom once hiding in the showers for an hour to avoid him, Brinker never quite took the hint that the Barrells generally would rather he left them alone. Brinker joined Fred as the latter reached his locker and sat down. Brinker looked around, noticed that there were no open stools available and decided to lean against the locker of young pitcher Effa Bancroft, a kid who'd pitched at AA Knoxville in '41 and was unlikely to go north with the Kings. This made him less likely to rip into the writer for taking liberties. Not that he would, because Bancroft was a polite guy. Brinker probably didn't know, but Bancroft was off doing extra work with pitching coach William Lyons and wouldn't be in the clubhouse for a while yet anyway. Brinker leaned in conspiratorially as if they were old friends. "I heard a rumor that you were thinking about hanging it up..." he said. "Is that a question?" Fred asked, thinking this was exactly why Bob & Harry give him nonsense answers. "Yes," Brinker said after a moment. "Sounded like a statement to me," Fred replied as he untied his spikes. "Take it as you will..." Brinker said then asked, "Got anything to say on the topic?" "I'm thirty-six Brinker, of course I think about retiring," Fred replied wearily, tossing his right shoe into the locker with a bang. Fred turned and eyed Brinker. "Who told you this, anyway?" he asked with clear suspicion in his voice. "It was Harry, wasn't it?" he added, answering his own question. Brinker frowned and then shrugged, which just confirmed Fred's suspicions. Harry absolutely would deflect Brinker by sending him off after Fred, particularly now that both Dan and Tom were no longer on the Kings. "That kid needs to keep his mouth shut," he said. "Going to join the war effort?" Brinker asked as a follow-up. Fred raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Well... no, I hadn't really considered that. As I just said, I'm 36 and I have not only a wife, but also children to consider. So no... I am not thinking of retiring from baseball to go off and join the Army or something." Brinker chewed his lip for a moment. "Really?" he asked quietly. "I had you pegged as a patriotic guy." Fred frowned before answering, "I am a patriotic guy. But I'm also a realistic guy. I'm no kid, Brinker. If the country needs me, I'll serve, but I don't know that I have all that much to offer as an old ballplayer whose knees ache all the time, and whose fingers have been broken so often that I doubt I could pull a trigger." Brinker was silent for a moment. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something. "Meet me outside in fifteen minutes?" he asked. "What? Why?" "Just meet me outside, in fifteen," Brinker said. Then he took a deep breath and added, "Please." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Fifteen minutes later, his hair wet and his mood sour, Fred Barrell stepped out of the ramshackle clubhouse building and saw Brinker standing at the fringe of the parking lot beside a plain blue Plymouth. "That the best you can do?" Fred asked as he approached into earshot, nodding at the car. "Looks like something a G-Man would drive," he added. "Funny you'd say that," Brinker said and then Fred startled as the door of the sedan opened and a man stepped out. He was tall, thin, and dressed in a fine suit that stood in stark contrast to Brinker's rumpled and ill-fitting ensemble. His hair was cut short and neat and he stood ramrod straight. "You look like a recruiting poster for Hoover's Untouchables, mister," Fred said to the man. He looked at Brinker and asked, "Who's this?" The man replied for himself. "Name's Dixon, Bill Dixon." He stepped forward and offered his right hand. Fred shook it, and was impressed. Fred had a pretty good grip, honed from years of swinging baseball bats, but the other man more than held his own. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Dixon. I'm Fred Barrell." Dixon nodded. "Yes, I know. You're the man I'm here to see." "Oh?" this said with genuine surprise. "Yes, you see Mr. Barrell," Dixon began, "I have it on good authority that you would be the perfect man for a job I have that needs filling." Fred frowned. "Job? I'm a ballplayer, Mr. Dixon. My qualifications for most every other job under the sun, with the possible exception of baseball coach, are likely to be woefully inadequate." "I disagree. Would you like to hear why?" Fred was intrigued and freely admitted it. He blinked in surprise a few times when Dixon told him that it was a matter of national security that he keep the conversation they were about to have strictly secret. "Wow, that sounds serious," Fred said. "It is," Dixon replied simply. "Do I have your word?" "Sure, I can keep a secret," Fred answered, though he wasn't 100% sure about that. Tillie was highly skilled herself - particularly at worming everything out of him. "As you know we are at war. And I am starting an organization whose task it will be to prosecute that war on a," Dixon paused and pursed his lips, then continued, "shall we say 'clandestine' level." "You mean like spies?" Fred asked. Brinker chuckled and said, "See, Bill? I told you he was smart." Dixon looked at Brinker and the big man's mouth snapped shut and the grin slid off his face, replaced by a look of chagrin. "Something like that," Dixon told Fred after starting at Brinker for a moment longer. "And? What's that got to do with me?" Fred asked. "Well, I've heard that you're a bit of a polyglot," Dixon replied. "Polyglot? What, exactly, is that?" Fred asked, uncertain whether that was a compliment or slight. He saw Brinker smirking. "Someone adept at picking up languages," Dixon replied. "Ah..." Fred said. His hobby of learning new languages in the hopes of becoming a diplomat... He wondered who filled this guy Dixon in on that. Brinker didn't know and the circle of people who did was small: Harry, Tom, his parents, Tillie of course... his nephew James and the kid's mother Claudia Slocum... and.... Tom Potentas. "Potentas, right?" he asked, noting that Dixon had watched him intently as he'd worked it out. Dixon smiled. "Very good," he said. "Brinker was right - you are smart." He paused and then explained. "Mr. Potentas, as a Pole is, as you might expect, keenly interested in what's going on in Europe. Some of which is, frankly, quite disturbing. And now that we are officially at war with Germany... Mr. Potentas has offered the U.S. government his help and contacts in Eastern Europe." "Potentas is a spy?" Fred asked, not bothering to mask his skepticism. The guy was so... flamboyantly... eccentric (there really was no other word for it) that he was either the worst - or best? - possible choice to be a spy. "No," Dixon said, shaking his head. "He's too high profile and with his ties to Polish nobility, known to the enemy. But he said you have shown a remarkable ability to pick up both German and French," he continued. "This would make you quite valuable to my organization," he concluded. "You keep mentioning this organization," Fred said before asking, "Does it have a name?" Dixon shook his head and said, "Not yet it doesn't. But it soon will." He gave Fred a hard stare. "You interested?" Fred surprised himself by answering, "Yes. Yes I am." Then wondered how he was going to tell Tillie. She didn't like it when he was away on a ten-game road trip. He had a feeling this new job might take him a lot farther away and for a much longer time. . __________________ Hexed & Countered on YouTube Figment League - A fictional history of baseball, basketball, football, hockey & more! Want to join in the fun? Shoot me a PM! Read the story of the Barrell Family - A Figment Baseball tale Same Song, Different Tune - The Barrells in the Modern Era