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Old 08-06-2019, 05:29 PM   #21
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Birmingham AL: August 2, 1912:

"We should tell them."

Joe Barrell opened his eyes. "That's a bad idea," he said.

Though his back was turned, he felt her roll towards him. "I don't like this sneaking around," Edna said.

Joe sighed and flopped onto his back. "Your father would kill me. And if he didn't, then your mother probably would," he said as he stared at the cracked ceiling.

Joe and Edna were in a small and dingy hotel room in Birmingham. The night before Joe had fought an unbeaten young fighter named Jimmy Shoemaker at the Jefferson County Fairgrounds. The giant, barn-like structure had been filled with rowdy fight fans from three states. The promoter, who went by the unlikely moniker of Slim Stanley (unlikely because the man weighed something far north of 300 pounds) had billed the card as the "Best of Three States" with bouts featuring a slew of unbeaten fighters from Georgia, Tennessee and Alabama. Joe and Shoemaker were the first bout, and they did fit the card's requirements: Joe, billed as being from Georgia to hide his "Yankee roots" was 5-0, Shoemaker, from Tennessee, was 7-0.

Whatever the fans were expecting from the first fight, it's unlikely that was what they ended up getting. Joe, angry with Cooter for dragging him all the way to Birmingham when there were plenty of fights to be had in Georgia, charged out of his corner, landed five straight shots to Shoemaker's face and then dropped him with a vicious cross. Six punches, all of them landing, and a knockout. As the referee counted Shoemaker out, you could have heard a pin drop in the big barn. Joe had stunned the raucous crowd into silence. As for Shoemaker, he had a broken jaw. "That was one of the nastiest punches I've ever seen," is how Rube described it to Joe while they watched the main event later that night.

Edna had watched the fight as well - and snuck to Joe's room in the wee hours of the night, excited by what she had seen.

But now she was being unreasonable.

"Look, you turn eighteen in what, a week?" she asked. Edna was slightly older than Joe, having turned eighteen back in May, a fact she had pointed out to him on more than one occasion.

"Yeah," Joe replied as he watched an insect crawl across the ceiling. "Eight days, actually."

"Well, it's time to be a man and tell my father what's going on."

He turned towards her, a worried frown on his face. For a moment he just stared into her eyes, as he sought a way to explain himself.

Just as he was about to speak, someone started pounding on the door.

"What the heck?" he groused as he got off the bed, grabbing a ratty robe from a chair and heading for the door. As he crossed the room, he gave Edna a look. With a scowl, she ducked under the blankets. He'd be hearing about it later, he thought as he reached the door.

He pulled the door open to find Cooter standing there with a giant grin on his face.

"Cooter! It's way too early in the morning..." Joe began. Cooter pushed past him into the room.

"Edna, you can quit hidin' - I know you're there," Cooter said and gave the bed a kick. Edna squeaked and pulled the blanket down uncovering her head.

"Aww, y'all can wipe those guilty looks off your faces. Your great romance ain't no secret."

The color drained from Joe's face. "Rube knows?" he asked.

"Naw, he don't know," Cooter said, then turning to Edna, "but your ma knows." Edna's eyes widened in shock.

Cooter turned back to Joe with a sly grin on his face and said, "I'd strongly advise that you tell Rube sooner rather than later, son."

Joe's eyes were wide and his mouth open as he tried to process this surprising news.

Cooter started chuckling. "And that ain't even what I came here to tell you!"

Joe forced himself to focus. "OK? What is it?"

"How would you like to fight in the Bigsby Oval?" Cooter asked, an enormous smile on his face.

Shocked, Joe was momentarily speechless. Edna beat him to the punch: "What do you mean fight at the Bigsby Oval?"

Cooter was nearly jumping up and down in excitement. "Well, while Joe and Rube were watching Olsen and Cameron last night, I was talking with Sam Bigsby himself."

Joe shook his head. "Sam Bigbsy? The last name is familiar of course, but I have no idea who that is, Cooter."

Cooter shook his head. "I swear sometimes I think if your brains was dynamite you still couldn't blow your nose."

"Cooter...."

"Aw all right," Cooter said with a wink. "Sam's the grandson of old man Bigsby. Not Miles - the other one - Charlie. The one what went to prison for being crookeder than a barrel full of snakes? Sam's daddy, Charlie Junior? He runs the baseball team with Uncle Miles, but Sam... he handles all the other, he called 'em 'special' events they hold at the Oval. I think that includes stuff like circuses and football games, and assorted other Yankee tomfoolery."

Joe was making a rolling motion with his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, don't be impatient," Cooter scolded mildly before continuing, "As I was sayin' - I was chatting with Sam and he said they're putting on some kind of big fight card at the Oval to go with Richie Brown's first title defense. The fight's on September 12th."

Joe said, "Richie Brown?"

Cooter looked up at the ratty ceiling. "Lord, deliver me from the uninformed and stupid."

"Cooter...."

"Look, son, you can't be a pro fighter and be completely oblivious to the rest of the sport. Brown's the new heavyweight champ? He's from New York? Bigsby's putting this big fight card together for his defense. That place holds about fifty thousand people. You understand what I'm saying?"

Cooter gave him as serious a look as he ever had before and Joe was stunned into silence - again. He knew the Oval was big. Heck, it was the place his dad's baseball career began - and ended - on that fateful day two decades earlier.

Edna spoke up again. "So, who'd he be fighting?"

Cooter shrugged. "I don't know. Another young hot shot, I suppose. Probably someone from up there to give it a little local flavor. Bigsby didn't really say. He just saw what Joe did to Shoemaker," he pointed at Joe and then continued, "and he also knew that you flattened Wilkins in the first back in Charlotte. He likes 'big hitters' is how he said it - like he was talking about a baseball player or something, trying to be cute. And he remembers your father, he said. But none of that matters - this is a chance to get your ugly mug some serious exposure, son!"

Edna nearly jumped out of bed in her desire to hug Joe in celebration - but she remembered just how little she was wearing. Cooter, seeing the aborted leap, gave a comical double lift of his eyebrows and then walked out of the room, saying, "Remember what I said, son! Tell Rube before the missus does!"
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Old 08-16-2019, 11:43 AM   #22
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Brooklyn, NY: September 10, 1912:

"Smells musty in here."

Alice looked at Rufus and raised an eyebrow. "Well, what do you expect? It's been closed up for two months."

Rufus lifted a sheet off an armchair. "We should find someone to rent this place. It's a shame to have it be empty."

The Barrells were back in Brooklyn. Temporarily - for Joe's fight at the Bigsby Oval - and not all of them. Of the boys, Jack was now in Montreal with his grandmother and the two youngest, Tommy and Bobby, were back in Georgia with Possum. Though Tommy was four years old and wanted to go, Alice had made up her mind that he would stay, consoling her son by telling him that she needed him "to watch out for his little brother." That meant, Rollie, Jimmy, Danny and Fred had accompanied their parents back to Brooklyn. One other Barrell, name to be determined, was also making the trip: Alice was pregnant again.

"Ah, you must have read my mind," Alice said and collapsed into the now-uncovered armchair. Rufus smiled - though she would be turning 40 in about a month, his wife was still the most beautiful woman in the world... at least in his eyes.

Alice rested a hand on her swelling abdomen. "This one's a kicker."

Rufus opened his mouth to reply when a loud crash came from the floor above. He rolled his eyes and said as he started towards the stairs, "Some things never change."

In the master bedroom, Rufus discovered Fred standing over a broken lamp with tears in his eyes. Danny was standing a few feet away, and looked defiant. Both Jimmy and Rollie had followed their father into the room.

"OK, fellows... what happened?" Rufus asked with a frown.

Fred blubbered something that Rufus couldn't quite understand. Rufus turned to Danny: "What happened?"

Danny said that Fred had "had a tantrum and broke the lamp."

Rufus looked dubious - Fred was a fairly even-keeled boy, much like Rufus himself. His skeptical look was noted by Danny who said, "That's really what happened."

So Rufus asked the obvious question: "Why did he have a tantrum."

Now Fred spoke up again, and this time Rufus heard him just fine: "Danny told me my birthday's not important."

Rufus shook his head. Danny's eighth birthday had been the week before and Fred's seventh birthday was - he just realized - the same day as Joe's big fight. Now it made sense.

He pointed a finger at Dan: "Listen here - you should know better than to say something like that. Your brother is just as important as everyone else in this family. And even though we'll be going to the fight, his birthday will be celebrated."

Fred sniffled and wiped his nose. "Really?" he asked.

Rufus snorted and said, "Of course! You only turn seven once, Freddy! We'll make a day of it - there'll be time both before and after the fight for celebrating. New York's a great place for a party."

Having mollified his son, Rufus told both boys to clean up the mess. Turning and seeing Jimmy smirking, he suggested that he help. Rollie - clever one that he was - kept a stoic look on his face as he turned and left the room. Now Rufus had to figure out how to set up a "party" in New York for Fred's birthday. Luckily he knew Alice would figure it out for him.


Later that day, Rufus was sitting on the porch of their brownstone with Rollie. His second son was now sixteen years old, and by all accounts one heck of a golfer. He had just finished a summer as a caddy at the golf club in Savannah. Due to the distance between the farm and the club, he had lived with the greenskeeper for the summer. Alice had groused about two of her sons being out of the house already, but her attitude towards Rollie's chosen sport was much more favorable than it was towards Joe's vocation.

Rollie was explaining the difference between woods and irons to his father when a small, thin and extremely nervous-looking man stopped on the sidewalk below them.

"Hello?" Rufus said as Rollie stopped midsentence and they both looked over the man who was now smiling at them hopefully.

The man's smile widened and he surprised both Barrells by saying, "Rufus Barrell, yes. Just the man I am wanting to see," in a thick accent.

Rollie chuckled and Rufus shook his head. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"Oh, no, we have never met, but I am following your career closely."

Rufus frowned and asked, "My career?"

Now the man was nodding, "Yes, yes! Your scouting career for the Brooklyn Kings of course!"

"I don't work for the Kings anymore," Rufus said.

The man kept nodding, "This I know. Now you work for Washington Eagles... but still, you are being a baseball scout, yes!"

Rollie, never shy (like his mother), now spoke up: "So what's your game, friend?"

Now the nodding stopped and the man frowned. "My game?" he asked.

Now it was Rollie's turn to nod as he said, "Yes, what is it that you want with my father?"

"Ah, now I am understanding. I want your father to be my partner."

Rufus tried to keep the look of disbelief off his face... and almost made it. "I beg your pardon?"

"Ah... let me start anew, yes. I am Thomas Potentas. I come to America from Poland... well, Russian Empire technically, but yes, Poland."

Rufus and Rollie shared a look of confusion.

"I love the game of baseball and start my own business - Omnipotent Scouting Agency. OSA, yes, yes!"

Rollie started laughing. "Wait a minute! You're saying you're a scout? You look like a chimney sweep!"

Rufus shushed his son. Laughing at the man was rude. It was true that it was an unbelievable story, but there was no need to be rude.

"Omnipotent Scouting Agency, huh? That's kind of a mouthful," he said to the man.

"Yes, OSA. Omnipotent means knowing everything... and it is a... how you say? Pun... yes, pun on my name, yes!" Potentas was nodding again.

Rufus shrugged. "That's true enough, I guess."

The man pulled an envelope from his pocket. "I have letter from Mr. Robert Owings. He is saying he will hire the OSA to be central scouting for entire FABL organization!"

"What!?!" Rufus and Rollie both sputtered at the same time.

"Let me see that letter, my friend," Rufus said, reaching for the envelope.
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Old 08-20-2019, 01:10 PM   #23
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New York, NY: September 12, 1912:

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't say anything earlier... Really."

No response.

Joe Barrell tried again - "Rube, I am so sorry. Neither of us planned this, it just... happened."

Still no response. Instead Joe had the same view of Rube's slicked-back black hair (shot through with gray) as the elder man taped Joe's fists before putting the gloves on for the upcoming bout.

Joe could hear - faintly - the buzz of the crowd. Even here, deep in the bowels of the Bigsby Oval, the noise of fifty-thousand people could be felt as well as heard. Joe thought it felt like being underneath a force of nature - like a tornado or something (not that he'd ever seen a tornado... but his father had and Rufus had told his son how terrifying, and yet also mesmerizing, it had been).

"Rube, come on.... I love her."

Joe saw Rube's hands stop moving, the tape stretched out in preparation of one more wind around Joe's left fist. Slowly, Rube raised his head and looked into Joe's eyes.

"You mean that?" he asked quietly.

Joe swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir. Absolutely. She's the world to me."

Rube frowned.

Joe opened his mouth, about to explain further, but Rube held up a hand. "You know something? I tried to keep her away from the gym, away from the fights. Away from the pugs... and yet, she goes and falls in love with one."

Joe asked, softly, "She told you she loves me?"

Rube's frown deepened. "She did. And that's the only thing that kept me from walking in here and punching you out."

Now Rube grinned a bit, "Although, I've seen you take a punch - and give 'em out. So maybe she did me a favor."

Joe laughed. This sounded like the old Rube.

Rube grew serious again. "That doesn't mean that if you hurt her I won't come after you. I will.... or maybe I'll hire the heavyweight champ to do it for me."

Rube finished the taping, his hands blurring as he completed his work. He slapped Joe's right fist and picked up a glove.

He craned his neck and shouted into the hall: "OK, you can stop slinking around out there. No one's going to get punched out in the next few minutes.... except, hopefully, Mitchell Winter." Winter was Joe's opponent in the upcoming bout.

Cooter's head popped into the doorway. "Y'all are good now? I got my cut kit... just in case."

Joe and Rube shared a look and both started laughing.


Rufus sat holding Alice's hand. They had good seats - the ring had been set up approximately over the second base area (the Gothams were on a two-week road trip and a burlap tarp had been laid over the infield with folding chairs placed atop it - although once the fights started, no one would be sitting). Rufus reckoned they were sitting somewhere between third base and the pitcher's mound. He also reflected this was the closest he had been to the mound at the Oval since... well, since that day. He rarely thought about it any longer, but when he did, it was still just simply... that day. He squeezed Alice's hand and smiled when she gave him a questioning look.

"These seats are great!" Rollie said as he absently plucked a peanut from the bag held by Jimmy who was busy looking at the upper deck.

"Pop, people really sit way up there to watch baseball?" Jimmy asked.

Rufus shrugged and said, "Sure, but usually only for big games. Most days, only the seats in the lower sections are occupied."

"Wow! This place is enormous!" Danny said. "Someday, I'm gonna play here too, Pop!"

Rufus smiled - he liked the sound of that. And as expected, he heard Fred chime in seconds later with an enthusiastic "Me too!"

Fred was wearing a white button that Alice had found... or made... (Rufus wasn't sure) emblazoned with red letters reading "Birthday Boy!" He'd been proudly wearing it all day, and frequently reminded Danny that he had not had a button like it on his birthday. Sibling rivalry... Rufus reflected that his relationship with his brother Robert hadn't been too different.

Alice elbowed Rufus, drawing his attention away from his sons.

"So, tell me again about this Potent fellow," she said.

"Potentas - his name is Potentas," Rufus said.

Rollie, munching on a peanut, added, "He's nuttier than Jimmy's peanuts."

Rufus frowned at his son and said, "Well, he did have a letter that looked like it was from the FABL offices. I'm going to stop in and check on it." Robert Owings, the President of the Federally Aligned Baseball Leagues, kept his office in the nation's capital. Since Rufus was an employee of the Washington Eagles Baseball Club, he had already been planning to stop in D.C. on the way back to Georgia. Thomas Potentas and his "OSA" gave him an excuse to visit the FABL Offices while he was there.

"Yes, and he probably had a letter from President Taft in his other pocket," Rollie added with a smirk.

Rufus had seen Owings' signature several times on various pieces of FABL correspondence - and the one scrawled on Potentas' letter looked legitimate. Still... he wanted to check out the man's story in person.

Alice gave Rufus a sharp look and asked, "If this gentleman's credentials - and offer - turn out to be legitimate, what will you do?"

Rufus shrugged and replied, "I honestly can't say. On the one hand becoming a partner in his scouting agency - what a concept, by the way - sounds better than working for one club. I'd have carte blanche to do whatever I wanted, however I wanted to do it. On the other hand, it's risky. I know the Eagles... or Kings, or whoever, aren't going away. I don't know that this OSA-thing will be a permanent fixture."

Alice frowned. "I don't know what to think of this myself. Maybe you should talk it over with Dad before deciding."

Rufus nodded - Joe Reid had been around the game for nearly fifty years and had been on the business side of things for twenty-five of them. He'd be a good sounding board.


Joe's fight - a six-rounder to open the evening's card of five bouts - was scheduled to start right at four o'clock. With summer coming to an end, the days were getting shorter and though portable lights were set up around the ring, the hope was to have all the fighting done before full dark. Rufus spotted the Bigsbys - Miles, Charlie and young Sam - sitting ringside. Miles saw him too, and nodded genially. Despite their reputation - and Joe Reid's admonitions - Rufus had always found the Bigsbys to be decent fellows, even if Miles himself was a bit... intense.

Rufus reflected on the conversation he had with his son the day before - Joe explaining his feelings for, and relationship with, his "cut man's" daughter Edna. He was about to speak with the girl's father about it and expected the conversation to be difficult. He saw Joe, along with Cooter and Rube, standing in the corner. Cooter was speaking to Joe, who was nodding, and - a good sign - Rube had his right hand resting on Joe's shoulder. Apparently the talk went fairly well.

Rufus was close enough to hear the referee say "Seconds out" which meant it was time for Cooter and Rube to exit the ring. Cooter slapped Joe on the back, grinned at him and ducked out of the ring. Joe bounced a bit on the balls of his feet and went to the center of the ring for the referee's instructions. This had all become very familiar to Rufus, who had so far missed only one of his son's fights.

The opponent, Mitchell Winter, was a local kid from the Bronx, 21-years-old, and had a pro record of 5-1-1 with two knockouts. He was considered an "up-and-comer" and would be a good test for Joe.

The bell sounded and, as he usually did, Joe went right on the offensive. Rufus cringed a bit as he saw his son throw a punch that missed badly - and then followed that up with two more misses. Winter was moving well, and it looked like Joe might have a hard time landing punches.

Frustrated, Joe reached out and grabbed Winter, earning an admonishment from referee Sam Thompson. Joe nodded and waded back in, missing again... and again before finally landing as he followed a miss with a nasty uppercut that showed he anticipated Winter's dodge. The remainder of the round went much the same way - Joe missing often, landing occasionally, but definitely being the driving force, and clearly winning the round.

In the second, Winter came out aggressively and landed some good punches. The main effect, though, was to anger Joe who drove Winter into the corner and staggered his opponent with a barrage that drew some oohs and aahs from the spectators. The round ended more evenly than the first, but to Rufus' admittedly-biased eye, his son had won that one too.

Joe showed his own ability to stick and move in the third, largely avoiding Winter's punches and countering effectively. Rufus now felt his son would win this fight, as long as Winter didn't land a big punch or two. With less than 30 seconds left in the round Joe landed another uppercut that rocked Winter and almost knocked him down. He managed to weather the storm for the rest of the round, but looked dazed as he went to the corner at the bell.

The fight took a more tactical bent in the fourth as Joe countered Winter's strategy by working around the ring, frustrating Winter's attempt to land punches while scoring points with his own flurries.

There was a scary moment in the fifth as Winter rocked Joe with a cross that bounced him off the ropes. Rufus heard Alice gasp and Rollie mutter "Ouch" - but Joe rebounded nicely and shook off the effects after a moment.

The sixth and final round saw Winter look defeated and downcast. Joe seemed content to score occasionally, and clinch otherwise. Cooter was yelling at him, but Rufus couldn't make out what he was shouting. From the look on his face, it wasn't anything good.

As the bell sounded to end the fight, Alice sighed. Rufus patted her hand and said, "He won that one, easily."

And that turned out to be the case as announcer Sid Kearns said, "The winner by unanimous decision, Joe Barrell!" and raised Joe's arm into the air. Rufus was on his feet applauding. His son had run his professional record to 7-0-0 with four knockouts. Cooter was still scowling but Rube patted Joe on the back as Joe pointed at his parents with his glove, smiling hugely.

Now, with that out of the way, Rufus turned his mind back to Thomas Potentas and his "Omnipotent Scouting Agency" - he'd be changing that name if he did become a partner. It was just a little too high-fallutin' for an ex-pitcher from rural Georgia.
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Last edited by legendsport; 08-20-2019 at 01:37 PM.
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Old 08-22-2019, 11:34 AM   #24
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Washington, DC: September 15, 1912:

"I was bushwhacked!" Rufus exclaimed as entered the Barrells' room at the Grand Hotel in the nation's capital. His hair, thin around the scar of his long-ago surgery, was sticking up as he dropped his hat onto a chair.

Alice, who had been humming to herself and knitting, looked up in surprise. Rollie, who had gone with his father to the FABL League Offices, burst in on Rufus' heels, laughing. "They set him up!"

The other three boys, who had been quietly involved in a chess game - Fred and Dan playing, Jimmy watching and giving advice to both his brothers, stood up and all three started talking at the same time. Alice dropped her knitting needles with a heavy sigh, frowned, raised her hand to silence her sons (which amazingly worked) and said, "Someone please explain just what happened."

Rollie looked at his father. Rufus waved a hand as if saying "go ahead" so Rollie began explaining.

The two Barrells had visited the FABL offices of Robert Owings. Owings, a former congressman from Ohio, had maintained an office in Washington and made it the FABL headquarters when he was elected League President.

Upon arriving, Rufus had been surprised to find not only Owings, but also Kings owner Malcolm Presley and, less surprisingly, Thomas Potentas, already there.

Presley had smiled and greeted Rufus warmly. He then told Rollie that his grandson missed their golf outings "despite the fact that you usually thrashed him." Potentas had been fidgeting during this initial exchange. Presley pointed to him, and said, "You've met my nephew, of course."

Rufus had blurted "Nephew?" and Presley chuckled before explaining that Potentas was actually the grandson of his wife's sister. Rollie had thought about this and said, "Grandnephew, then."

Presley had nodded and smiled, explaining that his wife was a distant relation to one of the last Polish kings (Poland hadn't had a king, or even been its own country, in well over a century) then added that Rufus' sons had always been intelligent. "They get it from their mother," Rufus replied with a grin, to which Presley admonished him to "not sell yourself short."

While all this was taking place, Owings had remained sitting behind his desk, with his hands folded across his ample midsection. Finally, he spoke: "Gentlemen, perhaps we should explain the situation to Mr. Barrell, hmm?"

Presley nodded - Potentas did as well.

Presley then began by saying an issue had been brought up before the FABL Executive Committee, which consisted of Owings and four owners, two apiece from the Continental and Federal Associations. Currently those owners were Presley, Gothams owner Miles Bigsby, Keystones owner Jefferson Edgerton and Saints owner Jacques Cartier. The issue, Presley continued to explain, was that some of the clubs felt that there was a need for a central scouting bureau, with a particular emphasis on amateur scouting, to level the playing field a bit as some clubs were unable to cover as much territory as others.

"Naturally Bigsby was aghast at this idea. 'Smacks of Socialism!' he complained," Presley said with a gleam in his eye. "He was right, but honestly, the idea had... has merit."

Presley then detailed how Cartier, who was originally the only member of the group to support the idea, had gradually spun both Edgerton and Presley himself to agreement. "Jacques is a very persuasive fellow," Presley said with a tone of admiration. Cartier had also pointed out that it would save everyone money - and that argument was what shifted things for the Kings' and Keystones' owners.

The next step was figuring out how to run this scouting organization. "Thomas here has been a student of the game since arriving here in the U.S. back in 1904. I've had him working in Houston, doing some Century League scouting." Potentas had grinned at this and said, "Texas... it is very hot." Presley picked up the thread: "But we needed someone with a true baseball background."

"Like you, Pops," Rollie said as he elbowed his father.

Presley agreed: "Precisely, Roland," he said.

Again, Bigsby had been against this, pointing out that "Barrell has been lazing about in Georgia for two years."

Presley had defended Rufus, as surprisingly, did Cartier and Edgerton. "You have a good reputation - even Bigsby knows this, but I swear that man lives for being contradictory and confrontational."

Ultimately, it was agreed that the agency could be formed if Rufus Barrell was involved as "a full - and managing - partner."

Rufus was speechless. Even Rollie, who normally spoke up at the slightest opportunity, was stunned into silence.

"What about the Eagles?" Rufus had finally asked.

"I spoke with Brennan myself. He agreed to release you from your contract."

Rufus then shook his head, muttering, "I don't know..."

"This is for the good of the game, son," Presley gently said.

Potentas had finally spoken up, adding, "We are needing you, Rufus. Yes!"

Owings then chimed in with some specifics: the agency would be subservient to the FABL League Office, but be independent and treated as a contractor. "Safer for us - Congress occasionally mutters about anti-trust hearings, you know?"

As an independent contractor, Presley explained, there would be no safety net. But, if the idea failed, "I would hire you in an instant, Rufus."

Presley further explained that Potentas would run the business-side, freeing Rufus up to do what he did best: work with people, manage his scouts and naturally, scout ballplayers himself.

Rufus had looked at Rollie (who raised his eyebrows and smiled), given a small grin, shrugged, and said, "Well, the first order of business would be changing the name. How about just the 'Omni Scouting Agency'?"

Back at the hotel, as Rollie finished, Alice cocked an eyebrow and asked, "So now you're an independent contractor?"

Rufus laughed and said, "I suppose so. But I'm also the Managing Partner of the Omni Scouting Agency. We've got two partners and no employees. I suppose I need to get to work on changing that! This season might be ending, but the 1913 season will be rolling around before we know it."

Jimmy then asked what turned out to be an astute question: "So where is the OSA office going to be? No offense, Pop, but Egypt, Georgia doesn't seem to be big enough for this kind of thing."
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Old 08-26-2019, 02:58 PM   #25
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Montreal, PQ: March 10, 1913:

"That American, he hits like a brick wall!"

Vera Reid shook her head. Her French, which she now admitted (only to herself), had not been very good when she and her grandson Jack Barrell had moved to Montreal last year, had improved a great deal. Similarly, she hadn't found hockey to be the least bit interesting when the pair arrived in Quebec - yet now she had an eye for it, and could tell her grandson was quite good. Perhaps his play was a bit too... on the physical side, but she had seen that physicality was very much a part of the sport. Jack Barrell was definitely Joe Reid's grandson in that regard, no doubt about it.

She scowled in the general direction of the complaining player. She muttered "if you can't stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen," in English, assuming it wouldn't be understood.

She was wrong.

"Madame! That boy is this club's best player!"

This came from a stout woman sitting beside her. Vera eyed her with a keen gaze. Her husband had dubbed it the "Hawk" and she had frozen out many a Philadelphia grand-dame with just such a look. It didn't work here.

With the wilting glare a failure, she resorted to an old-fashioned retort: "Really? If he's so good, why can't he take a body check without complaint?"

The other woman harrumphed and slid her backside a foot further away from Vera.

With a narrow-lipped grin, Vera turned her attention back to the ice.The club was owned and operated by the Cartier family - the same Cartier family that owned the FABL ballclub in town. Vera knew that the Barrell-Reid family connections had smoothed the way for Jack's being added to the squad.

Jack, looking older than his fifteen years, was skating quickly up the ice, bearing down on the man with the puck. Vera was struck by how much he reminded her of Joe - not only Joe Barrell, Jack's oldest brother (the physical resemblance was uncanny) - but more like *her* Joe - Jack's grandfather. Seeing Jack's effortless movement around the ice reminded her of Joe's days as a young ballplayer, fearlessly throwing himself at batted balls (few gloves in those days - and definitely not for Joe Reid), flying around the basepaths and generally acting - and looking - like a force of nature. That other boy might be the best player on the team today (she could grudgingly accept this), but Vera knew that wouldn't remain the case for much longer.

A whistle cut through the air and the coach bellowed, "Jock! Get back in your area!"

The coach with his thick accent could not (or maybe would not) pronounce Jack correctly, so it came out sounding more like "Jock" - or Vera supposed, "Jacques." She did give him credit for speaking mostly English to Jack - and gave Jack credit for gamely working on his French as well.

Due to his size and strength, and the raw nature of his stick and puckhandling skills, Jack was playing defence. The fact that he loved to check probably helped as well. But as his skills evolved and were enhanced by his natural athleticism, Jack was starting to chafe against his confinement in the defensive zone. The coach was trying to cure him of this - but like her husband, her daughter, and most of her grandsons, Jack tended to be bullheaded.

"Jock! Please remember, you have... responsibility to cover your area," the coach was explaining. Beside her Vera noticed the other woman sneering - she was clearly enjoying this. The coach continued to explain to Jack that he let the team down by not sticking to his assignment. "We have... how you say? Hole... when you... whoosh." He shot his hand out from his body, apparently indicating Jack's speedy burst.

Vera felt Jack could recover and get back into position if by some miracle the other team managed to get the puck anywhere near the area he'd just left. She knew she was biased, but she'd seen him turn quickly, leaning over on his skates and changing direction in the blink of an eye. He was becoming an excellent skater.

"Yes, coach. I am sorry," Jack replied in decent, if heavily accented, French. He got points for trying at least.

After practice, Vera and Jack walked back towards the small apartment Vera had rented for them near the river. Jack carried his hockey things in a large canvas bag. Vera knew they would smell terrible - the heavy wool soaked up the sweat and despite playing on ice, Jack tended to sweat a lot. She paid a local woman to wash his hockey things (there was a sweater, some shorts and various underthings including leggings). The woman washed them twice a week, and Vera wondered if she shouldn't go to three times. That smell: as the locals might say, "Mon Dieu!"

"I'm telling you Vera, the coach is holding me back," Jack complained. Vera had long ago insisted her grandsons not call her "Grandmother" or... even worse "Granny" but instead by her name. She might have passed her sixtieth birthday, but Vera Reid considered herself young at heart and would not hear of being called anything that might draw undue attention to her age.

"You're still learning Jack, and he is the highest-regarded coach of young players in the city," Vera replied. "And your father pulled some strings to get you on the team."

Alice had given her strict instructions: take excellent care of her son... or else. Finding the best hockey coach in Montreal was part of this, she knew - and keeping him on the team was important.

Vera doted on Jack - she simply adored the boy. Perhaps it was because he reminded her so much of Joe in his youth, but she knew he was earnest, hard-working and intelligent as well. And polite (as evidenced by the manner in which he took his scolding from the coach) - which Joe was definitely not.

"Bah, I know his reputation. And I'm grateful for the chance to learn from him. But he's too hard-headed. I need to be on the wing; I've outgrown defence."

Vera now knew enough about hockey to make an honest reply: "I would tend to agree, but aggressively and purposefully going against the coach's wishes won't work. You need to convince him in a more direct and respectable manner."

Jack was quiet. Vera gave him a sidelong glance - he was deep in thought. She grinned as he finally replied, "You might be right. More flies with honey and all that... Thanks!"

The grin faded a second later when he added with a sly look in his eye, "Granny." Now THAT was pure Joe Reid.


Savannah, GA: March 10, 1913:

Meanwhile, nearly a thousand miles to the south, Rollie Barrell was attempting to show his brother Joe how to putt.

"No! You can't just muscle everything, you big galoot - sometimes you need to use a soft touch."

Joe laughed. "You sound like Edna, bub."

Rollie flushed - for all his smooth-talking ways, he was still a neophyte when it came to girls (and Joe knew this).

"You know, pop told me they were going to name you Francine - if you had been a girl," Joe gave him a narrow-eyed look and said, "That might suit you..."

Rollie refused to rise to the bait: "I'm serious, Joe - putting is an art."

Joe rested the putter on his shoulder, like a baseball bat, and said, "You know, they say boxing's a science. But I'd say it's an art too."

Frowning, Rollie said, "Really? An art? Science... yeah, I can maybe understand that. There's some strategy involved I suppose."

Joe grinned. "Allow me to explain, little brother."

Rollie bowed and said, "Please do, oh sage of the pugilistic arts."

Joe laughed - he missed spending time with Rollie. The two brothers, very different in temperament, got along famously. If Jack and Jimmy had been there with them... Joe had fond memories of their various shenanigans in Brooklyn... but Jack was off in Canada and Jimmy... well, he was different.

There was a clear divide in the Barrell boys - Joe, Rollie, Jack & Jimmy - the four oldest, were almost a unit, all of them within two years of each other in age. But Jimmy was four years older than Danny, and that divide hadn't been overcome yet, though Jimmy seemed to have taken on a mentoring role with his younger siblings, especially now that Jack was away.

The brothers were together because the family had grown - again. Alice had given birth to the ninth Barrell brother (of course it was another boy) on March 1st. Bobby, four months shy of his third birthday, was thrilled to no longer be the baby of the family. Rufus and Alice had named the new arrival Harold.

It was also something of a going away party for Rufus. As Jimmy had noted back in September, Egypt was not a suitable location for the OSA offices. In fact, they weren't even going to be in Georgia. The OSA was to be based in Washington, near the FABL offices. "Potentas will be the one mostly manning the office - I don't plan on spending much time there," Rufus told Alice when he broke the news back in November.

The new scouting agency was now a going concern, with ten scouts on the payroll. Many of them were what Alice termed "Rufus' cronies" - men her husband knew from the "old days" when the minors had still been independent and scouting was like the "Wild West" (according to Rufus, at least).

Jimmy had been impressed by Potentas' family ties. "Is he really royalty, Pop?" he had asked back in the hotel in D.C.

Rufus had chuckled, "I don't think they see it that way. But he does have a lot of money - that's how he got the contract to start the agency. None of the club owners were going to fit the bill. Not even Presley, and he's the guy's uncle."

Rollie said, "Great-Uncle... and only by marriage.I think that means he can't get his paws on old man Presley's dough." That set off some laughter.

Rufus was considering the idea of having the family live in D.C. part of the year and spend winters in Georgia. Alice was reluctant, particularly so with the new addition to the family. Perhaps he'd eventually convince her - but for now, in a scene reminiscent of the old days back in Brooklyn - he was leaving his wife and kids for the bulk of the six-month long baseball season.

The difference was that this time, with the 1913 season about to begin, Rufus was heading to D.C. to get the work of the OSA officially underway.

"My independent contractor..." Alice said with a grin.
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Old 09-09-2019, 02:20 PM   #26
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Maplewood, New Jersey: August 27, 2019:

Paul Crowe rubbed his eyes. Maybe he needed glasses. Staring at the laptop screen all day long sure was tough on the old peepers. He grabbed his phone off the desk and pressed the home button, reflecting as he did so that not too long ago he would have had a watch (a "classic" watch - not a smartwatch), or just a clock, to check the time. Now, as he seemingly did with just about everything else, he looked at his phone. "Steve Jobs was a freakin' genius," he said aloud.

"What was that?" his wife said from the doorway.

Paul grinned. Cheryl was standing there giving him the look. Her look of "you're talking to yourself again, you big doofus."

"Oh, I was just thinking about how smartphones have taken over the world, and wanted to give credit to the late, great Steve Jobs. Or maybe it should be blame... I don't know," Paul explained.

"Hmmph," Cheryl said. She nodded towards the laptop. "I thought you were working on 'the book'" she said, and he could tell by the way she said it that she had verbally placed quotation marks around 'the book.'

'The Book' was what Crowe himself - with quotations and capital letters - had dubbed it, so he couldn't very well blame his wife for picking up on it. He was a veteran sportswriter (an endangered species in this age of talking heads and bloggers) but this was his first book. And it - with all the research and writing - had consumed much of his free time. And that too, had been noticed by his wife.

Back on point: he needed to head over to the ballpark soon - the Gothams had a seven o'clock start with LA and when those two got together... well, as a sportswriter, rivalries like that were his bread and butter. But Rufus and his enormous brood of Barrells... they had taken over his life, to put not too fine a point on it.

"I still think the title's stupid," Cheryl said.

Paul sighed. They'd had this discussion before. Paul thought that "The Ballad of the Brothers Barrell" was clever - it had alliteration for cryin' out loud! But Cheryl pointed out - in her usual clinical manner - that the story was neither a ballad (which was a type of song, as everyone knows) nor was it only about the Brothers Barrell. It was about the entire family. "And you're doing a disservice to the women in the story, too," she pointed out.

"Duly noted... again," Paul said and smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner.

"Don't you need to be getting over to the ballpark? Traffic on the bridge will be terrible."

"It always is," he sighed. "But I'm a little stuck."

Cheryl gave a mock gasp. "Award-winning writer P.S. Crowe has writer's block? Oh, the humanity!"

He glared in response. "Very funny."

"So what's the sticking point now?" Cheryl asked.

"Well, I've reached the point in our epic tale where the OSA has been founded and Rufus is about to head off to get it running."

"And?"

"The OSA's been around for over a hundred years - everyone knows about it," he paused, and noting Cheryl's look of disbelief, then amended, "OK, all baseball fans know about it. But the first years of its history were... well, they were kind of boring. So now I have to decide if I want to bog this down in the minutiae of running a scouting bureau, or skim it and concentrate on Joe, Rollie and Jack's burgeoning careers."

"And what about Jimmy?" she asked.

"Well, his story's poignant and important, but he's still a kid at this point." Jimmy Barrell was a personal favorite of Cheryl's.

"You're the writer - you figure it out," she said.

"That's not particularly helpful."

She put her hands on her hips. "So you don't like my ideas about the title of the book, but you do want me to tell you what parts of the story you can skip?"

He smirked, saying, "Something like that. I'm just looking for a bit of advice."

"What did Brinker do?" she asked, pointing at a thick book sitting on the blotter.

John Brinker had written 'the book' on Rufus Barrell almost seventy years earlier. Published in 1951, "Rufus Barrell: His Life and Times" was still considered the best work on the Barrell patriarch. But Paul found it mind-numbingly dull. Brinker had concentrated solely on Rufus himself, giving short shrift not only to his children, but also to his wife. And his prose was about as entertaining as an accounting textbook. There were other books on some of the other Barrells and Paul had read them all. Some of them were contemporary 1920s and '30s "hero-building" pieces intended for children. Paul had read them anyway. He had even found (and purchased) a copy of a late 1920s cookbook attributed to Roland "Possum" Daniels titled "Ol' Possum's Southron Delicacies!" (Paul very much doubted that the colorful ex-catcher had actually penned it).

"Stinker," (Paul liked his childish pun of the long-deceased writer's name), "goes on at dreary length about the early days of the OSA. He even has full-text copies of correspondence between Potentas and the FABL league offices. Total snooze-fest. He even makes Rufus scouting Max Morris dull - and that story is really hard to make boring."

She shook her head and shrugged. "Really, I'm not the right person to ask. Sports fans know the Barrell family, or at least know the broad strokes. So yes, the real fans will know about the OSA's early days. Maybe you should concentrate on Joe, or Rollie. Heck, even Jack - and you know I hate hockey."

He picked up a pencil and began absently chewing the eraser.

"Stop that!" she exclaimed. "What are you, two years old? Oral fixation much?"

He rolled his eyes.

With a sigh, he dropped the pencil, closed the laptop and stood up. "I need to get on the road. Watanabe's pitching for LA and the Japanese media are voracious - I need to get in there reasonably early so I don't get literally squeezed out."

Grabbing his bag (which had his work laptop in it - he wrote his book on his own computer since the paper knew nothing about it), he cast a glance at the now dormant machine on his desk. "Rufus and his clan will still be there when I get home tonight."

Cheryl stuck her tongue out at him. "And if you're lucky, I might still be here too."
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Old 09-13-2019, 11:55 AM   #27
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Cleveland, OH: April 3, 1913:

He just couldn't help himself - he had to see this kid for himself. So Rufus Barrell, who by most standards should have been back in Washington, sitting on his butt and reviewing reports from "his scouts" (he still had a hard time thinking of them that way) was instead sitting on a Pennsylvania Railroad seat, staring out the window as the train entered the Cleveland Union Depot station. He was making just his third trip to the city of Cleveland, and he was here to see some big-boned high-school kid named Max Morris.

Rufus had simply told Potentas to "hold down the fort" - which his partner hadn't understood until Rufus had explained it to him. Then he'd grabbed his hat and suitcase and headed for the train station.

To be honest, the OSA already had a report on Morris. Slim Tunnell, one of Rufus' first hires, had scouted the kid the season before and though the report was done for the Detroit Dynamos (Slim's employer at the time), he had brought a copy of his report with him to the OSA. Since Morris was an amateur, this was okay under the new bureau's operating rules within the FABL "family." Morris, a junior at the time, had been described by Slim as "a thick boy with powerful forearms" and the veteran scout had added that Morris was "as raw as a freshly-laid egg." Rufus smiled, thinking about it - he liked the way Slim would put a bit of country spin on his reports.

He had already planned to do some targeted scouting in the Upper Midwest (an area that was typically under-served by the clubs and thus ripe for the OSA to tackle) before the high school and collegiate seasons wrapped up. So Rufus decided to move his trip up by a week to stop in Ohio and see Morris for himself.

Amazed that he quickly fell back into the routine of the constant traveler, Rufus had grabbed his suitcase and checked into the hotel next door to the station almost without effort... or conscious thought. A glance at his watch and a quick discussion with the desk clerk to get directions and he was on his way to the field.

He arrived at the field before the teams did. He took in the somewhat dilapidated wooden bleachers, the unevenly mowed and fence-less outfield complete with gigantic oak in deep center and then sat down as a lone groundskeeper began tidying up the baselines.

"Rufus Barrell, as I live and breathe - what are you doing here?" he heard from behind him, in the familiar accent of Brooklyn, New York.

Turning, Rufus spied a slim middle-aged man wearing a slightly rumpled suit with a battered bowler perched atop his head. Jimmy "Jiggy" Massey, the former Cleveland Forester outfielder, in the flesh, with a smirk on his face.

"Jigs, how are you?" Rufus asked as he rose and extended his hand.

Massey shook with the firm grip that came from twenty years of gripping heavy wooden bats. Massey had racked up well over 2500 hits in his career and had been a lifetime .340 hitter. Now he was the director of scouting for his former ballclub. Massey was a year or two younger than Rufus, and the two had crossed paths both on the diamond and off it over the past two decades.

"I'm fine and dandy. What I want to know is what the hell you're doing here? I heard you'd hung up the stopwatch."

This was said with a slight edge - Rufus was surprised, because Massey was generally a pleasant fellow.

"I'm here to take a look at Morris, of course," he said evenly, adding a somewhat sheepish grin and shrug at the end.

"That's what I figured. Why is the... what's it called? Omni Scouting Bureau?... Doing scouting Morris?"

"Well, he's an amateur and that's our primary purview."

"Purview? Rufus, when'd you stop talking like a ballplayer?"

Rufus chuckled. "Heck, Jigs, I'm still an old ballplayer at heart - just like you. We already have a report on Morris from last season. I'm on my way to Minnesota and wanted to stop and see this kid for myself."

Massey frowned. "Hell, Rufus. This kid's in my backyard and I'll be damned if he doesn't end up wearing the green, you know?"

Rufus nodded. "I get it, I do. But I'm just doing my job and well... we do have a draft now, so..." he trailed off, spreading his hands.

Now Massey smiled. "Well, yes, that's right - we do. And I suspect that we'll have the top pick."

Now it was Rufus' turn to frown. "Really? The season hasn't even started yet, you realize?"

"Oh, I know that," Massey replied with a smirk. "But our team is not good - and the word from on high is that we won't be... hrmm, trying to get better until after this season."

Rufus covered his ears and said, "Say no more - I don't need to know anything about that. It wouldn't sit well with some of the other clubs."

Massey shrugged. "Like I said, I'll be damned if anyone else is going to have Morris. This kid is destined to be a Forester."

Rufus was at a loss for words. Losing on purpose? He doubted that the team would actually do that... but, they certainly could put little effort into improving via trade. He wondered if this Morris kid was actually worth it.

Two hours later, Rufus knew that he was, indeed, worth it.

When the teams had come over the hill, carrying their bats and gloves as they trudged towards the field, Rufus had spotted Morris immediately. He was big - much more so than the other kids - a true man among boys.

As the teams warmed up, Massey sat beside Rufus and they watched Morris together. In a brief batting practice session, he displayed a long, looping swing. "He's goofing off - he knows we're here and he likes to lay low. When the game starts, you'll see the real deal," Massey explained.

It turned out that Massey had been to many of Morris' games the past two seasons. Rufus didn't press too much - he was now well aware that Massey had a very vested interest in this kid. So instead they chatted about Brooklyn - Massey's hometown and a place he hadn't visited in a few years. "Honestly, by the end of my career, I'd only be in Brooklyn when we'd go there to play the Kings," he explained. Massey had retired back in '07 and gone right into scouting.

When the game finally started, Morris showed the raw talent that had Massey drooling. He had just one hit in the game, but what a hit it was, a towering blast into the boughs of the big oak that had to be four hundred feet from the plate. Rufus whistled - he'd never seen anything like it. The kid had an unorthodox swing with a decisive uppercut to it - and when he missed, he missed big. But when he connected... wow! As he circled the bases, he wasn't even running hard - there was no fence, so technically he had to run out his home run. But the opposing center fielder was a mere speck as he chased down the baseball, and Morris probably could have circled the bases at a walk.

Rufus knew this kid was going to be a star - the same way he had felt when seeing Powell Slocum as a young teenage phenom - the same... but different. Slocum and Morris shared one key thing: otherworldly talent. Slocum had certainly made full use of his gifts - with Morris, time would tell, but unless the kid screwed up he was going to be someone who'd change the face of the sport itself.

As the game wrapped up and they watched Morris trot in from his spot in right field, Massey grinned and slapped Rufus on the back. "Go ahead and file your report, Rufus. But mark my words - that kid's playing here in Cleveland and nowhere else."
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Old 10-01-2019, 02:33 PM   #28
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Augusta, GA: October 11, 1913:

With the baseball season now over (Rufus' former employers, the Washington Eagles, had defeated the Baltimore Cannons in five games to win the World's Championship), Rufus was back in Georgia and had taken the opportunity to spend some quality time with a few of his sons. Rollie was busy with his golf clubs, Jack was still in Canada and Joe was off somewhere (presumably training for his next fight), but Rufus had convinced Alice to allow him to take Jimmy, Danny and Fred to a football game at Noble Jones College in Augusta. Rufus had, from time to time, seen the game while traveling - especially in the Northeast and Midwest where it had really taken root on college campuses. It was a rough game, but thrilling in its way, and Rufus suspected his rambunctious sons would appreciate the Saturday diversion from life on the Barrell farm.

The Noble Jones team, whose nickname was the Colonels, filed onto the field with the school's band playing a somewhat discordant marching song along the far sideline. The opponents, the Atlanta Teacher's College, weren't expected to put up much of a challenge. The Noble Jones players wore blue and gray striped sweaters and pants that resembled baseball pants, except these had ridged padding in the thighs. Their high socks and spiked shoes were also familiar to Rufus and aside from the long-sleeved jersey and padded pants, looked very much like baseball players.

Jimmy pointed to one of the Noble Jones players and said, "That one kind of looks like Joe."

Rufus squinted - his eyesight wasn't what it used to be. He could make out the shape of the young man, but not much else. "If you say so, Jim... It's hard for me to tell," he admitted.

Danny stood up and yelled, "Hey Joe!"

Rufus grabbed Danny by the shoulders and forced him to sit, with the youngster groaning, "Aw, Pop!" as he plopped back onto the bleacher.

Jimmy noted, "He turned around when Dan yelled, Pop."

Fred, not to be left out and going through a stage where he sided with Rufus on just about everything, said, "Heck, half the players looked when Danny opened his big mouth."

Danny glared at his little brother as Jimmy said, "I still think that guy looks like Joe."

Rufus sighed and said, "I'm pretty sure Joe's in Atlanta with Cooter, training."

Jimmy frowned, unconvinced.

It turned out that the guy who looked like Joe was one of the better players. While none of the players wore any kind of identifying item - like baseballers, their uniforms were just that: uniform - the guy stood out. He was large, fast and strong and often ran right over the smaller fellows from the teacher's college.

Jimmy, undeterred in his quest to figure out the identity of the big, strong Colonels back, asked one of the college students nearby, "Hey, do you know who that guy is?"

The college kid frowned a bit at the directness of the 13-year-old Jimmy, but replied, "Sure, I know him. That's Buck Barnwell - he just started school here and boy, is he a heck of a player too."

Jimmy shook his head, saying, "Buck Barnwell? That's a weird name."

Rufus patted his son on the shoulder, "Let it go, Jim. Maybe that guy does look like Joe, but it's clear that it's just a resemblance, that's all."

Rufus and his boys watched the game, enjoying it although it wasn't much of a contest. Barnwell and his fellow Colonels ran roughshod over the outmatched Teachers-to-be and won easily, 61-0. The highlight for Rufus came when Barnwell threw a spiraling pass thirty yards to a team mate - the forward pass was a relatively recent addition to the game, and Rufus enjoyed watching it performed perfectly.

As the game ended, Rufus stood up and brushed peanut shells off his pants, before he noticed that he was short a boy. As he opened his mouth to ask where Jimmy had gone off to, Danny pulled his sleeve and pointed towards the field.

Rufus gave a little groan as he watched his son slip through the gate at the end of the stands and dart onto the field.

Fred jumped up and down, shouting, "Jimmy's in trouble! Jimmy's in trouble!" over and over again.

As Rufus watched, after shushing Fred and realizing there was no way he could catch Jimmy, he saw his son run over to Barnwell and start talking.

He saw Barnwell turn his head towards the stands, and then motion with his right hand, pointing towards the bleachers and then saw Jimmy nod. Barnwell patted Jimmy on the head and started walking off the field (shaking his head all the while) as Jimmy headed back towards the stands, looking quite pleased with himself.

"I told you!" he shouted when he came within earshot as he climbed the bleachers.

"What was that?" Rufus asked.

"That was Joe! I told you so!"

Rufus was confused. "I thought that fellow's name was Buck Barnwell," he sputtered.

Jimmy had now arrived, and grinning, explained, "Joe's a professional boxer, and I guess the college people don't like anyone who's not an amateur playing sports, so he lied about his name."

Rufus raised his eyebrows and said, "So... Joe's going to college now?"

Jimmy laughed, and nodded. "Yep, he sure is. Edna put him up to it, saying she wouldn't marry him unless he got a education."

Now Rufus laughed himself and said with a smile, "I knew I liked that girl."

"He asked us to keep this a secret, so the college doesn't find out," Jimmy added.

Danny, munching a peanut, exclaimed, "Wait til Mom hears about this!"

Rufus wondered if Alice would be able to keep the secret.
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Old 10-08-2019, 12:16 PM   #29
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Augusta, Georgia: March 20, 1914:

"What are you doing here, sport?" Joe Barrell, aka Buck Barnwell, asked his younger brother. Joe had spied Rollie standing outside the Noble Jones College Athletic offices while walking across the quad on the way to class and hustled over to ask what was going on.

Rollie, standing with a canvas bag slung over his shoulder smirked and said, "Same thing as you... Buck."

To say Joe looked skeptical would have been an understatement. He waved an arm at the red brick athletic building and asked, "Christian wanted you? We don't swing golf clubs on the gridiron, bub."

Rollie slapped his brother on the shoulder and said with a smile, "Unlike you, I have no desire to go out and get clobbered over and over again."

"Then what are you doing here? Did Mom or Pop send you to keep an eye on me?"

Rollie dropped his bag on the ground. "Well, for one thing, I intend to get a college education. That's what Mom and Pop both want. Mom worries about you, but Pop seems to think you can take care of yourself. So no, I'm not here to spy on you. But to answer your first question, yes, Coach Christian does indeed want me."

Joe frowned, "But not for football?"

Rollie shook his head. "No, not for football. You do know that Coach Christian also coaches both baseball and basketball, right?"

Now Joe shook his head and said with a smile, "No offense, bub, but you're not very good at baseball."

Rollie shrugged. "That's true. Apparently the Reid and Barrell baseball gene skipped all of us until maybe Jimmy... But Danny looks like he'll be a good ballplayer."

Joe bristled and said, "I could have been a good ballplayer myself you know."

Rollie chuckled and retorted, "Maybe, but you were always more interested in kicking up a ruckus than actually playing the game."

Joe shrugged - he knew his brother was right on that score.

Then his mouth dropped open and he said, "You mean... Coach Christian wants you for the basketball team?"

Rollie pointed to his own nose. "On the nose... Score one for the pug."

Shaking his head, Joe asked, "Can you even play?"

A very familiar voice behind him chimed in, "I would think so. I'm not in the habit of taking on young men who aren't capable of performing at a certain level, now am I, Buck?"

Joe turned to see Coach John Christian standing behind him. John Christian was a legend. A stellar football player at Sadler College in Massachusetts in the late 1880s, he had immediately gone into coaching. A native of Ohio, he had gone to school in the Northeast and found his true calling as a coach in the South. After helping make first Opelika State and then Central Carolina into football powers, Christian had been lured to Noble Jones College. And as Joe had pointed out, he ran not only the football team, but also the baseball and basketball squads. And, for good measure, also coached the track team. He was stern, but incredibly creative with his strategies and, perhaps most importantly, was able to connect with and command the respect of his players.

"Good morning, Coach," Joe said with a smile. "How are you today?"

Rollie was smirking. He had never seen his brother act so deferential.

"Good morning, Joe. I am fine and dandy." Christian replied, then raised an eyebrow and asked, "Don't you have a class you should be attending?"

Joe looked at his watch and with a start replied, "Yes, sir, I sure do!" Then he took off at a trot.

Coach Christian smiled as Joe departed and then looked at Rollie. "Well, Roland. I hope you're somewhat more conscientious than your sibling."

Rollie smiled back and replied, "It'd be hard to be less conscientious than Joe, sir."

Christian's eyebrow rose again with an unspoken question, so Rollie continued, "Well, Joe's always been a bit... umm, impulsive, I guess is the best way to say it."

Christian nodded, "I have noted that as well. But he is a fine young man, and one hell of a football player."

"That's what I've been told, sir."

Christian narrowed his eyes and said, "I've heard you're quite the golfer, Roland."

Rollie shrugged - boasting wasn't in his nature so he replied, "I've been told that as well, sir." He said this with a small smile, then frowned.

Christian picked up on the frown and asked, "What is it?"

Rollie took a deep breath before replying, "Well, since you ask. I had been caddying to earn some money. But the American Golf Association just handed down a ruling that anyone caddying past the age of 16 would lose their amateur status. And... well, I'd like to be a pro... someday, but for now, I'm still entering amateur tournaments.... so..." he trailed off with a sheepish look.

Christian, by all accounts a true sportsman, said with a grin, "You know... We have a golf team here at Noble... Perhaps we'd have a spot for you."

Rollie gave an almost comical double-take. "Golf, here?"

Christian nodded, "Of course. I've heard that many colleges are adding golf to their athletic departments."

Rollie asked, "And are you coaching that team as well?"

Christian chuckled and shook his head, "No. Golf is a sport for which I have no aptitude. I will content myself with baseball, basketball, football and track and field. That keeps me busy all year long, I assure you."

"I can only imagine, sir."

Christian was suddenly all business. "I shall put in a word with Coach Thompson." Rollie assumed this was the golf coach.

Then the coach asked, "Your grades? Still good?"

Rollie nodded and said, "Yes, sir." And they were. Rollie would be graduating high school in two months. He had been living with his grandfather. No more home schooling for him - and he was proud to have discovered that he was just as prepared as (if not more than) his peers at the high school in Atlanta.

"Excellent. While I have some power over the admissions people for my athletes, we do not tolerate dolts here at Noble Jones," Christian said sternly. Rollie bit back a crack at his brother's expense. He wasn't sure the coach would approve.

Christian clapped his hands once, briskly (Rollie noticed that the coach did most things briskly) and said, "Let's get inside and get you started on the paperwork for enrollment this fall, shall we?"


NOTE: I'm sure you've noticed the mentions of Noble Jones and Sadler - these are fictional colleges. The Figment universe has a full complement of fictional colleges in addition to the pro teams. If you want to check out additional stories relating to college football - with basketball coming soon - check out the site at legendsport.com. I will be adding specifics on the fictional schools there as well.
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Old 10-14-2019, 03:30 PM   #30
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Montreal, PQ: September 19, 1914:

Vera waved the telegram in her hand at her grandson and said, "We should probably visit them, Jack."

Jack shook his head, exasperation on his face and replied, "You can't tell me you want to go to Georgia, Vera."

Vera shrugged. "No, I don't really want to go to Georgia. But this is big, Jack."

"You realize there's a war on now, who knows if they'll let us back in if we go home," Jack said.

"Bah! The war is over in Europe and the U.S. is neutral."

Jack shrugged, "Even so." He was determined to throw a wrench in the gears and this seemed like a good one - he knew Vera liked living in Canada.

"This is big, Jack," she repeated. She had a stubborn look on her face that Jack knew all too well. Subtlety probably wouldn't work.

So Jack smirked and asked, "Big? Why because it's number ten?"

Now Vera smiled - she had been saving this part. "Yes, lord knows there are plenty of little Barrells running around. But the reason this is different - and big - is because this time, you've gotten a sister."

Jack's jaw dropped in surprise. "A girl? Really?" he shouted. And apparently too loudly as Madame Lamarque from the floor below banged the ceiling with her broom handle. Vera stomped her foot quickly. "Mind your business, you old biddy!" she shouted. The broom banged again in reply. Vera shook her head, but kept on smiling.

Vera waved the telegram again as her smile grew wider. "That's what this telegram says. Apparently both your parents are over the moon."

"Ha, I'm sure," Jack said and frowning, added, "I still don't want to go."

"Why on earth not? You haven't seen your family in ages. I'm sure your brothers want to see you and I'd imagine even if you're not interested in seeing the baby, you'd at least like to see Joe, Rollie and Jimmy."

It was now Jack's turn to look smug. "That's all true but..." he paused for dramatic effect and then said, "I have news of my own, Vera."

"Oh, you obstinate boy..." Vera shot back and Jack immediately retorted, "I'm sixteen now!"

Boom! Another bang from the woman downstairs.

Vera frowned, but restrained herself from stomping her foot again and then nodded saying, "So you are, but only children keep secrets from their grandmothers." She wasn't sure this was true - in fact was fairly certain it was actually not true, but said it anyway. Jack cocked his head and just looked at her blankly.

"OK, that's probably stretching the truth." She made a conciliatory gesture with her left hand and asked, "So, what's your big news?"

Jack tried - and failed - to put a triumphant look on his face (he didn't often get the upper hand with his grandmother). Instead his face lit up with a giant smile. "Ever been to St. Thomas, Vera?"

Confused, Vera asked, "St. Thomas? You mean the island in the Caribbean?"

Jack laughed, "No, the one here in Canada."

"Never heard of it, no," she replied with a bit of impatience in her voice.

Jack raised his eyebrows as he said, "Well, I'd never heard of it either until this morning. It's over in Ontario, somewhere near London."

Vera made a rolling motion with her hands - she knew Jack was tormenting her. She said, "Get on with it before I grow even more bored."

"That's not fair," Jack said with a frown. Then seeing the look on Vera's face, added, "Fine. There's a hockey club in St. Thomas and they want me to play for them."

Vera shrugged and said, "There are hockey clubs everywhere in this country. What's wrong with the Royale club?"

Jack shook his head and sighed. "After all this time here, you still don't get it."

"Get what?" she growled in response.

Jack took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "The St. Thomas club is a step up. They're part of the Amateur Association. The Royales are just.... a club team for kids."

Vera had a blank look on her face so he added, "St. Thomas is a junior club."

She shook her head and asked, "Which means what...?"

Jack sighed again. "I would put this in baseball terms for you, but there really isn't an equivalent."

He looked at the ceiling as he gathered his thoughts for a moment and then continued, "It's an amateur league and the players from that league usually end up playing professionally."

Vera squinted, "Professionally? Like FABL?"

Jack wagged his head back and forth, "Kind of - it's not exactly the same. There is a pro league here in Canada but it's only a few years old. But yes... the players there almost all played in this amateur association first."

Vera had a dubious look on her face. "And you think you're good enough for this?"

Jack put his hands on his hips and a hurt look on his face. "They came to me, Vera!"

"Hmm... London? And I've been working so hard on my French."

Jack growled, "Vera...."

She made a placating gesture. "OK, ok. Don't get upset. I suppose they must know what they're doing."

"That's better," Jack grumped.

"And this prevents you from going home to see your family?"

"Well, they want me for training next week."

Vera put a stern look on her face. "I'd think that if they want you, they'd understand a slight delay of a few days."

Jack looked dubious.

"Ask them," Vera demanded.

Now he looked defiant.

"It won't hurt," she insisted.

Sighing, Jack said, "Fine! I will ask. But I can't blow this chance."

Vera smiled. She'd won again.
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Old 10-22-2019, 11:40 AM   #31
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Boston, Massachusetts, June 2, 1915:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Possum shook his head again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Possum made a face and asked, "Is that English you're speaking?" and then quickly added before the men could take offense, "Aw, I'm just pulling your tail... Shoot, son, the Minutemen sure do have a chance! Pull up a stool and I'll tell you why...."
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Old 10-31-2019, 11:32 AM   #32
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Egypt, Georgia: May 11, 1916:

"That's not fair!" Jimmy shouted.

Alice glared in response and said through gritted teeth, "Don't raise your voice to me. I'm still your mother and you're not even 16 yet."

Jimmy threw his hands in the air and took a deep breath. Alice could see him visibly try to contain himself and though she was furious, she mentally willed herself to calm down.

Her not-quite-16 year-old son said, in a softer tone, "It's not fair. You allowed Jack to go to Canada."

"This is not the same thing, James, and you surely realize that." Jimmy frowned at her use of his Christian name. He knew all too well that when she did that, she meant business and would not be easily swayed. In fact, he could not remember any instance where she had been moved by either himself or any of his brothers when she used Joseph, Roland, John, James, etc.

He sighed. "This is just not right. I just want to make a difference," he said and gave her a pleading look that almost, but not quite, hit the mark. The stakes were too big.

"Jimmy, you're not old enough, even if you wait until you're 16. And I will not have you lie to get in, either."

Alice now saw resignation in his eyes. "I haven't asked Pop about this," he said.

She flared again and spat out, "You'd better not consider trying to pit us against each other. It will not work, buster."

Jimmy said with a rueful grin, "I know that. I just meant that I came to you first because," his lips moved into a wide smile now as he finished, "you're the tough one."

Alice chuckled. "That's true enough, but never tell your father that."

She shook her head. "I don't know what's gotten into you - do you want to be killed? That's what's going on over there, you know."

"I know, but it's not right what the Germans did to Belgium."

Alice frowned. "This is not our fight. And you're too young to be running off to Canada to join the Canadian Army."

She clapped her hands, signaling that the conversation was over.

"Now, go try on that suit. Your brother's wedding is next week and if I need to take in your pants, I need to know right now."

Jimmy sighed again.

"Cheer up - don't be a downer. This is supposed to be a happy time. Joe & Edna will want us all smiling for their big day so don't spend the next week moping around because I won't let you go off to France to get shot like a dog in some smelly trench."

"Fine," he said and left the room.

Alice shook her head. She'd had a houseful of boys for as long as she could remember, and they were all athletic and rambunctious. But Jimmy... he was different. He was an idealist. Well, she thought, at least I've squashed that harebrained scheme.

She returned to her mental checklist and realized she'd need to send Rollie to pick up Jack and Vera at the train station.

She rushed out of the room, shouting "Rollie! Go start the Hupmobile!"

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

Meanwhile, Rufus was out behind the barn with Danny and Fred. Of all his sons, this pair were the first to really appear to have caught the baseball bug that Rufus himself had been infected with since childhood.

"OK, Dan, choke up a bit," he told his son as he watched the youngster tentatively wave the bat.

At 11-years-old, Danny was starting to look like a potential prospect to Rufus' practiced scouting eye. Fred, almost exactly one year younger, was also starting to show signs of real talent.

Rufus couldn't help himself - he found this incredibly exciting. Sure, he was proud of Joe, who had become not only a boxing star (he was likely to be getting a title shot soon) but also had starred on the gridiron. Rollie was a true phenom with a golf club and from all he'd heard from Vera, young Jack was a terror on the ice.Jimmy... when he put his mind to it, was just as athletically gifted as his brothers, but his heart was elsewhere. Rufus realized, that if he was honest with himself, that he didn't really understand his fourth son. But Danny and Fred - they were chips off the old block.

"How's this Pop?" Danny asked, pulling Rufus out of his reverie.

"Looks good to me, Dan. Give her a swing and see how it feels," he replied.

Danny swung the bat; his form was a little rough, but Rufus could fix that, no problem. He looked behind Dan where Fred was crouched. Fred liked catching - Rufus blamed Possum for that - and had coerced Rufus into buying him an actual Edgerton brand mask "just like the FABL guys wear."

He had one of Possum's old gloves (which was much too large, but Rufus wasn't throwing hard anyway, so it'd be fine, he reckoned). He patted it now and shouted, "Pour one in here, Pop!"

Danny glanced at his brother over his shoulder, "Hold your water Freddy! I'm not ready."

"Aww, you're no hitter anyway, Danny boy!"

"I'm still bigger than you, big mouth!"

Rufus smiled. This was about as happy as he could ever remember being.

"OK, fellows, settle down!" he yelled with the grin still plastered on his face.
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Old 11-08-2019, 01:31 PM   #33
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Egypt, Georgia: June 9, 1916:

The first notice Rufus had that something was happening was when 8-year-old Tommy ran into the barn calling out, "Pop! Pop!"

"Whoa, slow down there, youngster," Rufus said with a grin. Tommy and soon-to-be-six-years-old Bobby were Rufus' "rabbits" because they were always "on the hop," hurrying everywhere they went.

"Now, what is it?" Rufus asked as his son slid to a stop in front of him.

Noting that his son suddenly seemed uncertain, Rufus prodded, "Well..."

Tommy took a deep breath, then said, "Well, me and Bobby were pitchin' rocks at a big old bullfrog in the pond...."

Rufus raised an eyebrow. "Did you hit it?"

Tommy said with some pride, "Naw, I almost did... missed by maybe an inch, and then it hopped off the log. Bobby said my aim was bad, but he's just jealous."

Rufus knew that Tommy had all the signs of a good throwing arm, so though he didn't particularly want his boys throwing rocks at the wildlife, he figured he'd let this one slide.

"I'm guessing you didn't come in here pants afire because the frog got away?"

"Naw, I wanted to tell you that some fellow in a fancied-up automobile just stopped in front of the house. I think he's talking to Maw." Tommy rubbed at a red mark on his arm, which Rufus hadn't noticed.

He pointed and asked, "What's that?"

Tommy shrugged, admitting, "Bobby whacked me after I said he throws like a baby."

Rufus shook his head and explained, "Bobby's littler than you. Try to be a better big brother. It's like I tell Danny and Fred when they pick on you, see?"

Tommy nodded and looked chagrined.

"Alright, now git. I'll go see this fellow at the house," Rufus said and added as his son ran off, "And no more pitching rocks at frogs! If you want to throw something, get a baseball and pitch to Freddy!"

Rufus dusted his hands on his pants and stepped out into the sun. Early June, and it was already hot in northern Georgia. He tugged his hat down a bit to cut the glare and gazed towards the house.

Sure enough, there was a bright red automobile parked there. He also noticed that Rollie and Jimmy were walking around it and talking to each other. He headed up the path towards them.

"Hey Pop, look at this!" Rollie said and whistled for emphasis. "This is a really fine automobile."

Jimmy nodded and said, "I do believe this is a Buick D-55. It's got a 130-inch wheelbase and a 331-cubic-inch engine. It's the top-of-the-line for the Buick company."

Rufus frowned. "How in tarnation do you know any of that gibberish?" he asked his son.

Jimmy chuckled, "Aw, Pop, I like cars. Old man Moody threw me out of the General Store for reading his magazines, but I saw an ad for this beauty in one of them before he did," he said and winked at his father.

Rufus shook his head - Jimmy was always full of surprises.

Rollie stopped and stood next to his father. "I don't know about any of that fancy talk, but this is a really fine piece of machinery."

Rufus nodded in agreement - it was a nice-looking car. It certainly put the family's battered old Hupmobile to shame. He had been considering a Model T after seeing them in various spots around the country. The darned things seemed ubiquitous.

Rollie bumped Rufus with his elbow. "Any chance we can get one of these, Pop?"

Rufus was shaking his head as Jimmy joined in, "Yeah, Pop, we need to replace that old jalopy of a Hupmobile anyway."

Rufus raised a hand and sighed then said, "Not now, boys. Did either of you take a gander at the gentleman who owns this 'fine piece of machinery?'"

"That would be me, sir," said a gravelly voice from the porch of the Barrell home.

Rufus, who had been all over the U.S., couldn't quite place the man's accent. He gave him the once-over, noting the fine clothes, the clean and highly polished shoes and silk tie. The man practically screamed wealth. Rufus had been around plenty of wealthy men - after all, every club owner in FABL was awash in money. But this guy had a different energy coming off him. The closest person to that feeling in Rufus' experience was probably Miles Bigsby... And that set him on edge.

"What can I do for you, mister?" he asked in a friendly tone, tamping down the discomfort he felt.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Mr. Barrell. I should have introduced myself," the man said as Alice Barrell came out onto the porch and stood behind him. Two-year-old Betsy followed her mother and grabbed a tiny fistful of her mother's skirts, eyeing the stranger with a thumb stuck in her mouth.

Rufus winked at his daughter, then nodded to the stranger and the man went on, "I'm Jack Connolly. I'm sure you haven't heard of me. I'm fairly well known back in Canada, but this is about as far south as I've ever been."

Alice stepped around the man and said to Rufus, "Mr. Connolly owns some silver mines in Ontario."

Rufus reckoned that explained the fancy car and nicely tailored clothing. It didn't explain why he was in Egypt, Georgia standing on Rufus' porch. Jimmy, feeling the same, whispered, "I guess silver can buy some very nice things, Pop."

The man smiled at Alice then turned back to Rufus, "As I was explaining to Mrs. Barrell a moment ago, I am here about your son John."

Now Rufus was surprised. Jack? What could Jack be involved with that would interest a silver magnate.

The question showed on Rufus' face. Even Jimmy was stunned to silence.

"Jack? What's he got to do with anything?" Rollie Barrell blurted out.

Connolly grinned at Rollie. "I know, from speaking with John, that this must be Roland." Then he raised a hand and said, "And you must be James."

Jimmy, now that he had been included, immediately asked, "Say, Mr. Connolly, how fast can this here automobile go anyway?"

Connolly laughed, but Rufus noticed the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm not sure, young man. I purchased it just this morning in Atlanta."

Jimmy's eyes widened and a whispered "Wow" escaped his lips.

Connolly addressed Rufus, "I am here because I am offering a contract to John to play for my hockey club."

"Really?" Alice asked.

Connolly nodded and said, "Yes, really. He is a fine player. I own two clubs in the NAHC and would like to have him play for one of them."

Rufus knew, thanks to Jack's infrequent (and often poorly-spelled) letters that the NAHC was hockey's answer to FABL - that is, the top pro hockey circuit in the world.

He squinted and said, "Well, that's mighty fine. Jack is eighteen now though, so I reckon he can make that decision himself."

"Yes, that is true, sir, but your son's grandmother, Mrs. Reid, advised him not to sign the contract."

"Really?" Alice asked again. Her mother's penchant for interference was perennially frustrating, but sometimes useful. "And why would she do that?"

Connolly looked a bit uncomfortable for a split second, but recovered quickly and said, "Apparently she made the acquaintance of a certain Mr. Max Dewar."

Rufus shrugged, "That name doesn't mean much to me, Mr. Connolly. Who's Mr. Dewar?"

Connolly took a deep breath and said, "Well, he's a hockey player. A very fine player, in fact. But he and I.... well, suffice it to say there's no love lost between us. I believe he's poisoning Mrs. Reid, and through her, John, just to spite me."

Alice harrumphed. She said, "My mother is a woman of strong opinion, and not easily fooled. I think this is something we need to discuss as a family."

Connolly smiled again - and again Rufus was reminded, briefly, of Miles Bigsby who also had the smile of a tiger sizing up its prey.

"Fair enough," he said. Then he added, "Please, accept this Buick as a gift in thanks of your consideration in this matter."

Smiling at the stunned look on all the Barrells' faces, he added, "I really can do great things for young Jack. I only ask for the opportunity to do so."

He walked down the road and a few moments later he whistled. Another Buick, this one blue, appeared and coasted to a stop beside him. Connolly climbed into the passenger seat, waved at the Barrells and sat back as the driver expertly turned the car around and drove off in a cloud of dust.

"Holy cow!" Jimmy said as he climbed into the Buick, with Rollie right behind him. Rufus and Alice exchanged a look that was a mixture of disbelief, wonderment, and more questions than answers.


NOTE: You can read more about the North American Hockey Conferderation (NAHC), Jack Connolly, Max Dewar, and eventually Jack Barrell on the legendsport.com website which has stats and info about the entire Figment Universe, of which the Barrells are a big part. I'm also looking for two more GMs for the upcoming Figment Hockey League, so shoot me a PM if you're interested. Thanks, as always, for reading!
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Old 11-20-2019, 11:32 AM   #34
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Washington, DC: July 2, 1916:

"Uh, Rufus, we gots to talk."

Rufus was seated at his desk behind a shiny nameplate (of which he was unduly fond) that read, "Rufus G. Barrell, Director" in golden letters on a wood veneer background. On the blotter in front of him was a stack of scouting reports and he had been busily poring through them. This was all in preparation for categorizing them before sending them off to the teams. All in a day's work for Rufus Barrell, Director.

At least that was what he was doing until Possum Daniels walked into the office.

Rufus looked up over the rims of his glasses (he hated having to wear glasses, but he needed them to read - just a part of aging, according to Alice). "What can I do for you, Possum?" he asked with a small smile.

Possum was fidgeting, which was usually a sign that whatever he needed to say was not something he wanted to say.

"You know I was up there in Montreal, right?"

Rufus nodded and replied, "Sure."

"Well... I was scouting this place called the Montreal Industrial High School - some kind of vocational thing, I do believe," Possum said.

Rufus nodded again. He knew this - after all, he had been the one who'd written up the itinerary for Possum's trip to Canada.

"Find anyone interesting?" Rufus asked.

Possum grimaced and replied, "You could say that, yes."

Rufus was starting to get impatient. He pulled the glasses off his face, gave Possum a direct look and said, "Get to the point, Possum."

His friend took a deep breath and then, his words coming in a rush, said, "This here school got a fellow on the roster name of Dick Banner. Infielder. He was one of the fellas you wanted me to birddog."

Rufus blinked and motioned for Possum to continue.

"Well... it turns out that Banner was an assumed name. That there fella is actually named John Barrell."

Rufus blinked again as what Possum had said sank in. "John Barrell? As in Jack? My son, Jack?"

Possum nodded and said, "Yep, it was Jack. Looked slicker 'n snot out there on the field too. He's definitely your son... son." He grinned widely.

Then the grin turned into a frown as he added, "He wasn't too happy to see me. In fact he was madder'n a puffed toad."

Rufus was shaking his head. "That doesn't make sense. Why would he be attending high school under an assumed name?"

"I asked him that very thing. He said it was on account of the fact that he signed a professional hockey contract and technically wasn't eligible to play high school sports."

Rufus narrowed his eyes. "He signed a pro contract? When?"

Possum shrugged and replied, "He didn't say. But it wasn't too long ago. He begged me not to tell you, but I told him that I couldn't hide this from my oldest and best friend."

Rufus stood up, came around the desk and slapped his friend on the back. "Thanks, pal. I appreciate it."

Now Possum narrowed his own eyes. "You ain't mad? I figured you'd be hotter than a three-legged dog trying to bury a turd on a frozen pond, son."

Rufus chuckled as he said, "Nah, I'm not mad. Apparently this assumed-name business runs in the family. First Joe, now Jack. I expect Danny or Freddy will be next."

"I expect Miss Peaches won't be none too happy though," Possum said.

Rufus nodded in agreement. "You're right there. That Connolly fellow sure rubbed her the wrong way. If Jack signed with him, she'll be as mad as that dog... or whatever it was you just said."

Rufus cocked an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth curled in a smile, "You said Jack looked good?"

Possum smiled back as he said, "Sure did. That boy can play. I expect he'll get drafted - not high, mind you. He is playing in Canada and most of the teams don't think too much of the competition up there, but he'll get plucked for sure."

Rufus mused, "Wonder which sport he'd choose? He really does love hockey."

"Maybe he could do both - the seasons don't overlap," Possum pointed out.

Rufus shook his head, "I expect Mr. Connolly would be unhappy to hear that Jack's been playing baseball... and playing well, too," he said and grinned wickedly.

Possum asked, "Speaking of which... what'd you do with that there fancy car? Hoo boy, that was perty."

Rufus shook his head. "That car... well, it wasn't easy, but Alice and I decided we couldn't keep it. Jimmy pitched a fit, but he finally agreed to take it down to Atlanta and sell it. I had to get back here to D.C. before he left though, so I'm not sure where that stands though I expect Alice would have let me know if the darn thing hadn't been sold."


Ormond Beach, FL: July 2, 1916:

"If Ma or Pop find out, they'll skin you alive," Rollie told his brother.

Jimmy gave his older sibling a serious look. "Guess they better not find out then, huh?"

Rollie shook his head. "I can't believe you got me to agree to this. It's crazy, you know?"

"Aww, don't fret too much. This beauty will come through with flying colors and we'll go home with some great memories and some good money. Ma and Pop need never find out." Jimmy patted the red Buick, grinning in his winning way and Rollie, though he still had his reservations, couldn't help himself - he grinned back.

The brothers were supposed to be in Atlanta, selling the car. Instead, they had driven down to Ormond Beach in Florida where the hard-packed sand made a perfect racing surface - according to Jimmy who had read about it in a magazine.

"Daytona Beach is good, too," Jimmy had told his brother, then continued, "I bet we can find some wealthy Yankees to race against and with this here car, we'll win us some money."

"Pop said to sell the thing - he didn't want us taking a bribe from that Connolly fellow." Rollie pointed this out, though he knew Jimmy wouldn't change his mind. The kid was even more stubborn than their mother once he had settled his mind on something.

"Pop's got his principles, and I've got mine," Jimmy said with a disdainful wave. "My principles involve seeing how fast this thing can go." He paused and pointed at his brother, "So the question is - are you coming along, or not?"

Rollie had agreed, telling himself that he was simply going to look out for his slightly crazy brother - but in reality, he too wanted to see how fast this car could go. And, with greens fees being what they were, he wasn't adverse to making a little money either.

So now they were standing beside the red Buick on the hard-packed sand of Ormond Beach, looking south towards Daytona Beach. The sand stretched, hard and flat before them. Rich people - usually northerners, had been racing their cars on this beach for over a decade and even some auto designers had come down and tested their best and fastest machines on this sand.

Jimmy rubbed his hands together and cast his gaze over the competition - a New York banker whose name was also James - James Reynolds who had brought his white Chevrolet Series H "Royal Mail roadster" down to Ormond to race. Jimmy - who had become an enthusiastic follower of automobile technology, knew this Chevrolet had a fancy electric starter. He also knew that while it looked like a race car, it was not as powerful as the Buick (though it was certainly lighter). He was confident he'd win this race.

"Gentlemen, we are agreed, then? $100 to the winner, yes?" Reynolds said in his upper crust accent.

Jimmy tried to conjure up the accent of his Brooklyn youth as he nodded and replied, "Yes, we are agreed, sir."

Reynolds pulled his goggles over his eyes and moved to his Chevy. Jimmy winked at Rollie, put his own goggles on and climbed into the Buick.

Rollie, now feeling extremely nervous, told his brother, simply, "Be careful."

Jimmy smirked and said, "Careful won't win the day, brother. I'm going to let her fly!"
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Old 12-04-2019, 05:01 PM   #35
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Ormond Beach, FL: July 3, 1916:

"We need to be getting back, Jim."

Jimmy Barrell shrugged his shoulders. He knew his brother was right - his mother would be getting suspicious and a phone call to the offices of the Atlanta Peaches would reveal that Joe Reid had not seen his grandsons, specifically the two who were at that time supposed to be staying with him in Atlanta while trying to sell the car.

Ah, the car. Jimmy loved that red Buick D-55... and that was a problem. His parents had made no bones about it - the car, a gift (or bribe according to Alice Barrell) from Jack Connolly, a super-rich Canadian who owned not one, but two hockey clubs and wanted to sign Jimmy's older brother Jack - well, that car needed to be sold off and the money given to, at Alice's insistence, the International Red Cross. With the bloody war raging in Europe, Jimmy agreed that the Red Cross was a worthy organization. But he still wanted to keep the car.

"I'm serious, Jimmy - we need to get our tails back home."

Jimmy frowned and looked Rollie in the eye, saying, "Don't I know it. But man oh man, do I want to stay here and keep racing this beauty." The Buick, with Jimmy at the controls, had won several races over the past two days and the brothers were well over $100 richer. Jimmy knew he could make even more if they could stay through the Independence Day holiday.

Rollie sighed and said, "And what are we going to do with the car? It's supposed to be sold off, remember?"

"I know. I think we can stash it in that old barn behind the Reynolds place," Jimmy replied with a grin.

Rollie rolled his eyes. "You know, you're going to get us in hot water. We need to get rid of this car, not hide it."

"Ah, stop being such an old woman. No one's going to find it out at the Reynolds place."

"And what if someone buys the property?"

Jimmy shrugged and added disdainfully, "No one wants that place. Possum tried to get Pop to buy it and even he wouldn't do it."

Jimmy had already decided - he was keeping the car. And he knew Rollie wouldn't - couldn't - turn him in to their parents after accompanying Jimmy to Florida.

Rollie was about to continue the argument when someone tapped him on the shoulder, saying, "Excuse me, young man."

Just before he turned, Rollie saw Jimmy's eyes widen. When he did turn, he found himself facing a rather small, bespectacled man in a rumpled seersucker suit. Why Jimmy had reacted that way was a mystery to Rollie - the guy looked completely nondescript.

"Something I can do for you mister?" Rollie asked.

The man gave a thin smile and replied, "I think the better question would be what I can do for you, young man."

Jimmy stepped forward and thrust out his right hand, "Mr. Merlon, I'm James Barrell and this is my brother Roland."

Merlon shook Jimmy's hand and then Rollie's as well. Wearing a tight smile, the man then asked, "Which one of you has been driving that Buick D?"

Rollie noted with surprise that Jimmy blushed deeply before telling Merlon that he was the one who had been racing the Buick.

"That was some fine driving," Merlon said. As Jimmy's blush deepened, Merlon added, "That's why I'm here - I want you to drive for me."

Stunned, Rollie looked at Jimmy and blurted out, "But you're only 16!"

Merlon chuckled and said, "Well, well - that explains why you look so wet behind the ears." He then pulled a pad and pencil from his jacket and took down Jimmy's name and address. "I will write you with more information as soon as I get back to Lansing." Merlon then shook hands with both Rollie and Jimmy and turned and walked away.

Jimmy turned to Rollie and said, "That was Bill Merlon! And he wants me to drive for him!"

Rollie was unimpressed - largely because he had no earthly idea who Bill Merlon was - and it showed. He drawled, "So?"

Shaking his head, Jimmy explained, "Merlon is a car builder. Not a manufacturer like Olds or Ford - he only builds custom racing autos."

Rollie only shrugged so Jimmy, flustered, continued, "He built the car that won the Indianapolis 500 last year. Driving for him would be a big deal!"

Rollie shrugged again and then said, "None of that matters. Want to know why?"

Jimmy nodded.

Rollie smiled and said, "Mom will never, in a million years, let you drive a racing car. So this is all moot, bub."

Jimmy's mouth fell open - he knew Rollie was right. Still... he was a firm believer in that old saw: where there's a will, there's a way.
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Old 12-13-2019, 11:13 AM   #36
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Egypt, GA: July 10, 1916:

"So this kid... he's our cousin?"

Alice Barrell took a deep breath. Her eight-year-old son Tommy was, like his brother Jimmy, always asking questions. The breath smoothed over her natural inclination to be short-tempered. Her son was inquisitive - that was a good thing, in general. But sometimes... well, sometimes she wished some of her brood would give her a minute to herself.

She forced a smile onto her face and said, "Well, Tommy, he is... in a way."

"How's that?" Tommy asked.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alice noted that Fred and Bobby had entered the kitchen and Fred was attempting to stealthily get his hand into the cookie jar while Bobby watched with wide eyes and open mouth. Quick as a snake she lashed out and slapped Freddy's hand.

"Ow!" he yelped as he snatched his hand back. Alice raised an eyebrow and he moaned, "Sorry, Ma."

"You'll ruin your dinner. And you're setting a bad example for Bobby, too."

Fred's red face grew even redder, "Yes, ma'am," he murmured and then said, "C'mon Bob," and grabbing his brother by the hand, led him out of the room.

When she turned her attention away from Fred and his cookie-thieving ways, Tommy was grinning at her.

"So..." he prompted.

Alice shook her head and glanced at her feet, where the youngest Barrell child (and only girl) Betsy was tugging at Alice's boot laces. She sighed again and gently took a step back. Betsy made a "humph!" sound, stood and toddled towards young Harry, less than a year older than Betsy, who was busy playing with blocks in the corner. Alice expected a howl of protest in the near future. She forced herself to focus on Tommy.

"Well, Dennis is the grandson of your grandfather's brother," she explained.

Tommy's brow furrowed. "Grandpa Joe, right?" he asked.

Alice smiled and nodded, explaining, "Yes, my father. Dennis' grandpa is my uncle. So in a way, yes, he's a cousin to you."

"And he's my age?"

"Yes, roughly."

"And he likes baseball?"

Alice rolled her eyes. After seeing her oldest children pursue other interests, she was a bit exasperated that the younger boys all seemed to gravitate to the game that had consumed the lives of both her father and her husband. Ah, so be it, she thought as she replied, "Yes, he's wild about baseball - just like you are."

Tommy grinned and said, "That's swell. I hope he's good - I'm tired of striking Fred and Bobby out all the time."


Two days later Rollie drove the sputtering Hupmobile up the road, with Alice's father in the seat beside him and her Uncle James and his grandson Dennis in the back seats. Her cousin Ben - who she never cared for - was back in Philadelphia. She silently gave up a prayer of thanks for that and steeled herself. Joe and Jimmy Reid didn't always get along, so this could be an interesting week on the Barrell farm...

As she watched the Hupmobile roll to a stop, her son Jimmy walked into the kitchen.

He smirked as he looked out the window at the Hupmobile.

"We need to get rid of that old jalopy, Ma," he said and chuckled a bit.

Alice pointed at his hands, which were black with what looked like grease. "What have you been into?" she asked.

Jimmy looked at his hands and grimaced. "Oh... I was tinkering with the tractor," he said. Alice noted he failed to meet her eyes when he said this.

Hmm, she thought and resolved to bring this up again later. She knew Jimmy was lying. The questions were why he lied and what he really had been doing. For now, she stepped out onto the porch to greet her visitors.

Rollie jumped out of the car and held the door for his grandfather and great-uncle.

Tommy ran around the corner of the house and skidded to a stop next to the car. Alice saw that he had his baseball mitt on his hand and was smiling at his presumed new strikeout victim.

Rollie walked up to Jimmy and the two bent their heads together, talking in low voices. Alice told herself that she definitely needed to find out what was going on there.

"Are you Dennis?" Tommy asked his almost-cousin.

Dennis, a tow-headed boy, leaped cat-like out of the Hupmobile and walked to the rear of the car where a large trunk had been lashed on. "Aww, only my Mom calls me that. Just call me Dutch - that's what my buddies call me." He released the strap and the trunk tumbled to the dirt.

Uncle James noticed this and growled, "Denny! What are you doing? Be careful of my things!"

Dennis winked at Tommy and shouted back, "Yes, Gramps!" Then he opened the trunk and pulled out a baseball glove.

"I heard you boys fancy yourselves ballplayers," he said, gazing around at the farm and noting the diamond that Rufus had built behind the barn. "What say we get some of your brothers and have ourselves a game?"

Tommy smiled and ran towards the house, yelling, "Dan! Fred! Bob! Baseball time!" as he ran.


It turned out that "Dutch" was actually pretty good. Tom had his troubles with Danny - he was older and strong as an ox. And he could hit. Freddy was older too, but Tom had picked up some pointers from Rufus and "pitched with a purpose" as Rufus described it, so he could usually handle Fred. But Dutch, even though he was about Tommy's age, was nearly as good a hitter as Danny. Bobby? Well, he was still little and though he was eager, his skill level wasn't quite there yet. Tommy smiled - this was going to be a fun week on the Barrell farm.
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Old 12-17-2019, 05:22 PM   #37
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Egypt, GA: August 31, 1916:

The Western Union man had just left and Alice Barrell stood in the kitchen holding the familiar yellow envelope in her hand. It was addressed to her son Jimmy. Why someone would be sending a telegram to her 16-year-old son had her a bit baffled, and she was currently considering whether or not to open it and read the message. She had a suspicion this was something related to whatever Jimmy had been lying to her about the previous month.

Rollie entered the kitchen, carrying a suitcase.

"I'm off, Ma," he said. It was time to head back to Noble Jones College. Rollie was looking forward to another year at the school, though not for the academics, but rather another season as a member of the golf and basketball squads. Joe had graduated in June and Rollie was now the only Barrell in college. He had persuaded Jimmy to drive him down to Atlanta - this didn't take much convincing as his brother never missed an opportunity to get behind the wheel.

Rollie noticed the envelope in Alice's hand. "What's that?" he asked.

Alice frowned as she replied, "A telegram for Jimmy."

Rollie's eyes widened a bit - he figured this must be a message from that Bill Merlon fellow. And that was something he knew Jimmy would not want Alice reading. With a burst of concentration he tamped down his alarm, hoping his mother hadn't seen it in his face and said as nonchalantly as possible, "He's driving me to school, I can hand it off to him."

Alice got a look in her eye - something her sons and husband were all too familiar with - as she said, "No, that won't be necessary. I want you to send him in so he can open this in front of me."

"Ma, that's likely a personal message," Rollie said.

"True," Alice conceded with a nod. "But he's my son, he's only sixteen and I am entitled to know who sent this, and what it's about."

Shrugging, Rollie thought "It's Jimmy's funeral" and walked outside where his brother was rolling to a stop in the much-maligned family Hupmobile.

"Ma wants to see you," Rollie told his younger brother as Jimmy stopped the car and put the hand-brake on.

"What about?"

"You got a telegram."

Jimmy's eyes also widened at this news. "Merlon?" he asked in a whisper.

"I suspect so. She hasn't opened it, but she wouldn't give it to me to pass off to you, either." Rollie put a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I expect it's time you came clean about the Buick, the racing.... all of it."

Jimmy frowned. "She'll be mad."

"That's an understatement, if ever I heard one," Rollie said and laughed out loud.

"I wouldn't laugh if I were you - you were with me in Florida."

Rollie nodded. "Yep - but I'm also going to be at college for the next few months. You still have to live with her."

Jimmy sighed and got out of the Hupmobile. "Give my best to Joe and Jack," he said over his shoulder as he headed towards the house. "You know, in the event she kills me."


Washington, DC: September 1, 1916:

Rufus Barrell was seated at his desk, feet up and phone to his ear. Alice had called from home, something she rarely did, and had been venting about Jimmy's "reckless, disrespectful behavior" for the better part of fifteen minutes. Rufus muttered the occasional noise of agreement but he considered himself a realist and knew that Jimmy, like Rufus himself and the older Barrell boys, was going to go his own way regardless of what his parents thought. He also knew better than to voice this fact to his wife. The one thing that bothered Rufus in all this was the lying about the Buick. He didn't like that Jimmy - and Rollie - had felt the need to deceive their parents rather than just express their real desire to keep the car.

"What are we going to do about this, Rufus?" Alice asked. The long-distance connection was somewhat tenuous and Rufus imagined the operator listening in as he formulated his response.

"Well... I'm not sure we can do much, dear."

A burst of static disrupted Rufus' hearing of Alice's response - one he suspected was not particularly lady-like.

"If Jimmy wants to race cars, we can't stop him. This is just like when Joe decided to be a boxer. We could forbid it, but he'll just run off and do it anyway. If we support him, no matter that we think it's dangerous and stupid, at least we can provide some guidance."

He and Alice went back and forth in this vein for a few minutes. Rufus knew it would take her some time to accept the reality of the situation. But his wife was a smart woman and she would reach the same conclusion once the emotional reaction wore off a bit.

As Rufus was disconnecting the call, there was a knock on his door.

Feeling stiff from sitting, Rufus rose and went to the door rather than just shouting a "come in" as he was normally wont to do.

He was surprised to see Possum standing there when he opened the door.

"Sorry to bother you, son, but I got a problem and I need to talk it over with a friend."

Rufus had rarely seen his old friend look so serious. With a quick "Sure" he waved Possum into the office and closed the door behind him.

Possum took a seat and rubbed a gnarled hand across his face with a sigh.

Concerned, Rufus took a seat behind the desk and leaned forward. "You look white as a ghost, Possum."

"I feel like I been chewed up and spit out, son," Possum replied as he rubbed his temples.

"OK, well whatever it is, let's hear it. I can't help if I don't know what the problem is, Possum." Rufus had found the direct approach to be best when dealing with his erstwhile catcher and roommate.

"There was this gal... Betty. Betty from Birmingham, I called her," Possum said with a rueful grin.

Rufus settled back in his chair. Possum had his ways with women - always had. Back in their playing days, Possum was one of those "girl in every town" types. Rufus, having fallen head over heels for Alice Reid before even putting on a professional uniform, was the direct opposite - a one-woman man. So it was somewhat alien to him to tomcat around like that, but he always did his level best to not sit in judgement on what others did.

Noting that his friend had fallen silent for an unusually long time, Rufus asked, "OK - this wasn't someone who goes back to our days with the Sycamores, is it?"

Possum shook his head. "Naw, this here filly was someone I met back when I was still managing in Birmingham. She's a fair piece younger than us, son."

Rufus nodded, not being able to think of anything to say to this latest tidbit.

Possum took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was now wringing his hands as well and looked thoroughly miserable.

"Rollie," Rufus began, "you're my best friend. You were there for me after... after Bigsby Oval. And I won't forget it. You know Alice & I love you like family. So whatever you need to say, you can say it. And if you decide you can't say it, then don't."

Possum nodded and muttered a "thanks" then took another deep, chuffling breath.

Finally he said, "I've got a kid, Rufus."

Stunned, Rufus said nothing for a moment. Then he gathered himself and asked, "You're sure? This Betty told you that you're her child's father?"

Possum nodded and said, "Yup. She had a photo of the boy. Must've cost a pretty penny - you know getting pictures done isn't cheap, son."

Possum reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled the photograph out. He silently handed it to his friend.

Rufus took a look. The boy, who seemed to be about the same age as Rufus' son Harry (assuming it was a recent photo), did have a striking resemblance to Possum. "He looks like you," he said quietly.

Possum nodded, "Yup, he sure does. What the hell am I gonna do, Rufus?"

Rufus, knowing his friend all too well, replied, "Well, I know you won't let your son grow up without a father. The real question is do you make an honest woman of his mother."

Possum shivered. "I ain't the marryin' type, son."

Now Rufus put a little bite into his voice as he said, "What's that mean? You want to continue tomcattin' around? Or do you think you're not good enough to be a husband and father?"

Possum said nothing, simply burying his face in his hands again.

Rufus stood up and walked around the desk. "Listen to me, Rollie. You are the finest man I know and this Betty would be blessed to have you as her husband. And the boy - what's his name, by the way? Well, he's damn lucky to have a father like you too."

Possum sniffled and said, "His name's Rufus."

Rufus couldn't help himself - he barked out a laugh. "What!?!"

Possum smiled despite himself. "Yup, ol' Betty heard me talking about my best friend all the time. Said she thought it'd be nice to name the boy after his father's best friend." He grew sheepish and added in a low voice, "Actually she said she named him after 'my idol.'"

Now Rufus was embarrassed. "Aw, Possum. Did you tell her that?"

Possum nodded. "Hell yes, son. Look at you - knocked out of the game we love at the moment you were about to achieve your dream. Most fellas would've packed up their tent and sailed into the sunset." Rufus grimaced at Possum's mixed metaphors even as he continued, "But you made something of yourself. Got a beautiful wife and a passel of kids - all of them smart and talented, too. Who wouldn't want you to be their idol, son?"

Rufus sat on the edge of his desk, leaned forward and gave Possum a hug. "I love you, Possum, you know? But seriously, don't short sell yourself. If you have any feeling for Betty, you'd be a great husband and an even better father. Heck, you've been practicing on my boys for twenty years now."

Possum smiled and said, "Yep, that's true. Freddy's gonna be a FABL catcher some day - and it ain't because you taught him. It's because I taught him!" He laughed.

The two friends grinned at each other.

Possum stood up and asked, "So, where would a fella find a ring in this here city?"
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Old 01-09-2020, 01:11 PM   #38
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Toronto, Ontario: October 28, 1916:

Jack Barrell was standing at the window, looking down at the street. He was in room 318 of the Global Grand Hotel and from his perch thirty-some-odd feet above the pavement, he watched the steady stream of people going to and fro on Yonge Street. Horse-drawn streetcars stopped at the hotel, disgorging passengers and taking others on. There was a dental conference going on, and Jack was amazed at how many people were at the hotel.

"You know Vera, I never really thought about it, but there must be a heck of a lot of dentists in the world," he mused.

His grandmother, sitting behind him knitting, grunted in reply. Jack dropped the curtain and turned to her.

"You don't have to be so grumpy. This is supposed to be a happy occasion you know," he told her.

The clicking of her needles sped up a bit. He raised an eyebrow and stared at her. He knew she didn't like be watched, so he stared and waited.

Vera Reid sighed and dropped her needles into her lap. "Why are you staring at me, you know I hate that," she groused.

Jack smiled and said, "Yes, that's why I'm doing it."

"Well, stop."

Jack shook his head. "Look, Vera, Connolly's offer is a good one. I'd be a fool not to sign it."

"You're a fool, that's certain, but it's because you're signing with that man."

"He's a successful businessman and he owns two hockey clubs."

"That man is a snake-oil salesman!"

Jack threw his hands up and turned away.

Vera pressed on: "Remember what Max said? Something fishy is going on."

Max Dewar, a fine defenseman who had been playing professionally for years, had given Jack an earful about Jack Connolly. Dewar had been suspended for a year by the NAHC (the pro league here in Eastern Canada) and had run a youth league while sitting out - and Jack had played for - and trusted - him.

"I love Max, but he holds a grudge. What happened back in 1908 or whatever has little bearing now," Jack said.

Vera harrumphed and said, "You're a kid, Jack. Your sense of time is entirely skewed by the fact that you haven't experienced much of life yet. When it comes to that Jack Connolly, what happened eight years ago is as pertinent to today as yesterday was."

Jack shook his head. "I've already agreed, and Pop always drummed into us that we Barrells always keep our promises."

Vera was about to reply when there was a knock at the door.

Jack said, "We'll put this on hold for the moment," as he walked to the door.

Opening the door he saw Max Dewar standing with a tall, permaturely gray-haired gentleman. Dewar grinned and slapped Jack on the shoulder. "Jock, my lad! You haven't put pen to paper yet, have you?"

Jack shook his head, saying, "Nope. The contract hasn't arrived yet. Connolly said he'd message it over this afternoon."

Dewar frowned a bit and then pasted a grin on his face and asked, "Aren't you going to invite us in?"

Jack stepped back and waved for the two men to enter.

Vera had risen from her chair and asked, "Mr. Dewar, who is your distinguished-looking friend?"

Dewar tipped his head at Vera and replied, "Good day, Mrs. Reid. Please forgive me; this is Mr. George Yeadon, of Vancouver."

Jack's eyebrows rose in surprise. "George Yeadon? Of the TCHA?" The Transcontinental Hockey Association was a rival pro league to the North American Hockey Confederation (the aforementioned NAHC) - but it was based on the Pacific coast.

Dewar laughed as Yeadon replied, "The one and only. I am here to try to forestall Mr. Connolly's efforts to sign you, young man."

"Thank the lord," said Vera. Jack, who had been smiling, turned and frowned at his grandmother.

Vera smiled at Jack and then turned to Yeadon and said, "My grandson has a misplaced stubborn streak and has convinced himself that since he agreed in principle, but not yet in writing, to play for Mr. Connolly, that he is unable to entertain other possibilities."

Yeadon smiled back at Vera and said, "I will try to disabuse him of that notion, madam."

Jack shook his head and grumbled, "Quit the high-fallutin' talk. Let's get down to brass tacks."

Yeadon nodded approvingly and said, "Just so, Mr. Barrell, just so."

Jack pointed out that yes, Vera was technically correct - he had agreed, in principle, to play for Connolly. And his inclination was to honor his word and sign when the papers arrived.

"I admire your principles, Mr. Barrell. If only more hockey players - or owners - had a similar sense of right and wrong, we'd all be better off."

Dewar chimed in: "That's for sure - and Connolly's one of the worst."

Yeadon said, "I won't take too much of your time. I am here with the approval of my brother Bill, to offer you your choice of a spot on either the Vancouver or Victoria clubs, at a salary identical to that offered by Mr. Connolly."

Jack looked at Vera, and she was grinning at him and nodding.

"That's a very fine offer, Mr. Yeadon," Jack said. "I will need a little time to think about it. Vancouver and Victoria are pretty far away."

Yeadon replied, "The country out there is beautiful and the weather finer than here in the East. I believe you'd find it quite nice."

"I'm sure I would. But as I said, I need to think about this. My family is in Georgia, and even Toronto is far from home. The west coast would be even more so."

Yeadon nodded.

"You will have an answer within the hour, I don't want to make anyone wait on me," Jack said.

Moments later, Dewar and Yeadon had left and Jack was certain Vera was about to give him an earful. Instead she surprised him by simply saying, "You know my feelings - and those of your parents. However, this is your decision so do as you see fit and they and I will support you."

With that she sat back down and resumed her knitting. Jack returned to the window and though he looked out, he wasn't seeing anything on Yonge Street, his mind being completely elsewhere.
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Old 02-04-2020, 04:20 PM   #39
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Toronto, Ontario: October 29, 1916:

Jack was exhausted. His mother was livid, his father seemed sad and Vera wouldn't talk to him. But he had given his word, and by God, he had honored it. His family could give him (in fact was giving him) the cold shoulder, but he was a man of his word. Ironically his father taught him that, but Jack could feel Rufus' disappointment over the static-filled telephone line.

Connolly had insisted that Jack call his parents. It didn't even seem to matter to the mining magnate that doing so would require two phone calls (Jack's father was packing up the office in D.C. for the winter while his mother was home in Georgia). "Call 'em both!" Connolly had shouted, raising his fist into the air.

Jack was a bit taken aback by Connolly's over-the-top reaction to the signing. When he mentioned this, Connolly grinned and explained, "You, my boy, are going to be a great one. And best of all, I kept that pair of British Columbian snakes from stealing you away from me at the last minute!"

Jack had shaken his head - was it really all about keeping him from playing for the Yeadons? He reckoned he was pretty good - when he was out there on the ice he could tell he was better than most of the other guys. Still, was he really *that* good?

"You'll be playing me at winger, right?" he asked before signing.

Connolly chewed his cigar and looked Jack right in the eyes, silently, for a moment - so long in fact that Jack was starting to get uncomfortable - before replying, "Hell, yes, if that's what you want."

Jack was opening his mouth to reply when the older man continued, "Honestly, you're the best defenceman I've ever seen, but I know you feel, erm.... constricted, playing there, and you performed quite well on the wing this past season."

Connolly had attended a few of Jack's games, sitting rinkside and whooping and hollering every time Jack scored - which he did often.

Vera had turned and walked out of their suite when Jack informed her he was going to honor his word and sign with Connolly's Toronto Silver Skates. "That's a stupid name," she said as she stormed out. Jack shook his head, put on his jacket and left himself, off to tell Mr. Yeadon of his decision. He felt he owed the man that much at least. He was hoping that Dewar wouldn't be there - he hated disappointing Max, and he knew how much Max despised Jack Connolly.

After an uncomfortable visit to Yeadon - Dewar was there and he closed his eyes, frowned and shook his head when Jack told Yeadon of his decision. Yeadon simply nodded and said, "I appreciate you coming to tell me in person. You are a quality man, Mr. Barrell, and I wish you luck." Then he shook Jack's hand. As he left Yeadon's suite, Jack wondered, and not for the first time, if he was making a huge mistake.

Connolly was effusive, as usual, and the gorgeous redhead he had with him in his suite jumped up and down and gave Jack a kiss after the young man had told Connolly of his decision to sign. Jack, blushing and flustered, muttered a thank you to the woman while Connolly chuckled and slapped him on the back. "Let's spread the good news, my boy!"

And that led to the phone calls.

First, he called his father - he figured that'd be the easier of the two. Rufus had listened and said that while he didn't agree with the decision, it was Jack's to make, and he was sure he'd make the best of things, regardless. All the time, Jack felt the disappointment oozing through the phone line. Still he soldiered on.

The call to his mother.... that was far worse. She yelled so loudly that Jack had pulled the receiver away from his ear. "I do not trust that man," she hissed. Jack offered some platitudes, spoke of honoring his word, and so forth, but she was not easily assuaged. Jack listened as she carried on about Connolly and "that damn car" that apparently had caused two of Jack's brothers to get into some kind of trouble, or something (she was rambling a bit and Jack had a hard time following). Evenutally she wound down, told him that he'd "made his bed" and now would have to lie in it (more motherly wisdom, Jack presumed) before finally hanging up.

As he hung up the phone, Connolly had asked him, "Ever been to Winnipeg?"

And that was why, on what should have been the happiest day of his life, Jack was just... exhausted.
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Old 04-01-2020, 09:56 AM   #40
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San Diego, California: April 6, 1917:

Rufus Barrell was back in his element. Being the director of the Omni Scouting Bureau had its perks, he thought as he sat in the first base box of Langley Field. He was there, ostensibly, to watch the College of San Diego Friars play the Northern California Miners - an AIAA matchup that featured some prospects on whom he'd write up reports. Mainly he was there to enjoy a long-desired vacation with his wife,but as far as the beancounters working for his partner and OSA Business Manager Tom Potentas were concerned, he was there to watch Turk Leach of the Miners and Al Hendrix of the Friars. They'd be in town for the week and catch some Great Western League action as well, since the Conquistadors were unaffiliated and therefore fair game for the OSA.

It had been an eventful winter for the Barrell family. Joe had retired from boxing and was now concentrating on playing football and he & Edna were expecting their first child - it seemed Rufus & Alice would become grandparents in June. Jack was playing minor league hockey in the Montreal City League (the war had shut down the Manitoba league he'd supposed to be playing in) and still attending high school and played baseball as well. Indications were that he'd be drafted by a FABL club in December. Rollie had enjoyed a solid season with the Noble Jones College basketball team and was looking forward to getting back on the golf course. Jimmy... well, he was busy following the news about the increasing tensions between the U.S. and Germany over the latter's resumption of unrestricted submarine warfare. The younger boys were all involved in baseball in one way or another - for this reason Rufus was glad he had moved the family back to Georgia as the weather was much more conducive to early spring baseball than it would have been in Brooklyn. And Betsy... she was the spitting image of her gorgeous mother and still the apple of her father's eye. Then there was Possum Daniels, an honorary Barrell, who was getting accustomed to fatherhood and proving to be a good dad to young Rufus (that still took some getting used to for "old" Rufus).

"I'd forgotten how much I like being at the ballpark," Alice said, giving his forearm a gentle squeeze and bringing him out of his reverie. Rufus smiled and nodded in return, saying, "There really is nothing quite like it."

As the players played long toss and trotted around getting loose, Rufus saw a familiar face walking across the outfield. He groaned softly and Alice, noticing this, turned to follow his gaze.

"Well, well, well," she said as the right side of her mouth curled in a semi-smile. "Is that who I think it is?"

Rufus nodded and sighed. "I'm afraid so," he said.

Moments later, Sam Weatherford, general manager of the Portland Maroons stepped to the rail and grinned at Alice. "My word, is that the always lovely Peaches Reid I see sitting before me?"

Rufus seethed as he watched Weatherford leering at his wife. He noted that Alice's mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly - a sure sign that the famed Reid temper was bubbling to the surface.

"That's Alice Barrell, and you well know it, Sam," she said tightly.

Weatherford shrugged and said, "Yes, well... you can't blame a fellow for wishing it were otherwise, now can you?"

Rufus, tiring of being ignored and deciding to be the bigger man, rose and thrust out his hand. "Hello Sam. It's been a long time."

Weatherford, feigning surprise at seeing Rufus, laughed and said, "Indeed it has, Rufus. Indeed it has."

He winked at Alice and asked Rufus, "So what brings you to sunny San Diego?"

Rufus forced himself not to slug the smug s.o.b. and replied, "I'm here to scout some of these college boys for the OSA."

Sam tried to nod sagely - he almost made it. "Yes, that's right. I had forgotten you went into the scouting game after... well, you know..." He frowned and added, "It was a shame. Back in the Coastal Association we all thought you'd be going places, Rufus."

Rufus gritted his teeth. Back in the Coastal Association, when Rufus was a young hot-shot pitcher, Weatherford had been the catcher for rival Spartanburg. Weatherford had been a champion at heckling, rode the teenaged Rufus mercilessly and got under his skin constantly. Rufus typically got revenge by striking him out (although he sometimes walked him; Rufus had a tendency to overload his pitches when angry). He also had tried - unsuccessfully - to get Alice to date him. Weatherford was mediocre at best and never made it out of the Coastal as a player, but had somehow fashioned a reasonably successful front-office career after retiring.

Sam looked up and then smiled and said, "Say, how's that old buddy of yours... Roscoe or something... erm, Daniels. You know that all-mouth, no-talent catcher you had in Savannah. How's he doing these days?"

"Oh, Rollie's great. He managed for a time, but works for me now, doing scouting."

Alice piped up, "That's right. Rufus is the President of the OSA, Sam. He's done very well for himself."

Sam nodded. "That's no surprise, with a fine woman like you behind him."

Now Rufus really wanted to slug the guy.

"Well... are you in town for long?" Sam asked.

"The rest of the week, yes. We'll be seeing your boys play here tomorrow."

Sam smiled and said, "You're in for a show. My boys are legitimate contenders this year... you'll see."

He winked at Alice and added, "You should have married me, Peaches." As Rufus turned red and his hands balled into fists, Sam walked away, saying over his shoulder, "Oh, well. We all make mistakes."

Alice grabbed Rufus by the arm and pulled him into his seat. "Don't let him get to you. You're the only man for me and that's no mistake." And then she kissed him.

------

Back at the hotel later that day, Rufus was straightening his tie when there was a knock at the door. "I'll get it!" he shouted to Alice, who was still powdering her face. They were preparing to go to dinner with the coach of the Friars and his wife.

Rufus opened the door to find a bellboy waving a telegram. "Telegram for you, sir."

Rufus thanked him and gave him a tip, then asked, "Why do you look so glum, friend?"

The bellhop frowned and said, "Well, sir, I guess you haven't heard, but it came over the wire that Congress declared war on Germany today. We're in it now."

Rufus and Alice, crossing the country by train, had somehow missed the news that on the 2nd Wilson had asked for, and now gotten, a declaration of war.

He stepped into the powder room and told Alice the news. He saw her face drop and was not surprised at all when she said, "We need to telegraph home... right now."

Rufus felt the same way because his first thought was the same as his wife's: Jimmy.
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