[legendsport]

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."