[legendsport]

Detroit, MI: October 28, 1923:

"Come on, boys...." Rollie Barrell muttered. He was pacing back and forth across the modest width of the so-called "owner's box" at Thompson Field. In reality the "box" was a section of the lower bowl seating with a false floor built over several rows of seats to be level with the concourse behind it, and three painted wooden panels for walls to separate the baseball Dynamos' brass from the paying customers while leaving the fourth side open to the field. It was located just left of directly behind home plate. Great for baseball, but a bit less so for football: it was more or less directly behind the corner of the near end zone.

Rollie was watching his Maroons struggle against the Evansville Lions. The Lions were frustratingly good (especially defensively) and stood as the prime example of Jack Kristich's thus-far-successful "small town" vision for the American Football Association. The AFA, now in its fourth year of existence, had teams in some large cities: Buffalo, Chicago, Detroit, Cleveland, and Pittsburgh specifically. But it could not yet make inroads into the cities that Rollie - and Jack - knew would really spell the big time: the East Coast metropolises like Boston, New York and Philadelphia. All three had blue laws preventing Sunday sporting events (although baseball had somehow wriggled an exception to those laws). So the AFA featured a slew of smaller cities... like Evansville (and Duluth, Gary, Rochester - thinking of that one always made Rollie frown, having failed there himself).

Rollie's musings came to an abrupt halt when he heard the door behind him swing open and a booming voice say, "Barrell! A moment of your time, if you please."

Rollie swung around and forced a smile onto his face. Standing, or rather hulking, in the doorway was Edward W. Thompson. "Big Eddie" as he was called (behind his back) stood 6-foot-5 and weighed somewhere just south of 250 pounds - and it wasn't fat. Though he was in his fifties, Big Eddie looked like he'd be right at home down on the field, playing tackle and shoving opponents around. But instead, he was the owner of the ballpark (and the baseball team that called it home). And he was Rollie's landlord.

"Eddie, good to see you," Rollie feigned pleasure at seeing the gruff and blunt older man. He didn't dislike Thompson - he could be a generous and genial man in the right mood - but he was frightening due to his size and his mercurial temperament. Rollie briefly hoped that George Theobald was standing behind Thompson. Big Eddie's partner was the grand old man of baseball and a perfect gentleman. But he was not in luck - Eddie walked into the box (the floor shaking as he did so) and no sign of Theobald behind him.

"I won't take up much of your time. I figured you'd be here, with your team playing," he gestured toward the field with his chin. Rollie glanced down and saw his team take a two-yard loss on an attempted sweep. "I need to pick your brain," Thompson said, again drawing Rollie abruptly away from his own thoughts.

Taken aback, Rollie asked, "My thoughts? No offense Eddie, but you know more about this business than I do."

Eddie nodded, acknowledging the compliment. "That may be true, but this isn't about baseball... or football for that matter. It's about hockey."

Hockey? Rollie couldn't keep the confusion off his face. "I beg your pardon, Eddie, but I don't know anything about hockey."

Eddie laughed (at least Rollie thought he did - it sounded more like a bear trying to cough up a fish). "Not about the sport itself, more about whether you think it would work here in Detroit."

Rollie turned and looked out past centerfield. In the distance you could make out - barely - a sliver of water that was part of the Detroit River. "Canada's right over there, Eddie," he pointed with his chin. "Yeah, I think hockey would work here."

"I think so too. Point is this, Barrell. I know your brother is a damn fine hockey player, and I know you two talk occasionally. Heck, he comes through town all the time on his way back to his wife and kids in Toronto, right?"

Rollie was a bit surprised at how well Thompson knew his family, but opted for a simple nod in reply.

"Well, next time you see Jack, feel him out. The main question isn't so much whether I'll own a hockey team. I'm sure you've seen the Palladium going up next door." Rollie nodded. It wasn't as if you could miss the giant hole in the ground that was beginning to sprout a building. Thompson continued, "The question I'd like your opinion on, and Jack's as well if he's willing, is which league should I put it in?"

Thompson went on to explain that both the NAHC - of which Jack's Toronto Dukes were a part - was one party that had approached him about a team in Detroit. And the USHA was the other. That one was Jack Connolly's outfit (and Rollie remembered all too well that it was Connolly's gift of a fancy - and fast - car while trying to woo Jack that had started Jimmy down the path towards racing automobiles. A path that ended in his brother's death).

As if reading his mind, Eddie added, "I know your family has no use in general for Connolly. But this is business, and I am fairly certain that you will be able to put business first here. I'm not asking you to partner with Connolly. Just if you think it'd be better to go with a league that, bluntly speaking, is completely American, or one that is - for now - entirely Canadian."

Rollie took a deep breath. "Sure, Eddie," he replied. "I'll talk to Jack when I see him next. He's in Chicago, of course, his team's playing Buffalo at North Side Grounds today."

Thompson nodded. "Thanks, Rollie."

Then Eddie stepped forward to the rail of the box and looked out at the field where a mass of Evansville defenders were chasing Red Turnbow towards the sideline.

"Hmm," Eddie grumbled, "I bet I would have made a fine footballer, don't you think, Barrell?"

Rollie smiled and replied, "Come on, Eddie, you can't fool me. I know you played this game back at Detroit City College. Tackle, wasn't it?"

Eddie laughed. "I like you Barrell," he said and gave Rollie a slap on the back that nearly sent him tumbling over the rail.