[legendsport]

Toronto, ON: July 13, 1926:

Jack Barrell was angry. Marie had tried to calm him down, but the truth was he'd been on the edge of rage for three months, ever since the fight with Joe at Edna's wedding. To Jack, family was of paramount importance, and the fact that he and his brother were not on speaking terms bothered him. But he was also stubborn - and so was Joe - and so he wouldn't forgive his brohter until he apologized, which he knew Joe was unlikely to do anytime soon.

Bert Thomas' assistant (Jack thought the kid's name was Bobby... or maybe Billy?) told him he could go on in.

With a deep breath and a silent reminder to himself to keep his cool, Jack stood, strode across the carpet to the thick door of Bert's office, opened it and walked in.

The office was dim. It was a cloudy day in Toronto and Bert had also drawn the curtains, severely curtailing whatever light was available. The rotund owner of both the Toronto Wolves baseball club and Toronto Dukes hockey club, as well as a thriving hospitality business (he owned five hotels), sat behind his desk, hands clasped on his round midsection. He remained silent as Jack strode across the room and took a seat.

"Well, Mr. Thomas, you wanted to see me. Here I am," Jack said, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. He had a feeling he knew precisley what this meeting was about and he wasn't in a frame of mind that was going to be receptive to being bullied.

"Yes, Jack. Thank you for coming in," Thomas said in a flat tone. Just getting the pleasantries out of the way, Jack thought as he waited for Thomas to get to the point.

Thomas took a deep breath and then said, "No sense beating around the bush. I just traded you."

Jack was shocked and though it was evident on his face, he did manage to ask in a reasonably calm tone-of-voice. "Traded? Where?"

"Chicago. I believe that will fit in with your second career." He threw a newspaper down on the desk.

Jack glanced down at the paper. It was the sports section, folded over to page three where a story on the formation of the Continental Football Association was boldly headlined.

"Ah, I didn't know that would actually qualify as news here in Toronto," Jack replied.

"That's a Buffalo paper," Thomas explained. "I have a fellow who brings it to me, so I can keep tabs on that other league."

Jack knew he meant the rival hockey outfit where his friend Junior Connolly was running a team in Buffalo. He nodded but, "I see," is all he said in reply.

"So... now you think you can run a team too?" Thomas asked scornfully.

Jack's temper was already running high, but he forced himself to take a breath before he replied. "This was a great opportunity for me. I'm not going to be able to play forever, you know."

Thomas, surprisingly, agreed, saying, "True. And I'd welcome it if you had kept it in the family so to speak."

"Was I supposed to wait for you to... what? Make me the Dukes coach?"

Thomas spread his hands. "That's not - or rather wasn't - out of the realm of possibility Jack."

Jack chewed his lip. This was surprising news. But it didn't really change anything.

Thomas frowned and said, "Well, now you're Gussie Hoch's problem, not mine."

"I suppose I should say that you'll regret this," Jack said hotly.

Thomas shrugged. "Possibly. I've tried to keep you in the fold Jack, but you refuse to even meet me halfway here."

Jack's face felt hot as his temper threatened to boil over. "Meet you halfway? This has been one-sided from the very beginning. First you tell me, 'quit baseball, Jack, you're no good because if you were I'd have drafted you' and then you tell me, 'don't play football either Jack' - and I've done quite well there. You didn't want me to meet you halfway, you wanted me to cave to your demands."

Thomas again spread his hands, "And that attitude if why you're no longer a part of the Dukes family."

Jack scoffed, "Family? You treat us like indentured servants and if you think I'm the only player who thinks that, you need to talk to some of the other guys."

Thomas sighed and shook his head. "There's that bad attitude again. You, and the other players, are replaceable. The institution - the team - will go on. Without you and the others. Hell, it'll go on without me too, but I alone have the power to kill it." He gave a rueful chuckle and added, "Unless it kills me first, of course."

Jack barked a short, mirthless laugh and said, "As if you'd ever kill the goose that lays the golden eggs." Then he shook his head and ground his teeth. "You just don't get it Bert. You want loyalty from the players but show none in return. I hope someday you'll learn to treat your players better."

A humorless smile creased Thomas' face and he said, "Enjoy Chicago, Jack."

Biting back a scathing reply that would have contained language of which his mother certainly would not approve, Jack shot to his feet and growled, "Well, I'll play my role and say, 'You will rue this day.'" And then he spun on his heel and stomped out of the office.

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When he returned home, Marie told Jack that someone from New York had called. "Agnes, she answered the phone," his wife informed him. Now seven years old, Agnes had begun to assert herself in interesting ways. It reminded Jack of Jimmy in many ways that were bittersweet to say the least.

"Did she take a message?" he asked.

Marie nodded firmly and handed him a piece of paper with Agnes' nearly illegible printing scrawled on it. "At least she's trying," Jack said with a smile. Jack saw that the call had been from Urban Dane's manager, Patrick O'Doul. Jack noted that Agnes had spelled his name Odool and his smile widened.

Jack pulled out his wallet where he had tucked O'Doul's card. He picked up the phone and had the operator patch him through long distance to the small office O'Doul had opened on Madison Avenue in New York.

After two rings, the man himself answered the phone.

"What, no secretary O'Doul?" Jack asked smugly.

O'Doul's reply was a dry laugh followed by a simple statement: "Secretaries are a waste of money, Barrell."

Jack shared a laugh with O'Doul with whom he got along a lot better than did his brother Joe or Carl Boon. That was one reason he was working with O'Doul, and by extension Urban Dane, on this rival football league. As things currently stood, there was no way he could share a backfield with Joe.

Dane had, as advertised, drawn massive crowds across the country when he toured for almost two months with the Chicago Wildcats starting in early December. The success had caused O'Doul to immediately seek a better deal with Carl & Joe to keep his "client" a member of the Wildcats. Not surprisingly given their animosity towards O'Doul, the Wildcats owners had told him where to stick his offer.

So O'Doul was going to create his own league. A league built around Urban Dane. Dane himself would coach and play for the brand-new league's New York entry. And despite some grumbling from the baseball team, O'Doul had boldly named the team the New York Gothams... and then gotten the okay from the Bigsbys to let his team play in their stadium (for a sizeable fee, of course). But a league needed more than one team, and O'Doul had quickly sought out and found seven other people to run clubs. Jack had been approached and given the ongoing bad blood between him and his brother Joe, Jack had readily accepted a franchise to play in Chicago. He'd partnered with the same man who gave him use of an automobile while in Chicago to handle the business side (and provide some much-needed cash). Jack would both coach and quarterback the CFA's Chicago entry, which he had dubbed the Chiefs after negotiating a lease with Wash Whitney to use Whitney Park for the team's home games. He figured imitation was the sincerest form of flattery. Or maybe it was just monkey-see, monkey-do. Either way he was doing the exact thing Dane and O'Doul had done with the Gothams.

The other CFA clubs would be located around the country. There were teams in Boston, Brooklyn, Cleveland, Newark, Philadelphia, Youngstown and even Los Angeles. That latter entry was in reality a traveling team that would never play a home game, but it made headlines nevertheless. And with Urban Dane in the fold, hopes were high that the upstart circuit could knock out the AFA and take over as the nation's sole pro football league.

"I heard you were traded from Toronto to Chicago," O'Doul said. "In hockey, I mean. I still can't used to your being a player in two different sports, Jack."

Jack chuckled and said, "Then it's probably a good thing you didn't meet me when I was a struggling minor league baseball player."

O'Doul snorted and then noted, "I think Bert Thomas did you a favor. Being in town for the hockey season will allow you to keep your hand in with the football team in the offseason."

That aspect of it hadn't actually occurred to Jack, but he couldn't disagree with the assessment.

"Perhaps you're right, Pat," he said thoughtfully.

As the conversation continued, O'Doul filled Jack in on the progress the other clubs were making in things like finding a place to play, scheduling games and the other minutiae that few thought about when starting up a professional sports outfit. By the time the call ended, Jack was feeling better and some of his anger had shifted to an uneasy guilt about trying to stick it to his own brother. "Well, he started it," Jack muttered to himself.