[legendsport]

Baltimore, MD: May 20, 1931:

"Naw, that's not how you do it, Barrell," Jim Crawford said. Then he held up a finger, raised an eyebrow, turned his head and shot a stream of tobacco juice at the drain in the dugout floor. "Bullseye, son!" he exclaimed and pointed that same finger at the drain.

Fred snorted. "Don't call me son. I'm older than you are, Red Stick," he told Crawford.

The pitcher, born in Baton Rouge, who had been dubbed 'Red Stick' by Fred the year before, allowed that this was true, but since the difference was only a couple of months and Fred couldn't even spit properly, he wasn't due any extra respect due to his "seniority."

"That logic is fallacious," Fred said with a chuckle.

"Now don't you go all college boy on me, Barrell," Crawford said and then spat again. "Now show me something... son," he added with a wink.

Fred had only recently started chewing tobacco. Growing up he'd often seen ol' Possum with a bulge in his cheek, spitting nasty-looking brown juice in the dirt. It'd just never been something he'd wanted to do. Now... many of his team mates did it, so he had given it a shot. The first few times, he'd felt sick, now he could stomach it, but his "spitting technique," as Crawford put it, needed some work.

He was working up some extra spit when Crawford pointed out to the field. "Looks like you're about to be on deck."

Fred nodded and began pulling his chest protector off. He'd leave his shin guards on... just in case. There were two outs, and Tom Taylor was at the plate, with Vince York on deck. That pair had been on a tear thus far in what was still a very young season. But the Cougars were now a factor in the pennant race. The home-standing Baltimore Cannons were currently in first place while the Cougars were third, but only a couple games back. Chicago had taken the series opener the day before and, even better, wouldn't see Rabbit Day this series. The Cannons were loaded with pitching talent and Day was the best of the bunch.

Fred stood up and walked down to the bat rack, passing John Dibblee who was sitting in his usual spot beside the bats. The now 42-year-old legend was likely playing his final season, and only played sparingly. He had gone 2-for-5 in the victory the day before and was not playing today as he rarely played back-to-back games any longer. He gave Fred a nod. Fred felt a twinge of sympathy for Dibblee who had clearly lost bat speed. He was still very dangerous, but only in spurts, and with Tom Taylor, Vince York and Cy Bryant all excelling in the outfield, his days as a regular were definitely over.

Fred watched as Cannons pitcher Ken Carpenter delivered a two-ball, two-strike fastball to the switch-hitting Taylor. "The Canadian Club," hitting right-handed against the southpaw Carpenter, swung from the heels and sent a soaring fly ball to left. Cannons left fielder Lou Kelly barely moved, turning to watch as the ball landed in Banner Field's bleachers, making it 3-0 Cougars in the sixth.

Fred joined his team mates on the dugout steps, greeting Taylor as he came in after circling the bases. Then he bent down and unstrapped his shin guards, tossing them next to his catcher's mitt as he went out to the on-deck circle. Vince York flew out on the first pitch, so Fred was buckling the equipment back on a moment later. Still, he'd be leading off the seventh and had taken a collar so far. Carpenter who came into the game 7-1 wasn't at his sharpest, and Fred was hoping to get a hit in his next at-bat.

Jim Crawford set the Cannons down in order in the home sixth. After Fred grounded out for the third time, he again plopped himself down next to the hurler. It was his practice to always sit next to the pitcher, so they could compare notes and talk strategy for the opposition's hitters. Fred had quickly discovered that pitchers were a mixed bag of quirks, insecurities, and qualities mostly good and occasionally bad. Crawford, for example, was very smart and analytical, but also liked to have fun, meaning Fred sometimes needed to prod him to take things seriously. Dick Lyons, the best of the bunch (in Fred's opinion), was somewhat reclusive but professional to the core - his discussions with Fred were straight to the point and he didn't mess around - ever - when he was pitching. Dick Luedtke was a bit looser than Lyons, but cut from a similarly professional mold. Max Wilder was a veteran with a decade of FABL under his belt who was willing to share his knowledge and Fred had learned a lot from speaking with him between innings. Steve Castellini was the old man of the bunch at 36. He'd been a Cougar, then went to the Gothams, and had returned to the Cougars this offseason after leading the Federal Association in ERA the year before. He was a competitor and, at his age, was always on the lookout for an edge. He knew more about hitters than anyone Fred had ever met, but his tools were fading and he had resorted to, as he put it, "out-thinking the other guys," which was sometimes code for doctoring the ball.

Today Crawford was mostly serious and continued to cruise. The game ended when he retired Doc Cleveland on a grounder to second base. As Fred lifted his mask and trotted out to congratulate his pitcher, he realized that the Cougars had an excellent chance to win the pennant this season.

In the clubhouse, Fred was joking with Bill Ashbaugh when Hank Sims walked over, a serious look on his face.

"Give us a minute, will you, Bill?" he said to Ashbaugh who nodded at the skipper, gave Fred a wide-eyed look, and walked off.

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Detroit, MI: Same Day:

Bobby Barrell was sitting at his locker, in a bit of a daze. He was a big leaguer now, having made the Keystones out of spring training at the ripe old age of 19. He was playing right field every day and while he would have preferred to be in center, he certainly wasn't complaining. The Keystones were good too, and Bobby thought that he could really get used to this.

"Nice going, kid," said Rankin Kellogg as he sat down at his locker, which was - by Kellogg's request - right next to Bobby's whether at home or on the road. The Keystones had just finished downing the Detroit Dynamos 10-4 at Thompson Field. Bobby had gone 5-for-5 with two doubles, two runs scored and an RBI. He'd found that hitting right in front of Rankin Kellogg, and being a rookie, meant he saw a lot of good pitches to hit. And so far, he was taking full advantage of that.

He and Kellogg struck up a conversation about Bobby's at-bats, something they did after every game. Kellogg, good to his word, had taken Bobby under his wing, imparting the wisdom he'd gleaned over his six seasons as a Keystone. Coming from a man who'd managed to hit fewer than 30 homers just once (29, in 1926), failed to hit at least .330 twice (his first two seasons, .328 and .326) and had led the league in runs, RBIs, triples, batting average, on-base percentage and walks (the last of which he'd done five of his first six seasons), Bobby knew he needed to hang on his every word.

Kellogg was asking Bobby how he'd recognized the curveball he'd ripped into the gap for his first double when they were approached by manager Columbus Tuck.

"Barrell, I need to see you in my closet," Tuck said, nodding towards the small office the Dynamos afforded the visiting skipper.

"Sure thing, boss," Bobby said and stood up. He locked eyes with Kellogg who gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug, and then followed Tuck.

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Washington, DC: Same Day:

"Mr. Barrell? Your wife is on the phone," Mary called from the outer office.

"Call me Rufus, Mary!" Rufus shouted back good-naturedly. He waited a beat to see if she would apologize, as she usually did, when she "broke" his unwritten rule about calling him by his first name. He frowned a little when she failed to do so, then reached out and picked up the phone.

"Hello my darling," he said into the mouthpiece.

For a second he heard nothing, then he heard a sniffle and Alice said in a voice laden with sadness, "Rufus, my father died."

Rufus choked up and couldn't speak for a long moment. "When?" he finally managed to croak.

Alice explained that Harry had found him when he'd come in from school. Grandpa Joe had been planning to go see Harry's game that afternoon. They were playing Macon and old Joe had always enjoyed that particular rivalry. Harry had found his grandfather slumped in his favorite chair next to the radio. The radio was tuned to WSB with a news bulletin playing when Harry came into the room.

"He's just a boy, Rufus," Alice sniffled then continued, "I can't imagine him finding his grandfather like that."

Rufus noted that Harry was light-hearted by nature and much more likely to bounce back from this than some of his brothers might have been.

Joe Reid was 77 years old and had been in declining health for over a decade, his zest for life having left him after he lost both his wife (to the influenza epidemic in 1919) and his role as the president of the Atlanta Peaches of the Dixie League at nearly the exact same time.

Rufus spent nearly forty minutes on the phone with his wife. They reminisced about their own meeting, back in 1890, when Rufus was trying to catch on as a 16-year-old pitcher with Joe's Savannah ballclub and Alice had been her father's do-everything assistant, running the ticket booth, handling the clubhouse and doing nearly everything Joe himself didn't do. Joe Reid had taught his young pitcher and eventual son-in-law a lot about baseball. As a former catcher, Reid had an encyclopedic knowledge of the game, much of which he passed along to Rufus as the son he'd never had. He'd also doted on his slew of grandchildren and reveled in the fact that both Fred and Bobby had made it to the FABL, while Danny still had a shot and Tom looked like a lock. Harry, old Joe had once told Rufus, might end up being the best of the bunch.

"Harry told me that Dad had been acting as if he knew this was coming," Alice told Rufus. She explained that Harry had said that his grandfather had told him that "when I go, I don't want Danny, Freddy, Tommy or Bobby... or even you, Buster, to miss any playing time on my account." Harry noted that "Gramps looked more serious than I'd seen him in a long time, and added that his time was past and that the Barrell boys needed to take care of their own careers as that would be the best tribute they could pay to an old, broken-down ballplayer like himself."

Rufus, tearfully, acknowledged that he expected his sons might not want to adhere to their grandfather's wishes. While Tommy was hurt and would be able to attend, Danny was frustrated with playing in Double A and Rufus knew that both Fred and Bobby would want to leave their teams. He also knew that old Joe had been right: they needed to stay with their ballclubs and he would tell them so.

Of the older boys, he knew Rollie and Jack would be there. Joe... he wasn't sure. While his acting career was over, he was devoted to his fledgling career as a football coach - and he was all the way out on the West Coast to boot.

"He'd better come," Alice grumbled. "Dad was his namesake and he loved that boy - his very first grandson."

Rufus agreed. But he just wasn't sure Joe would show - and if he didn't, what would that do to his relationship with his mother?

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