[legendsport]

December 17, 1934: Egypt, GA:

Betsy Barrell came into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She had arrived home for winter break late the previous evening, with Harry picking her up at the train station in Savannah. There had been a brief debate amongst the three Barrell sons who were home regarding who would pick up Betsy. Tom, who was nursing some wounded pride after Millie Schneider had ended their relationship, claimed his status as the oldest exempted him; Bobby, with a wicked gleam in his eye went to his room and returned with his 1934 Whitney Award as the Federal Association's top batter and mentioned how he would be busy polishing it; Harry rolled his eyes at this, but he knew when he was beaten.

Now Harry, looking somewhat bleary himself, was sitting at the table with their father. Rufus, who had gotten a full night's sleep, was looking chipper. Betsy frowned at him and grunted when he wished her a good morning.

"Don't be so grumpy, young lady," Alice Barrell said as she entered the kitchen. Betsy offered a muttered "Sorry" and rubbed her eyes again.

"Rufus, I think Molly's sick," Alice told her husband.

Rufus frowned. "What makes you say that?"

"She seems listless and wouldn't come out of the corner."

Harry snorted. "Probably because she knows you're going to take Wilbur for Christmas dinner."

Rufus looked at his son. "Molly's a pig, Harry. She doesn't know any such thing."

"I don't know, Pop. I suspect pigs are smarter than people think. And Wilbur is Molly's son, after all."

"Ugh... can we talk about something besides the confounded pigs?" Betsy groused just as she saw that Rufus was about to point out that pigs didn't have 'sons' or 'daughters' - a philosophical discussion Betsy wanted to forestall.

Harry winked at Rufus and said, "Sure thing, baby sis. How about we talk about Gus Goulding getting drafted #2 overall."

"Ugh... Harry, if I didn't feel so tired, I'd pound you."

Harry smirked, "You'd have to catch me first, and I know you're fast on the track, but I bet I can beat you in a foot race."

Betsy's frown deepened, but she didn't say anything because she was considering the truth of his statement. Harry was quick and nimble with amazing reflexes, but fast? Bobby was probably faster. Betsy herself, running the 100 for St. Blane had not lost a single race in her college career thus far. She also anchored the school's 4x100 relay but the middle two girls unfortunately weren't all that fast. Still... guys were faster, that was just a fact.

They heard the screen door bang and Alice shot Rufus a look. "I know..." he muttered.

Deuce walked into the kitchen. He and Gloria were both staying with their grandparents for Christmas. Deuce had gone out to help Bobby feed the chickens. Alice didn't care how many Whitney Awards, World Championship MVPs or All-Star Games Bobby (or Dan, Harry or Tom for that matter) had. He had to pitch in around the farm, just like anyone else. That Deuce was back before his uncle probably meant he'd lost interest in that particularly mundane task.

"What's this about Goulding?" Deuce asked.

"Ugh," Betsy muttered again.

"I was just reminding my sulky sister that her old beau had been drafted second overall."

"By who?" Deuce asked.

"Whom," Alice said.

Deuce looked at his grandmother, confusion written on his face. "Huh?" he asked.

"It's by whom, Rufus," she said. Alice was the only Barrell who refused to call him 'Deuce' despite his preference for the nickname his late father had bestowed upon him.

"The Cannons," Harry said after rolling his eyes at his mother.

"Poor guy. That team is terrible," Deuce said.

Harry nodded in agreement. His Kings had manhandled the hapless Cannons all season long.

"Good teams don't typically pick second," Rufus pointed out to his grandson.

"It's no less than he deserves, that heel," Besty muttered.

Deuce nodded, then grinned and said, "Well, I'm going to be a #1 pick. Just like Uncle Harry," he said and slapped his uncle on the shoulder. Rufus thought his grandson might very well be right - his 1934 high school season had seen him post dominant numbers that included a 12-0 record, 0.81 earned run average and 185 strikeouts in 122.2 innings. As OSA head, Rufus knew his bureau already had Deuce pegged as the best pitcher in the 1935 draft class, a status unlikely to change.

"Let's hope that's the only thing you'll have in common with Harold the Terrible," Betsy said testily, and followed it up by sticking her tongue out at Harry.

"Hey! I picked you up at the train station. You could be at least a bit grateful," Harry said.

"Oh, alright. Thank you, dear brother," she said.

"What's that you're holding?" Rufus asked his daughter.

Betsy raised her right hand, which held a small magazine. "It's a football program. St. Blane versus Annapolis Maritime. I found it in my bag, I must have thrown it in there after the game and forgotten about it." She threw it onto the table and told Rufus, "I thought you might like to look at it."

Rufus reached for it, but Harry's hand shot out and grabbed it first. "Sorry, Pop," he said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. Rufus sighed and shook his head.

Harry flipped through the pages quickly, then stopped and said, "Ah, here we are."

He gave his sister a mock-serious look and read aloud, "Thomas Valentine Bowens." His lip curled in a smirk and he looked at Betsy, "Valentine, eh? Anything... erm, interesting behind that middle name?"

Betsy glared at Harry. "It's his father's name, you..." she growled then saw Alice's raised eyebrows and stopped short.

Harry chuckled and looked back at the program. "Hmm. Ok, Thomas Valentine Bowens beat Rome State last year on a blocked punt and recovery in the end zone." He stopped and nodded, saying, "Nice."

Betsy shook her head, but Harry continued to read, "This was a fitting climax for one of the best sophomore campaigns in Saints annals." He paused again and said, "Nice college word there, 'annals' - they teach you that at good old St. Blane?"

"Harry..." Rufus said.

Harry ignored his father and read some more, "May this year and next find him as rough, ready and sporting."

He closed the program and tossed it back onto the table.

He gave his sister an innocent look and said, "So, Bets. In your opinion is Mr. Tom Valentine Bowens, rough, ready and sporting? And if so, do you like him that way?"

Betsy growled and grabbed the rolling pin off the kitchen counter. Laughing, Harry bolted out of his chair and sprinted from the kitchen. Betsy took two steps, then shook her head and handed the rolling pin to her mother. "If I actually caught him, I might end up in the electric chair, so...." she trailed off and sat down in the seat Harry had just left.

The screen door banged again and Tom walked into the kitchen. He looked like he was ready to spit nails. He gazed at Betsy and growled, "Where is he?"

"Who?" Alice asked her son. Deuce whispered to Betsy, "Shouldn't she say 'whom'?" Betsy stifled a laugh and shook her head.

Tom turned to his mother and said, "Harry."

"What's he done now?" Rufus asked in a tired tone.

"I went out to chop some wood. I stuck my hand in my glove and found it filled with maple syrup," Tom explained. Then he turned to Betsy and told her, "He's too fast for me. You catch him and I'll whip his tail."

"Sounds like a plan," Betsy replied with a grim smile and stood up.

Wide-eyed, Deuce looked around at his grandparents, his uncle and aunt and asked, "Is it always like this around here?"

"Only when Harry's here," Rufus said.

Deuce shrugged and asked, "So... maple syrup... how about some breakfast?"

.