Part 1, Episode 24: Are You In Or Out?

The balance of the day at Ferret Fest flew by for Conrad. He again felt himself flashing back to his younger days, but instead of picturing himself as an awkward goof he remembered the few, precious times when he had met someone new and began the blissful period of infatuation. He knew they did not last long, but they were enough to make a lasting impression, all the way back to when he hooked his first girl friend as a 16-year old. Few things in his life had ever felt better than that.

As Conrad and Kate walked by the area set up for youngsters, he thought back to one event that had topped everything, the birth of his daughter Connie. He saw a little girl that somewhat resembled Connie being led around on the pony ride and unconsciously stopped and stared at her. After a few moments, Kate asked, “Conrad, are you alright?”

Hearing her voice snapped him back to the present. “Yeah, I’m sorry, Kate. I was just thinking about my daughter?”

“I didn’t realize you had a daughter,” Kate said.

“Yeah, she’s a beautiful little four-year old girl,” Conrad said wistfully. “She lives out in San Diego with her mother.”

“I guess you don’t get to see her very often, do you?” Kate asked.

“No, but I didn’t see her too much when her mother and I were together,” Conrad replied. “I was too caught up in my work.”

They stood together near the pony ride for a moment, then Kate asked, “Would you like to sit for a bit? I could use something to drink.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Conrad said. “I wouldn’t mind another cup of lemonade. What are you drinking?”

“Lemonade would be fine,” Kate replied.

Conrad walked Kate over to a picnic table and then went to fetch drinks. He rejoined her shortly carrying two large lemonades. Kate thanked him, and they both became preoccupied with their drinks waiting for the other to take the next step. After a few moments, Conrad told himself he was too old to get tripped up in these adolescent moments and took the initiative.

“I hope I’m not too forward in saying this,” he told Kate, “but for someone who is known as Satan’s Mistress, you are a lovely lady.”

He thought he saw Kate’s cheeks redden after he said that and wondered if he had, indeed, been too forward.

“Thank you, Conrad,” Kate replied. “That’s a very nice thing to say, at least the second part was.”

“I’m sorry if you hadn’t heard the first part before,” Conrad offered.

“Heard it,” Kate chuckled. “Hell, I started it.”

Conrad felt his eyebrows arch and had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. Kate, sensing that, sported a sly grin as she continued.

“You know,” she said, “that person, that evil bitch I am at work is just a role I play. It’s critical that I’m an effective gatekeeper for Mr. Farnsworth, and having people being scared to death of me really helps.”

“I’m sure it does,” Conrad said. “But isn’t that hard? Don’t you miss having friends at work, you know, someone who you can talk to and confide in?”

“I hear what you’re saying,” Kate said, “but I don’t believe in having friends at work. As a rule, it’s a bad idea. You don’t really know anyone when you just see them from 9-5. Particularly in my position, there are a lot of people that have agendas opposite to mine. You know, I’m supposed to give Mr. Farnsworth space and time to work, but there are those who want nothing more than to grab a chunk of that for themselves. It’s a naturally adversarial position, and I want everyone to know I’m a tough adversary.”

“So how do you spend your time away from work?” Conrad asked, genuinely interested.

“I don’t do much exciting,” Kate said. “I go to church, I do some volunteer work for a women’s shelter here in Midville, I read a lot, and watch old movies.”

“You don’t have a lot of cats, do you?” Conrad asked with a grin.

“Nooo, I’m not a crazy cat lady spinster yet,” Kate replied. “I’m saving something for my old age.”

“That sounds awfully lonely,” Conrad said.

“It can be,” Kate agreed, “but at least I don’t have the scars of bad relationships. I don’t have anyone to answer to but myself.”

“Simple doesn’t always mean good,” Conrad offered.

Kate looked down at the table for a few moments, then said softly, “I know.”
They quietly finished their lemonades and resumed their carefree tour of Ferret Fest. As dusk arrived and the festivities came to an end, Conrad and Kate parted ways with more questions than answers about each other and the nature of their relationship.


The next day back at the office, Conrad was distracted, and Gretchen picked up on that fact.

“Hey boss,” she said shortly before noon, “do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Conrad asked.

“What’s on your mind,” Gretchen said. “And don’t tell me it’s hiring a new football coach because it’s too early to start sweating that.”

“Well, Ms. Applebuns,” Conrad grinned, “you get an A for perceptiveness today.”

“Let me see if I can get the extra credit answer,” Gretchen said. “Would you have a certain executive assistant for a certain school president on your mind?”

Conrad gave her a bemused look and said, “A gold star for Ms. Applebuns today! Is that all around campus now?”

“No, no,” Gretchen assured him. “I just have my sources.”

“Have you thought about joining the CIA?” Conrad asked. “They need some help you know.”

“No thanks,” Gretchen said, “I’m sure the CIA is not nearly as entertaining as life with the Fighting Ferrets.”

“You’re probably right there,” Conrad agreed. “So what do you think?”

Gretchen looked down at the floor for a moment. Oddly, Conrad thought, she was not projecting any animal noises.

Finally, Gretchen said, “I think you’re all grown up and can spend time with whoever you want.”

“I appreciate that,” Conrad said, “but you know that’s not what I was looking for. Come on now, don’t be shy. You’ve got something to say, don’t you?”

Gretchen nodded, still looking at the floor. She eventually made eye contact with Conrad and said, “I know OF Kate but I don’t actually KNOW her. From what I’ve seen and heard, you can’t just stick one toe in the water and check the temperature. With her, if you’re in, you’re in all the way. I don’t think she understands or acknowledges the concept of casual dating.”

Conrad wasn’t surprised by this view since it was one possibility he had considered. “That’s good to know,” he said. “Thanks a lot Gretchen. I really appreciate your insight.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “Now let me ask you a question.”

“Fair enough,” Conrad said. “What would you like to know?”

“Well,” she hesitated for a moment and then proceeded, “are you going in?”

“You certainly worked through that shyness,” Conrad said. He stroked his goatee in a studious manner as he considered Gretchen’s question. “Not quite yet,” he finally answered. “I’ve got to get myself on more solid footing here, and I think any significant lifestyle changes would only distract me.”

“That sounds like a very wise approach,” Gretchen said, “just what I would expect from you. I noticed, though, that you didn’t say no.”

“That’s correct,” Conrad confirmed.


Conrad returned to his suite that evening for a disgustingly healthy dinner consisting of grilled chicken, carrots, and green beans washed down with spring water. He kept telling himself he would eventually adjust to his new healthy lifestyle, but it had not happened yet. In his mind he knew how silly it was to so desperately want to run down to Galaxy Burger and order a Star Burger combo (no cheese, only ketchup, of course), but he could not deny the constant yearning he had for the blissful combination of red meat, potatoes, and grease. Ummm, grease.

While he waited for Freddie to get home, Conrad looked around for something to occupy his time. He actually had plenty of work he could do, but he needed something to distract him and burn off this fast-food craving. He wondered, not for the first time recently, if there was a patch for recovering Galaxy Burger-holics. If not, he was convinced there should be.

As Conrad scanned the suite, his eyes locked onto the giant wheel. Freddie had on more than one occasion offered him the opportunity to take a spin in it, so it’s not like he would be violating Freddie’s space or anything like that. He decided this was the time to go for it. How difficult could it be?

Of course, that thought was the proverbial kiss of death. Conrad positioned himself delicately at the bottom of the wheel, trying to balance himself. He felt like he was a piece of fabric softener getting ready to be tossed around a spinning dryer, but he also took it as a challenge. If Freddie could navigate this contraption so easily, then by God so could he.

Conrad took a step forward with his right foot, then his left. As the wheel started moving, he lurched forward, holding onto the wheel while he tried to get his feet back under him. He thought if he tried to run faster inside the wheel, his feet would move ahead of the spin of the wheel and he could get himself upright. He was sadly mistaken.

As Conrad exerted more pressure with his feet, his right foot got caught between two of the bars on the wheel. Before he knew what happened, he had succeeded in stopping the motion of the wheel, but his foot was still caught in the spoke that was now at the top. He was hanging straight down, his hands still gripping a spoke now directly below his head.

Conrad felt his face redden with warmth as blood was flowing to it and wondered how he would get out of this mess. At this point, Junior popped through the trap door to Freddie’s room and scampered over to Conrad. Junior surveyed the situation for a moment, then proceeded to nibble on Conrad’s nose again.
Looking at Freddie’s adopted son, Conrad told him, “You know, Lassie would go for help.”

Fortunately, Freddie himself came through the door moments later and quickly rescued Conrad.

“You okay, buddy?” Freddie asked as he freed Conrad’s foot and helped him out of the wheel.

“I’m a little dizzy,” Conrad said, moving unsteadily toward his recliner while Freddie held his right arm, “but I’ll be okay.”

“Do you look for ways to get yourself in trouble?” Freddie said, shaking his head and smiling.

“Don’t have to,” Conrad said as he plopped into the chair. “It finds me with no problem at all.”

“Well, rest up pal because we’ve got a big day tomorrow,” Freddie bubbled.
“We do?” Conrad asked.

“You betcha,” Freddie replied. “First, I’m filming a commercial for the new Freddie Ferret energy drink, then we’ve got to go to Happy Trails to see Ferret Face run.”

“Whoa, back the truck up a minute,” Conrad protested. “Freddie Ferret energy drink?”

“Yeah, isn’t it great?” Freddie asked, the excitement clear in his voice and body language. “Two guys who graduated from Farnsworth came up with a new drink that’s supposed to be better than Gatorade or Powerade. They asked Mr. Farnsworth if they could name it after me and use me for the commercials. He said it was fine with him and then asked me. I said hell yes! Look out Michael Jordan, I’m starting my own product line!”

“Wow, Freddie,” Conrad said, his face beginning to regain it’s normal color, “you never cease to amaze me. What’s the drink taste like?”

“I haven’t actually tried it yet,” Freddie said. “The guys told me it’s thicker than Gatorade, more like a smoothie.”

“Smoothies are good,” Conrad asked. “Where’s the shoot?”

“It’s here at the Forum,” Freddie said. “They’ve got some students coming in to be extras, like fans in the stands. I’m going to do some of my routines, then the announcer will say, ‘This is Freddie Ferret, mascot and spirit leader at Farnsworth University. Freddie, where do you get all of that energy from?’ I’ll stop, take a swig of the drink, and say, ‘From Freddie Ferret Energy Drink.’ Then the announcer will talk about what makes it so good while I go back into my routine.”

“Not exactly Oscar material, there,” Conrad quipped.

“No, but Michael Jordan sells millions of dollars worth of stuff without being able to act his way out of a jock strap,” Freddie countered.

“Point taken,” Conrad said, knowing a good comeback when he heard one. “I’ll try and drop by.”

“Please do,” Freddie said. “I really want you to be there.”

“I’ll make sure I am,” Conrad assured him. “What time does Ferret Face run at Happy Trails?”

“Post time is 7:00, and he’s in the third race, so probably somewhere around 7:45,” Freddie said.

“It’s a good time to be the Ferret,” Conrad said.

“Damn straight,” Freddie agreed.


At about 3:30 the next afternoon, Conrad kept his promise to Freddie and entered the basketball arena in Farnsworth Forum to watch the filming of the “Freddie Ferret Energy Drink” commercial. The crew had been working for a while, and they were finishing their sixth take when Conrad arrived. Freddie saw him during the next break and bounced over to his friend.

“Hey buddy, glad you could make it,” he said to Conrad.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Conrad said. “How’s it going?”

“Okay, I guess,” Freddie said. “They’re shooting different angles, getting me to mix up some of my moves. The producer says dance, I dance. He tells the crowd to yell, they yell.”

At this point, Conrad looked up and saw several hundred youngsters in the stands, the majority of them likely being Farnsworth students who had responded to ads posted in the student union.

“The camera loves you, Freddie,” Conrad told him.

“And I love the camera,” he replied. “This is great! Hey, I’d better get back. It looks like they’re just about set for the next shot.”

“Yeah, man, go for it,” Conrad said. He stepped back toward one end of the arena and marveled at how much fun Freddie was having. He really was a natural and he fed off the energy of the crowd as the producer began to whip them into a state of frenzy for the next take. Conrad caught himself smiling and shaking his head in amazement as his furry friend performed.

During the next break, Conrad walked up to one of the crew members and asked, “You guys got any extras of this stuff? I’d like to see what it tastes like.”
“Sure buddy,” he said. “We’ve got some over in the cooler over there. Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” Conrad said, and he made his way toward the cooler. He noticed several flavors: strawberry, raspberry, and banana seemed the most common. Since strawberry was always a favorite of Conrad’s he grabbed one of the plastic bottles and twisted it open. It had a nice strawberry smell to it, and he proceeded to chug down a couple of swallows of the drink.

He then looked around frantically for somewhere to spit.

Conrad had never tasted anything quite like “Freddie Ferret Energy Drink” before, and hoped he never would again. The closest thing he could compare it to was like drinking wet cement. He was convinced that if he drank the whole twelve-ounce bottle he would surely poop out a brick, although probably not in the near future. “My God, that was vile!” Conrad thought. He then slipped out the nearest door and made his way toward the student union in search of something less disgusting he could drink to wash that awful taste out of his mouth. Liquid cleanser would probably be more pleasant, he thought.

Conrad struggled for the rest of the afternoon trying to figure out what to say to Freddie about that horrible product. Freddie was very excited to have something named after him, and Conrad didn’t know how to break it to his friend that he would have to be at gunpoint to even consider drinking it again. He then came up with a rationalization: There were plenty of food and drink items he didn’t like that were very popular: sushi quickly came to mind, as did most items served at Chinese or Mexican restaurants. Therefore, the fact that he detested “Freddie Ferret Energy Drink” didn’t mean it was bad, it just wasn’t for him. Yeah, that’s it, he thought.

Freddie arrived back at their suite at 6:00, tired but still excited. He waved at Conrad, who was watching SportsCenter, and headed into his room to take a shower. Twenty minutes later, a refreshed Freddie Ferret emerged, ready for the trip to Happy Trails Race Track to see his namesake horse race for the first time.

Conrad listened intently to Freddie’s recounting of the day’s activities, enjoying the enthusiasm Freddie clearly displayed about the process. As he was wrapping up, Freddie asked Conrad, ‘By the way, did you taste any of the drink?” Conrad had been dreading this moment all afternoon. He gave Freddie a clipped “yep” reply.

“Tasted like crap, didn’t it?” Freddie said.

“Like liquid cement,” Conrad replied without thinking, then felt his blood run cold at the flip way he had responded.

“Yeah, that’s pretty accurate,” Freddie agreed. “I told the guys they needed to take my name off it. If they can sell this rotgut, more power to them, but it’ll have to be without any help from me.”

“What about the commercial?” Conrad asked with amazement. “I thought you were so excited about it.”

“Oh I was,” Freddie concurred. “It was a great experience, and I hope I get another opportunity to do one. That being said, however, I’m not going to compromise either my integrity or the school’s by advertising a drink that would probably be better used for spackle than a replacement for Gatorade.”

“Are they going to let you out of the contract?” Conrad asked.

“Oh yeah, it’s no problem,” Freddie said. “I had a clause inserted that gave me the right to pull myself and my name out of the process at any time if I did not like the product.”

“You’re a slick little ferret, my friend,” Conrad marvelled.

“Well, when you’ve been in college for over seven years like I have,” Freddie said, “you get the chance to study a lot of subjects. I took some classes in business and contract law a couple of years ago, just in case.”

“Maybe I’ll get you to negotiate my contract with the Old Man if he decides to keep me,” Conrad said.

“My services are at your disposal,” Freddie said.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Conrad said.

Freddie raised his index finger and pointed out, “Only the cute ones.”

Part 1, Episode 23: Days of the Unexpected

Conrad felt the vibration of his cell phone ringing and instinctively knew it was bad news. It was his version of the “batphone.” No one ever called Batman on the batphone to tell him he had won an award, it was always a plea for help because the Joker or Riddler was creating havoc somewhere. Similarly, a call on his cell phone usually meant Conrad had to deal with some joker or other manifestation of chaos or just plain stupidity. This time proved to be no exception.

“Hello,” Conrad answered, the dread discernable in his voice.

“Sir, it’s me John Smith,” the panicy voice at the other end of the line said.

“What’s up John,” Conrad said, “and what’s that racket in the background?”

“I’m at the pool, sir,” John began, “and we’ve got a problem.”

“What else is new,” Conrad said as he felt his shoulders slump.

“Well, like you anticipated, we’ve got some media folks here for the water polo game,” John said.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?” Conrad persisted.

“Coach Fishwell stepped out of the locker room and saw the writers waiting for him,” John continued. “He ran back into the locker room and locked himself in the coach’s office. He won’t come out and the game is getting ready to start! What should I do?”

Conrad shook his head in disgust as he quickly decided on a course of action. “Tell the writers I’ll be down there in a few minutes with a statement,” he told John. “Just keep them out of the locker room until I can drag Biff out of there.”
“Yes sir!” John replied. “Ten-four!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Conrad said as he pushed the end button on his cell phone. He walked out to Gretchen’s desk and told her, “I’ve got some damage control to do down at the pool. After that, I think I’ll take my afternoon walk. Don’t wait up.”

“Good luck, Conrad. Hee-haw! Hee-haw!” Gretchen said.

How appropriate, Conrad thought as he hustled down to the pool, which was located on the opposite side of Farnsworth Forum from the athletic offices.
As promised, Conrad arrived at the pool within a few minutes of talking to John Smith. The writers were huddled near the door to the locker room waiting for any interesting development. Conrad approached the door and quickly addressed them. “Folks, I need to have a little chat with our coach. I will instruct him not to speak to the media until the conclusion of the season. Once I extract him from the locker room, I’ll make a brief statement.”

Conrad heard several questions being shouted at him by the gaggle of writers despite his preemptive strike, but he ignored them for the moment. He quickly walked to the coach’s office door and shouted at Biff Fishwell, “Biff, this is Conrad. Get your ass out of there now and come coach your team!”

“I can’t do it, Conrad,” Biff said. “I can’t face the media. I can’t face anyone.”

Conrad took a deep breath, then plowed forward. “Look, I told the writers you were off limits until the season was over. You don’t have to talk to them, Biff.”

There was silence for a moment, then in a voice more appropriate for a scolded eight-year old boy, Biff softly asked, “Really? I don’t have to talk to them?”

“That’s what I said,” Conrad continued. “I already told them that. All you have to do is pull yourself together and go out and coach your team. Dammit, you owe that to those kids.”

The room was again silent for a moment, then Conrad saw the door to the office slowly open. “You’re right, of course,” Biff told him. “Tell them I’ll be right out.”
“I’ll think I’ll walk out with you, if you don’t mind,” Conrad replied.

“Okay, let’s go,” Biff said, and followed Conrad out into the hallway.

Again, the reporters shouted questions, but Conrad ran interference until they reached the entrance to the pool. At that point, Conrad stopped and spread out his arms. “Hold on a minute, folks,” Conrad began. “While coach Fishwell is getting his team ready for the game, let me say a couple of things.”

Conrad paused to make sure he had everyone’s attention. He would be addressing writers from the Washington Post, Baltimore Sun, Annapolis Capital, the Hagerstown Herald-Mail, and numerous other local newspapers, all because of that single paragraph in Sports Illustrated.

“First,” Conrad began, “let me say we are proud of our student-athletes for hanging in the way they have. Obviously, our water polo team has not been nearly as successful as any of us here at Farnsworth had hoped, but that lack of success has not diminished the work ethic of the players. They have worked very hard and I think they will all learn something from this experience.”

When Conrad paused to draw a breath, one of the writers he did not know shouted out, “So how much of an embarrassment has this team been to the school, since they haven’t even scored a goal this season?”

Conrad, angered by the question, snapped, “See, that’s why I’m not going to answer any questions here. I just told you we were proud of the way the players have handled this. Now how do you get embarrassment out of that?”

Conrad glared at the writers, who took the hint and did not ask any more questions. “As of this moment, anyone associated with the Farnsworth Water Polo team is off-limits to the media until the season is over. We don’t want this turning into a circus and let the media have their fun at our students’ expense. Any requests for access after the season will need to be directed to me and expect any interviews to be chaperoned. That’s all for now.”

Conrad then turned his back on the writers and walked out to the pool. He stood behind one end to see that Fishwell had indeed gathered himself enough to organize his team and get them ready, at least on some level, to face Little Falls College. He watched the first few minutes of the game and saw the Ferrets fall behind 2-0. Convinced a miraculous victory was unlikely today, he found John Smith. “John, keep an eye on the game and call me if there is any more trouble or, God forbid, we score a goal,” Conrad said. “Make sure the media people don’t try to ambush Fishwell after the game. Everyone is strictly off limits.”

“Yes sir,” John replied.

“Oh, by the way, that means you too,” Conrad added. “If anyone starts firing questions at you, tell them I said you’re also off limits.”

“Ten-four,” John replied.

Conrad turned back toward John and said, “John, that’s unnecessary on the phone and just plain dumb in person, okay?”

“Yes sir,” John replied as he stared sheepishly at his shoes.

Conrad walked out of the Forum and headed toward the field where the Ferrets’ field hockey team was facing Little Athletic Conference rival St. Mary’s. The Ferrets still had a chance of tying for first in the regular season standings if they won the rest of their games. The way they had been playing, that goal seemed well within reach.

He walked at a fairly brisk pace as he had been trying to do the last few days. One thing Conrad’s doctor had recommended to help lower his dangerously high cholesterol was more exercise, and brisk walking helped fill that prescription. It was a brisk fall day, but he was comfortable in his lined Farnsworth windbreaker. As he approached the field, he saw the scoreboard, which showed the Ferrets leading 2-0 late in the first half.

Then Conrad saw Coach Cage on the sidelines and did a double-take. Why didn’t he have a jacket on in this weather, he wondered? An even better question was why didn’t he have a shirt on? From his movements, Conrad could tell that Cage was cold, so why wasn’t he wearing a full compliment in clothes? Well, at least he was winning, so Conrad told himself he wouldn’t get worked up over a wardrobe malfunction, but he was still curious.

Conrad stayed around to watch the rest of the game, which the Ferrets won by a convincing 4-1 score, then made a dash for Coach Cage when the game was over.

Catching up with the coach just before they reached the Ferrets locker room, Conrad said, “Nice game coach. Your girls are on quite a roll.”

“Thanks Conrad,” he replied. “We’ve won twelve in a row and still have a chance of getting top seed in the conference tournament.”

“That’s outstanding,” Conrad added. “It’s nice to have a winner on campus. There’s one thing I have to ask, though. What’s up with the outfit, or lack of such?”

Coach Cage looked at Conrad very sheepishly and finally said, “I’m sending a message to the team. If I can take the cold, they can be tough on the field without whacking the other players with sticks.”

Conrad looked at Cage suspiciously, then shrugged and said, “Okay, whatever works. Just keep it decent.”

Cage laughed awkwardly and said, “Sure will, Conrad. Thanks for the good words.”

Conrad began his walk back to the office, wondering if he would ever figure out the strange crew at Farnsworth.

Conrad and Troy Flemstone suffered through another dismal football game on Saturday, a 38-6 beating, but didn’t let it get them down because they had something to look forward to the next day—Ferret Fest. During the second half of the most recent weekly drubbing, more of their on-air conversation was focused on the festival than the game.

Ferret Fest was an annual festival on the Farnsworth campus where the students and community came together for food, fun, and festivities. The first Ferret Fest was held eleven years ago, only weeks after Farnsworth University first opened its doors. Mr. Farnsworth wanted to have an event to invite the Midville community to check out and hopefully embrace the university. He spared no expense, and it was an immediate hit. It had grown bigger every year and now commanded two year-round employees to coordinate.

Freddie had actually stayed in Saturday night, resting up for his biggest day of the year. No one was more popular or busier during Ferret Fest than the Ferret himself. Freddie had looked forward to this since the beginning of the semester, not unlike a young child anticipating Christmas morning.

Conrad had arranged to pick Troy up and bring him to the festivities. When they arrived back on campus, it was as if the school had been transformed into a combination carnival/arts & crafts/concert venue. Everywhere Conrad and Troy turned, they saw booths with vendors, stages with acts playing music ranging from rap to jazz to country, or games and refreshment stands set up by various fund-raising organizations from both on and off campus.

They stood for a few moments and took it all in, then Troy said, “Wow, thith it really thomething! I’ve never theen anything like thith!”

“It is pretty incredible,” Conrad agreed. “It’s obvious the athletic department didn’t have much to do with this, or else something would be collapsing, exploding, or on fire.”

“Boy, thath pretty harth,” Troy replied.

“Just think about all of the chaos around here the last few weeks,” Conrad said.

“I know,” Troy said, “I didn’t thay it wathn’t accurate.”

After walking around for a while, they stopped at a refreshment booth run by the Farnsworth Catholic Student Union. Troy bought two slices of pepperoni pizza, an order of Ferret Fries, and a Coke. Conrad, refusing to yield to the temptation to violate his diet, ordered a grilled chicken sandwich and a cup of lemonade. As they walked over toward a group of picnic benches, Troy nudged Conrad.

“Hey buddy, you’ve got thomeone checking you out,” Troy said.

“Oh really,” Conrad said, his interest piqued. He turned toward the direction Troy was looking and made eye contact with a familiar face—Kate. Conrad smiled and waved to her, and Kate smiled and waved back.

“Look, I’m going to walk around for a while and enjoy the thighth,” Troy told Conrad.

“Hey, I’m not going to ditch you,” Conrad protested, “I’m the one who suggested we hooked up today.”

“Don’t take thith the wrong way,” Troy replied, “but if you would rather be with me than an attractive lady who’th giving you the eye, well, I’m not comfortable with that.”

A grin spread across Conrad’s face. “You’re a good man, Troy,” he said, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Or not,” Troy said. “I’ll cath a ride with thomeone elth, don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, if you’re sure,” Conrad said. “Enjoy yourself.”

“You too,” Troy said with a sly grin.

As Troy headed off, Conrad walked over toward Kate. He had recognized her face, but the rest of her looked like a completely different woman. As Mr. Farnsworth’s secretary, she always had a harsh look about her, nearly devoid of any trace of feminism. Her hair was tied back behind her head and her features were sharp and bare with little or no makeup. Conrad had assumed that represented who she was. As he gazed at her now, trying hard not to stare, he wondered if that was all an act, a costume she put on every day in order to play a convincing role.

The woman Conrad saw now bore almost no resemblance to the shrew he saw during the week. Her red hair was unbound and flowed over her shoulders with a fullness most models would envy. She looked like one of those women in a shampoo or hair coloring commercial. Kate had applied a judicious amount of makeup, just enough to soften her features and accentuate her piercing green eyes and soft skin, which was lightly sprinkled with freckles. Instead of her weekday outfit of a plain blouse and equally plain slacks, she wore a form-fitting sweater that announced her firm, round breasts and curvy figure. The tight jeans and high-healed sandals that completed her outfit led Conrad to an inescapable conclusion—Kate Sargent was a babe!

Kate had remained in the same spot where she caught Conrad’s eye and waited for him to approach. When he reached her, Conrad said, “So Ms. Sargent, I have discovered your secret identity.”

Kate chuckled, and Conrad thought that wasn’t a bad opening line. “Are you here with anyone?” he asked.

“No,” she replied softly with an underlying tone of sadness. “I hope I didn’t chase Troy off.”

“No, we’re not dating,” Conrad quipped, “we’re just friends. It’s amazing how quickly you can get close to someone after a building collapses on both of you.”
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt more seriously,” Kate said. “It looks like Troy is on the mend.”

“Yeah, it was a nasty fracture,” Conrad said, “but it appears he’s a quick healer.” A moment of awkward silence followed. Conrad flashed back to his high school days when he would struggle to approach a girl at a school dance. He shook off that image and moved forward.

“Since I’m new here, I could use a tour guide,” Conrad coyly told Kate. “Are you available?”

“It would be my pleasure,” she replied with a glowing smile.

Part 1, Episode 22: "New Rules"

The tests went on for hours. An MRI, an X-Ray, and more EKG’s were the major ones, and enough blood was drawn to make Conrad feel like a buffet for vampires. Through this tedious process Conrad noticed two things; Freddie never left and no one would give him anything for the pain.

Finally, shortly before noon, another doctor came in and told Conrad, “Good news, Mr. Kondratowicz. We’re letting you go home.”

“So what did you find out?”

“The good news is that you did not have a heart attack,” the doctor said. “We’d like you to follow up with your cardiologist and get a stress test and an echo-cardiogram taken to make absolutely sure, but we’re confident you won’t walk through the doors and keel over.”

“That’s good. So what’s wrong?” Conrad asked with a trace of impatience in his voice.

“You’re blood pressure is troubling, and your cholesterol is almost 270 and it needs to be around 200,” the doctor continued. “You’ll need to cut out fats and greasy foods, like say, Galaxy Burger. Caffeine is also a no-no.”

Conrad gave the doctor a dazed look. “So what’s making my shoulder hurt?” he asked with a clearly impatient tone.

“We’re not really sure,” the doctor shrugged. “It could be a pinched nerve or something muscular.”

“Well, what should I do to stop this damned pain?” Conrad asked, his voice growing louder with each word.

“I would take about 800 milligrams of ibuprofen. That should help in a few days. The nurse will check you out,” the doctor said as he left the room.

Freddie stood quietly waiting for the outburst. He didn’t have to wait long.

“They kept me in here and ran up my bill for over nine hours and all they can tell me is to take some freakin Advil?” Conrad began. “I’ve been TAKING the freakin’ Advil and that doesn’t seem to have helped much, does it?”

Freddie fought the urge to answer, knowing that this was a rhetorical question.

“These nitwits scare the hell out of me, suck my blood out a vial at a time, don’t do anything for me, and then tell me I can’t go to Galaxy Burger when it’s all over!”

“If you have a pinched nerve, I can get you in with my chiropractor tomorrow,” Freddie said. “I’ve taken a few nasty spills and he really helped me out.”

“I should have gone to you for medical advice,” Conrad said. “That’s the most constructive thing I’ve heard since I got here. There might be somebody who would actually do something! What a concept!”

When Conrad had finished venting, the nurse came in to discharge him. Along with her instructions, she game him a copy of the hospital’s recommended low-cholesterol diet plan. Freddie then walked with Conrad out to the parking lot.

“Are you sure you’re ok to drive, buddy?” Freddie asked.

“Yeah, I can at least make it back to campus,” Conrad assured him.

“I’ll follow you,” Freddie said.

“Sure, whatever,” Conrad replied as he settled into the drivers seat of his Toyota Tercell.


Once they were back in their suite, Freddie flipped on the television to catch the Redskins-Rams game while Conrad staggered into his room and reprised his collapse into bed. This one took better than the one last night, as his sleep-deprived body finally gave in to exhaustion. He slept until the early evening, got up long enough to nibble at some pizza that Freddie had ordered in, then went back to bed and slept through the night.

When Conrad woke up on Monday morning, there was a note from Freddie, who had already headed out to an early class. He had an appointment at 11:30 with Dr. Smithson, a Midville chiropractor. Where doctors let you down, Conrad thought, friends step in to pick you up.


Dr. Smithson spent a few moments feeling around the back of Conrad’s neck while he laid face down on the examining table. “Yep, right here. I don’t think this nerve is pinched, but it’s severely aggravated. This hurts when I press down, doesn’t it?”

“Owww!” Conrad involuntary screeched.

“I’ll take that for a yes,” Dr. Smithson said. “Let’s get to work on it.”

The doctor proceeded to attach several electronic stimulus wires to Conrad’s neck and upper back, then fiddled with settings on the machine they were hooked into.

“We’ll leave you hooked up for about ten minutes and see how you do,” the doctor said as he stepped out of the treatment room, closing the door behind him.

Within moments, Conrad felt something he had not experienced in days-relief from the stabbing pain in his shoulder. It was still there, but had already approached tolerable levels. After the ten minute period had passed, Dr. Smithson reentered the room and asked Conrad how he felt.

“It’s amazing, doctor,” Conrad replied enthusiastically. “It’s still sore, but I can notice a significant reduction in the pain.”

“Good,” Dr. Smithson said, apparently not at all surprised. “That’s all we should do for today. Can you come back in tomorrow?”

“Hell yes!” Conrad said. “I’ll do this as long as I need to.”

“Good. My secretary will set up a time for you. We’ll probably need to do this up through Friday, then we can reassess. By the way, be careful how you use that arm. The best thing is to use it as little as possible for the next few days. Can you lift it up?”

Conrad, still lying down on the table, noticed he couldn’t even bring it up to the height of the table, much less raise it above his head. “No, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Not to worry,” the doctor assured him. “There’s likely been some nerve damage. You’ll have to work to regain the movement and strength in the arm after we’ve healed it up a bit.”

“I can live with that, doctor, as long as the pain is manageable and I can get some sleep,” Conrad replied.

“You should see steady improvement in that, starting tonight,” Dr. Smithson said.

“Great,” Conrad said, filled with relief. “Thanks a lot for your help.”

“My pleasure,” the doctor said as he again left the room and closed the door.


Conrad returned to his suite and took a nap, the most restful sleep he had enjoyed in a week. He set his alarm to wake him up around suppertime. At the scheduled time, he arose and, while carefully protecting his still tender shoulder, took a badly needed shower. Feeling refreshed, he threw on some sweats and entered the living area.

He didn’t think much could surprise him any more, but he was taken aback with what he saw when he headed toward the kitchen. There was Freddie wearing an apron and a chef’s hat, both adorned with his official logo. He was baking some chicken in the stove. Before then, Conrad didn’t know for sure that the stove actually worked. On the burners sat two pots, one with carrots, the other with green beans. Conrad stood and took the scene in for a moment, at once both amused and touched that Freddie would go to this trouble for him.

“Hey Freddie, what’s going on,” Conrad asked with a smile. “Is the Queen of England coming for dinner?”

Freddie chuckled and turned toward Conrad. “No,” he replied with a smile, “just the King of Farnsworth sports. Glad you’re up and around. I guess my man did some good work on you.”

“Oh boy, he sure did,” Conrad enthusiastically responded. “I feel a lot better.
You didn’t have to go to all that trouble cooking dinner, man. Thanks.”

“Happy to do it, buddy,” Freddie said. “You’ve got to get that cholesterol down so you don’t go from the emergency room to the cardiac wing.”

“I just hope they don’t close down the Galaxy Burger in the student union as a result,” Conrad said.

“I’m sure it’ll still be there,” Freddie said. “They just won’t be able to give bonuses to the employees now.”

“Yeah, they’ll have to find someone else’s orders to mess up,” Conrad added. “I do have a wicked headache, though, probably because I haven’t had any caffeine in a day and a half. Let me reach around you here and grab a Diet Coke.”

Freddie moved over to allow Conrad to open the refrigerator.

“Hey, where’s my case of Diet Coke?” Conrad asked.

“I dumped them out,” Freddie said calmly. “Remember, the doctor said you couldn’t have any caffeine.”

“I know that, but I just need something to take the edge off,” Conrad said.

“Nope,” Freddie said. “No means no.”

“Aw come on, man! I need some caffeine,” Conrad whined.

“No, Conrad,” Freddie insisted. “Remember, you said you were going to quit feeling like a victim.”

“I’m going to make you feel like a victim if I don’t get some caffeine!” Conrad said.

Suddenly, he lifted Freddie up and threw him up against the wall, grabbing him firmly beneath each armpit, ignoring the pain running down his left arm.

“Where’s my Diet Coke, you overgrown rodent,” Conrad said through gritted teeth, shaking Freddie as he spoke.

Before he knew what had happened, Conrad found himself lying face first on the floor with Freddie on top of him with a knee buried in Conrad’s back, twisting his right arm behind him.

“Damn, Freddie, how’d you do that?” Conrad asked in amazement through gritted teeth.

“I wind up in a lot of places where they might not look so kindly on a guy wearing a ferret suit,” Freddie said. “I had to either learn how to defend myself or rest in pieces. By the way, I know 15 different ways to kill you from this position. I thought you might want to know that.”

“That is very interesting,” Conrad agreed. “Thanks for sharing that.”

“Now, I hope I have motivated you to apologize for the ‘overgrown rodent’ remark you just made,” Freddie said evenly.

“Highly motivated, my friend,” Conrad replied enthusiastically. “Highly motivated. I am truly sorry for losing it, Freddie. Please accept my sincere apology.”

Before Freddie responded, Junior burst through the trap door from Freddie’s room, not wanting to miss any of the action. He positioned himself in front of Conrad, still prone on the floor, and began chewing on his nose.

“Well,” Freddie said, “if Junior’s cool with it, so am I.” Freddie took his knee off of Conrad’s back and released his arm. He then lent a hand as Conrad slowly staggered to his feet.

“By the way,” Freddie added, “did you notice that I did not twist your bad arm?”

“Mighty decent of you,” Conrad said. “Hey, I’m really sorry for calling you a rodent and throwing you up against the wall”

“You called me an overgrown rodent,” Freddie corrected him. “I resented that because I work hard to stay in shape.”

“You look lovely,” Conrad said. “Can we sit down and enjoy the nice dinner you were kind enough to make?”

“Even without caffeine?” Freddie asked.

“Well, I guess I need to get used to it,” Conrad said, “so yeah, I’ll just have some water.”

Freddie reached in the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of spring water, and handed it to Conrad.

“Thanks,” Conrad said. “You’ll make someone a wonderful wife someday.”

“Yeah,” Freddie said, “don’t you wish you could have some of this fur for yourself.”

“There’s a mental image I’ll spend the rest of the night trying to get out of my head,” Conrad said as they sat down to eat a peaceful dinner.


After dinner, Freddie handed Conrad an envelope. “Gretchen called me this afternoon and asked me to give this to you,” Freddie said.

Opening the envelope, Conrad found a copy of a page from Sports Illustrated. It was from an advance of the issue coming out the following weekend, a page from their front section, called “Scorecard.” The magazine included several short noteworthy items, and one of this issue’s carried the heading “Scoreless.”

“Oh holy crap,” Conrad said ruefully as he read the item, slowly annunciating each word. “We are officially an item of curiosity on our way to becoming a laughing stock.”

“You mean Farnsworth got mentioned in Sports Illustrated?” Freddie asked with amazement.

“Yep,” Conrad replied. “They did a short piece on our now infamous water polo team.”

“That can’t be good,” Freddie said.

“No, it isn’t,” Conrad said. “They pointed out that not only have we not come close to winning a game this season, we haven’t even scored a goal.”

“Well,” Freddie added, “at least they got their facts right.”

“They closed with a cheap shot I don’t think you’ll care for,” Conrad added. “To quote, they wrote ‘apparently, Ferrets aren’t very good swimmers.”

“Those bastards!” Freddie said contemptuously.

“We can expect to get some press coverage for our next game because of this,” Conrad said. “If the streak continues, it will just build up over for the last two games.”

“Yeah, and without a sports information director, that’ll fall onto you to coordinate it, won’t it?” Freddie asked.

“Yep,” Conrad replied with resignation. “I needed this like I needed another freakin’ hole in my head.”

Conrad began to eat the meal that Freddie had served up while they were talking. “This is great, Freddie! The chicken is moist and very pleasantly seasoned. How did you get to be such a good cook?”

“Well,” Freddie said, “you’d be amazed at how ladies love a man that can function well in the kitchen. It’s a skill that I practiced and that’s come in very handy.”

“You furry gigolo,” Conrad said. “You know, the last time a woman fixed me a nice sit down meal, I had to sleep with her. I’m assuming that’s not part of the deal here, right?”

“You’re a nice guy and all that,” Freddie said, “but I’m afraid things might get weird between us afterward.”

Conrad stroked his goatee and nodded. “Good point, my friend. We wouldn’t want things to get weird around here, would we? So, what’s for dessert?”

“You are a greedy little bastard, aren’t you?” Freddie asked. “This is it pal.”

“Oh, you’re such a tease,” Conrad said with mock disgust. “Hey, wasn’t today the reading of Father Ferret’s will?”

“Yes it was,” Freddie replied.

“So whatcha get, whatcha get?” Conrad asked.

“A horse,” Freddie answered.

“Aw, that’s sweet, the little ferret boy got a horsie,” Conrad said in baby talk. “No, really, what did he leave you?”

“A horse,” Freddie reiterated. “A race horse.”

“Really?” Conrad said with astonishment. “Wow, how cool is that?”

“It could be pretty cool,” Freddie agreed. “He’s stabled at Happy Trails Racetrack, you know, about 30 minutes from here. He’s running a race next week and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me and check him out.”

“Would I?” Conrad shrieked. “Of course I would. Just remind me to leave my credit cards here. If I remember correctly, they’ve got slot machines there and, well, I’ve got a bit of a problem in that environment.”

“Sure thing,” Freddie said.

“Oh, by the way, what’s the horse’s name?” Conrad asked.

“Ferret Face,” Freddie replied.

“Perfect,” Conrad said with an approving nod.

Part 1, Episode 21: "A Dab of Reality, A Pinch of Mortality"

As Conrad walked toward his office the next morning, he could hear growling from Gretchen’s cubicle, an early warning sign of trouble. He felt his pace, already slower than usual after another restless night because of his sore shoulder, reduce to nearly a crawl. After the emotional ringer he had been through the last few days, he just didn’t need to start the day with a new problem.

As he reached his office, Conrad saw that this was not a new problem. Rather, it was a new episode of an ongoing concern. “Conrad, I really, really need to see you,” the water polo coach, Biff Fishwell said as he stood to greet his boss. Conrad stopped, took a deep breath, and escorted the coach into his office accompanied by the background noise of Gretchen’s barking.

After plopping into his chair and grimacing when it felt that a hot knife had been stuck through his shoulder, Conrad engaged the obviously troubled water polo coach. “What’s on your mind, Biff?”

“I can’t take this anymore, Conrad,” Fishwell blurted out. “I just can’t freaking take it!”

“I’m assuming you didn’t win yesterday,” Conrad said.

“Are you kidding?” Fishwell screeched. “We don’t win. We lose and lose and lose, and then you know what? We lose some more. I can’t take it!”

Conrad sighed and gingerly sat back in his chair. “How bad was it yesterday?” he asked.

“14-0,” Fishwell spit out. “14-0! You just can’t lose a water polo game 14-0. This is an embarrassment. My reputation will be ruined! I can’t take it anymore.”

Conrad pulled his chair up to the edge of his desk, sat up straight, and locked into direct eye contact with Fishwell. “Look, Biff,” Conrad said, measuring his words in a very firm tone, “you talked Mr. Farnsworth into starting this program. You told him you could put together a decent team when common sense would tell you otherwise. Now you have failed miserably and you want to bail out!? Are you really that much of a weasel?”

Fishwell looked at Conrad for a moment and softly said, “I’m afraid I am.”

Conrad, not for the first time since coming to Farnsworth U, fought the urge to jump over his desk and strangle the person sitting in front of him. After again successfully resisting that urge, he looked at Fishwell and said, “I will not allow you to bail out on those poor kids that have tried their best to represent this school. They’ve been put in a no-win situation, literally, and I will not let you sneak out the back door. You make sure your ass is at practice today working with those kids and trying to salvage something out of this disaster. They deserve your best effort, and you had better give it to them. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Fishwell sheepishly said.
“Good. Now get out of my office,” Conrad concluded and turned toward his office window.


Another Saturday meant another exciting afternoon of Fighting Ferret football. For this game, Conrad and Troy Flemstone had to make the three and one-half hour trip to Charlesport, Pennsylvania to broadcast Farnsworth’s game against the Charlesport College Charley Horses.

The Ferrets entered this game at 0-8, having suffered two blowout losses since their last-second defeat vs. Key College. Charlesport’s season was heading in the opposite direction, with only one loss in their eight games. Conrad and Troy both expected to watch another bad beating vs. the Horses, and agreed that the only thing worse than watching your team get slaughtered was having to go so far out of your way to do so.

Conrad and Troy correctly anticipated the outcome, a 45-3 thrashing. Perhaps the most discouraging thing about it for Conrad was the fact that the Ferrets had not made many mistakes. They had drastically reduced their tendency to turn the ball over deep in their own territory and set their opponents up for easy scores. That should have been encouraging, but instead the Farnsworth team was physically pummeled on both sides of the ball.

Charlesport did not need turnovers to dominate the Ferrets. They totally controlled the line of scrimmage and methodically marched downfield nearly every time they had the ball. Stump Williams’ team seemed helpless to do much about it. The defense had kept them in games early in the season, but that unit appeared to have nothing left in the tank at this point.

Troy noticed Conrad was unusually quiet on the trip back from north-central Pennsylvania, passing countless bars and adult bookstores on the winding and hilly country roads. Conrad mentioned how sore his shoulder was and asked Troy how his collarbone was healing. The news from his doctors was good and he was healing at a rapid pace. He was now nearly off the painkillers and feeling a lot more like himself.

“Do you have any of those with you?” Conrad asked.

“You mean my painkillerth?’ Troy replied.

“Yeah, you got any on you?” Conrad reiterated.

“Why?” Troy asked. “You aren’t thopothed to take thoth without a prethrcipthun.”

“I know, but one would hopefully take the edge off and let me get some sleep tonight.” Conrad said.

“Well, I gueth tho,” Troy acquiesced. “You really thould eat thomething with that, though. Let’s thtop at the next gath thation and get a thnak.”

“Okay, whatever,” Conrad agreed. “I don’t need to get sick to my stomach on top of my shoulder throbbing.”

“Ith none of my buthineth, but have you thought about theeing a doctor?” Troy reluctantly inquired.

“Yeah, but I hate to take the time,” Conrad said, trying to blow off the suggestion. “I’m sure I just slept on it wrong or something. I just need to get some sleep and give it time to heal up.

“I hope you’re right,” Troy said, feeling he had nudged Conrad as hard as he was comfortable doing. About 15 miles outside of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, Troy saw a gas station with a food store and pumped gas while Conrad went in to select snacks for them both. Back on the road, Conrad quickly downed his Twinkies and a bottle of water along with one of Troy’s pain pills and managed to doze off before they crossed the Mason-Dixon Line back into Maryland.

Troy drove Conrad to his suite on campus and refused the gas money offered to him. “You’ve got the next trip,” Troy said, “jutht try to get thome retht. If you don’t get any relief, pleath go and get your thoulder looked at.”

“I will Troy,” Conrad lied, “thanks again for the ride.”


It was still before 9:00 PM on a Saturday night, but Conrad had eyes only for his bed. He went to his room, closed the door, and plopped on the bed without bothering to take his clothes off. He had figured he still had some buzz from Troy’s pain pill and wanted to get the maximum benefit.

Conrad slept until nearly 1:00 AM when he awoke to a burning, searing pain now shooting down his shoulder through his left arm. Still not fully awake, his clouded mind told him he might get some relief by going out onto the couch, where he could get some support for his shoulder. He tried that for a while with no noticeable relief. Nearly crazed with pain, he got up and paced around the suite. Junior popped out of Freddie’s room acting like he wanted to play whatever game he thought Conrad was playing, but all he succeeded in doing was nearly being stepped on. Finally seeing the little ferret at the last second, Conrad avoided squishing Freddie’s adopted son.

That momentary distraction from the pain provided a moment of clarity in his foggy thoughts. Shooting pains down the left arm, he thought, that sounds like a heart attack, or at least some type of heart problem. Oh my God! I’ve got to break down and get this checked out, he thought. I’m not going to just stand here and keel over like my dad did.

Since the hospital was less than two miles away, Conrad decided to drive himself to the emergency room and not disturb Freddie. He knew late Saturday night/early Sunday morning was the worst time to go, since he would get mixed in with victims of bar fights, shootings, and other alcohol related mischief, but he was too afraid to wait until later in the morning. Maybe at least they could give him something for the pain while they diagnosed what the cause was, he hoped.

It was after 2:30 AM when Conrad walked through the emergency room door at Central Maryland Hospital. Apparently there was not the usual amount of Saturday night mayhem, or else it had occurred earlier and been cleared out, because he had only a short wait before being called up to the admission window.

Trying to get an asian-american nurse to spell his polish-american name probably kicked his blood pressure up at least another ten points, but the effort finally proved successful. His blood pressure checked in at a disturbing 180/110, which probably accounted for the warmth he felt in his face and ears. This usually happened when he was angry or frustrated, so it was a sensation he had become all too familiar with the last few weeks.

The beds in the emergency room were not known for comfort, and try as he might Conrad could not get himself positioned in a way that did not exacerbate the nearly overwhelming pain in his shoulder that was steadily making its way down his arm, now passing below the elbow. His blood pressure was checked again, now registering 185/113. The obligatory “just-in-case” IV tube was inserted into a vein just above his left wrist, a normally unpleasant feeling that tonight was agonizing.

After only a few minutes of waiting, an attendant showed up with an EKG machine. The leads were quickly attached, and the test was run. “Apparently I’m not the only one who thinks I’m having some type of heart episode,” Conrad thought. He received further confirmation of that a brief time later when a doctor came in holding the printout.

“Mr. Kondratowicz, there is an irregularity in your EKG,” the doctor, with “Patel” on his nametag, told Conrad. “We’ll be sending you down for an MRI shortly to check it out some more.”

Before Conrad could ask any questions, the doctor was gone and replaced by a nurse who was setting him up with oxygen. “Can I get something for this damned pain?” Conrad asked her.

“No sir,” she answered, “not until we run some more tests. Now just lay back and rest until we take you downstairs.”

Seeing no other options, Conrad did as he was told. He laid back and tried to take his mind off the pain still shooting down his arm and the possibility of a life-threatening event actually going on inside his body at that very moment.
He was scared, and he was alone.

Conrad had never felt so alone in his life. There had always been his parents there as a kid, his mother, at least to some extent, as a young adult, and then Camilla. But now, both his parents had passed on and Camilla was 3,000 miles away. When asked who should be contacted in case of an emergency, he had given the nurse his own home phone number and Freddie’s name. She gave him a strange look, apparently not familiar with Farnsworth U.

Conrad’s life had reached the point where the person closest to him in the world was a guy in a ferret suit. His best friend for over 25 years, Nick Petrocini, had apparently lost his phone number. Even the last couple of times Conrad had given in and called him, Nick got him off the phone as quickly as possible. How in the hell could things have come to this, he thought.

Suddenly, he heard a commotion down the hall and saw several members of the emergency room staff dash by his bed in a blur. The noised continued for a few moments until it was replaced by an eerie quiet, almost as if the oxygen had been completely sucked out of the area. A short time later, he saw a couple he believed to be husband and wife shuffle by his bed on the way to the exit. The woman was walking with her head buried in her husband’s shoulder, and Conrad could hear her quietly sobbing. Walking a few feet behind them, with a very somber look on his face, was a priest.

“Father, what happened?” Conrad called out to him without thinking.

The priest stopped and walked toward the foot of Conrad’s bed. “That couple just lost their four-year old son,” he said. “He had run out into the street and been hit by a car.”

“Geez, that’s terrible,” Conrad said.

“Yes, it was a very painful loss,” the priest agreed.

“I’ll offer a prayer for them, father,” Conrad said.

“Bless you,” the priest said. “I should be going.”

“Of course,” Conrad said, “Thanks for stopping by.”

Conrad began to drift off into sleep, still awaiting his MRI exam, when he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, Conrad, what’s goin’ on?” He didn’t even have to look to see the furry face that voice belonged to.

“They think I may be having a heart attack,” Conrad said.

“No!” Freddie said in astonishment. “Is that tied in with the pain you’ve been having in your shoulder?”

“They think so,” Conrad confirmed. “They said I had an abnormality on my EKG, whatever that means. I’m supposed to be going for an MRI to check it out further.”

“Damn,” Freddie said, clearly shaken. “You still in a lot of pain?”

“Oh yeah,” Conrad said ruefully. “I guess they don’t want to knock me out until they come up with a diagnosis.”

“You know,” Conrad continued, “I saw something pretty tough before you came.”

“Oh yeah?” Freddie replied. “What was that?”

“I saw a couple walk by that had just lost their four year old son,” Conrad said.

“He got hit by a car and died just a short time ago down the hall.”

“Man, that is tough,” Freddie agreed. “That’s about your daughter’s age, isn’t it?”

“Yep,” Conrad said. “It sort of puts things in perspective.”

“What do you mean?” Freddie asked.

“What I mean is that,” Conrad said, “even though my marriage is over and I’ll probably seldom see my daughter in the future, and I might be having a heart attack, at least at this moment I’ve still got a chance. I’ve already had chances that poor little boy never even dreamed of, and even though I’ve pissed those away, I’m still here. I can still get it right. I’m tired of feeling like a victim, Freddie, and if I walk out of this place, I will NOT be one going forward.”

“I hear that!” Freddie said as he watched tears stream down Conrad’s red cheeks.

“I mean it man!” Conrad shouted through sobs. “Whatever’s wrong with me physically, I’ll get it fixed and get on with my life! I can’t make up for the 43 years I’ve piddled away in bad relationships and working for ungrateful bosses, but I can make damned sure I stop that cycle right now!”

“You the man!” Freddie said, pumping his furry fist in the air.

“First, though,” Conrad concluded, “I need to find out what’s going on inside of me.”

Part 1, Episode 20: Digging Deep

Still stinging from the harsh words from Camilla, Conrad returned to his suite and found Freddie sitting in the dark, staring at a blank television screen.

“What’s wrong, Freddie,” Conrad asked, suspecting he already knew the answer.

“He passed away a couple of hours ago,” Freddie said somberly, referring to the demise of Father Ferret.

“I’m really sorry buddy,” Conrad said, trying to console his friend. “I know he meant a lot to you.”

“He sure did,” Freddie said, still staring at the television. “He sure did.” Freddie then snapped out of his semi-trance and turned to Conrad. “How did your meeting go?” He asked.

“Well, I got what I wanted in the agreement, but it was still tough,” Conrad replied.

“Did you and she exchange words?” Freddie asked.

“Yeah,” Conrad sighed. “If you could make money as a ‘bitch-for-hire’ she’d get rich.”

Conrad joined Freddie on the couch and they both sat silent for a few moments.

“Look, this isn’t going to do either one of us any good,” Conrad finally said. “Let’s go out, throw down a couple of brewskis, and get some stuff off our chests.”

Freddie pondered that suggestion for a moment, then stood up and said, “You know what, you’re right! Let’s get out of here.”

Conrad drove them to “Chaps and Spurs” which, on a Wednesday night, was fairly quiet. Most of the customers there that evening were focused on the baseball playoffs, which held little interest for either Conrad or Freddie. Would the Yankees win again? Neither one cared.

They sat down in a corner booth and began sipping their first beers. Conrad then said to Freddie, “Tell me about Father Ferret. Gretchen filled me in on who he was to the school, but why do, er, did you feel so close to him?”

After contemplating that question for a few moments, Freddie began. “I guess she told you that he mentored me for a year before he went off to law school.”

“Yeah, I know that part,” Conrad replied.

“Well, Mr. Farnsworth knew my family from some business dealings he had with them, and he had suggested that I come to Farnsworth U to pursue my education. He told my folks he’d look after me. Not long after I began my freshman year, he called me in to his office and suggested that I take Father Ferret’s spot as the face of the school.”

Conrad again noticed that Freddie never referred to himself as a mascot, and correctly so. He was much more than that to Farnsworth. He was more like an ambassador in the community.

“I thought he was nuts,” Freddie continued. “I was real introverted, believe it or not, and just couldn’t see myself jumping around at the games, much less making the kind of public appearances that Father Ferret did. Mr. Farnsworth wouldn’t take no for an answer, though, and he can be a real persuasive dude. He assured me that Father Ferret would work with me during my first year, and that I wouldn’t just be thrown into it.”

“So you two really connected that year, I gather,” Conrad interjected.

“Oh, it was much more than that,” Freddie said. “As he got to know me, he found a person buried inside me that I had only dreamed of being. Once I put on this suit, I was free to find out who I really was. It turns out, I’m a hell of a guy!” Freddie said, extending his arms for effect.

Conrad grinned, smiling for the first time that evening. Freddie continued, “Father Ferret showed me how to come out of the shell, no, more like a prison that I had built around myself. He showed me that, inside this suit, I could start over and remake myself into the person I really wanted to be but was always steered away from.”

“What do you mean, steered away from,” Conrad asked.

“My parents were overprotective. No one I knew growing up really encouraged me to do much of anything. I wasn’t part of any group of friends, which is like a living death for a teenager. So I just sort of drifted off by myself, marking time.”

“Then you put on the ferret suit, and everything changed,” Conrad added.

“Absolutely!” Freddie agreed. “It wasn’t overnight, but by the end of that first year I became the furry gigolo you know and love today. Once I got out and around people, I realized I really loved it. Not only that, but for the first time in my life, other people really enjoyed having me around. I love feeding off that energy! If it wasn’t for Mr. Farnsworth pushing me into it and Father Ferret showing me the way, it never would have happened. This life I have now, and that I’ve had for over seven years, I owe to both of them, and now one of them is gone.”

Freddie’s voice trailed off, and the two sat quietly for a few minutes. Freddie then turned to Conrad and asked, “So, tell me about your wife. What happened?”

This was the first time that Freddie had ever asked about his personal life outside of Farnsworth in much depth, but after the insight he had just shared himself, Conrad felt obligated to dig deep and reciprocate. He let out a deep sigh and then began his own exposition.

“I guess if I had to point to one thing, it’s that we didn’t know each other well enough when we got married,” Conrad began. “We were both in our early 30’s when he got hitched and looking to start a family sooner rather than later. We were both more focused on that goal rather than understanding the other things we wanted from a relationship and eventually a marriage.”

“So why did the wheels start coming off the cart?” Freddie inquired.

“First, let me be clear,” Conrad replied. “Part of this is my fault. I was so focused on building my career, on proving my parents wrong, on shutting up that nagging voice in my head, that I didn’t save enough energy to be a very good husband, and certainly not much of a father.”
“Your folks didn’t think you would be successful?” Freddie asked. “How is that possible with someone like you?”

“They thought I could make something out of myself,” Conrad said, “but just not in sports. They didn’t think it was a ‘serious’ way to make a living, and that I certainly couldn’t support a family working in sports administration. My mom, in particular, wanted me to be an accountant. Can you believe that? It was safe and secure, she told me. Business will always need accountants. You’re so good with numbers, she told me.”

“So why didn’t you go into accounting?” Freddie asked.

“Well, about a week after I graduated high school,” Conrad continued, “my dad died. He just keeled over in his truck one day from a heart attack. He smoked two packs of cigarettes a day, something I make a point of not doing myself. Anyway, I realized that life was too short to get pigeon holed into a career I didn’t particularly want to pursue. I knew from the time I was in junior high school I wanted to work in sports and, after seeing first hand how quickly life could end, I was determined I was gong to spend mine doing something I enjoyed. My mother never accepted the fact that I went against her advice and held it against me until the day she died two years ago.”

“Wow, that’s tough man,” Freddie said. “Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t look very comfortable.”

“I’ve been having spasms under my left shoulder blade,” Conrad replied. “I must have slept on it wrong. So anyway I had spent several years going in and out of relationships when a co-worker at EAPU introduced me to Camilla at a party. He was her cousin and knew that, like me, she was looking to settle down. We hit it off right away. She was hot, and looking into her eyes stirred a rumbling in my loins I had previously reserved for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. We dated for about six months before I proposed to her on New Year’s Eve. We got married the following May. It was all going to be happily ever after.”


“Was it ever good?” Freddie asked.

“Oh yeah,” Conrad quickly confirmed. “We had a lot of fun when we were together, and we really got into some wild monkey lovin’ underneath the sheets. Damn she was hot!”

Conrad drifted off for a moment, then Freddie asked, “so what changed things.”

“We waited a year, then tried to get pregnant. I knocked her up pretty quick, but she miscarried. After another year she got pregnant again, then miscarried. Finally, on the third try we had Connie, who was a beautiful, healthy little baby girl.

Despite that, Camilla was never the same after the miscarriages. We didn’t have fun that much anymore, even before Connie came into the picture. We went from making steaming passionate love to having ritualistic sex so I could try and plant my seed inside her. We both retreated away from each other and into our work. The more successful she became as a research scientist at Johns Hopkins, the more she resented the time I spent working at EAPU. Just like my mom, she did not treat that as a serious career path, and the more time I spent there, the less she respected me.”

“Boy, that’s got to be tough to live with someone who doesn’t respect you,” Freddie says.

“You’ve got that right, my furry friend,” Conrad replied. “She claims that losing my job at EAPU was the final straw for her, but I think she had been looking for an excuse to bail out and run back to mommy and daddy in San Diego for a while. She hated Baltimore and complained all the time about the environment she was trying to bring Connie up in. She may have tolerated our marriage a while longer if I had agreed to get a job out there, but I think that would have only put a band-aid on things. Eventually, our marriage would have bled to death.”

“What are you going to do about Connie,” Freddie asked.

“I don’t see much I can do,” Conrad said with a tone of resignation. “Camilla is right when she says I wasn’t much of a father. How could I be when I was seldom there? Ultimately, she’s better off with her mother and grandparents in San Diego. I just hope I can get another chance at being a father and try to do it right this time.”


A memorial service for Father Ferret was held at the chapel on the grounds of Farnsworth University, per his request before passing on. The service was scheduled to begin at 3:00 pm, but when Conrad and Gretchen arrived from the office at 2:30, all of the pews were completely filled. Classes had been cancelled that afternoon, and it appeared that most of the staff and many of the students had taken advantage of the opportunity to attend.

Conrad had noticed his shoulder continue to worsen, which now made standing in one place for any period of time uncomfortable to the point of being excruciating. He was determined to gut it out, though, and not be the only member of the Farnsworth Athletic Department not to show for the funeral.

It turned out Julius Rosencrantz was Jewish, so the service was officiated by Rabbi Ira Lewis from Midville’s B’nai Israel temple. It was easy to pick out Julius’ family, since they were the only group seated together wearing yarmulkes. Everyone else in attendance appeared to be a gentile.

As the pain in his shoulder worsened, Conrad found himself struggling to follow the details of the service. He did catch most of Mr. Farnsworth’s remarks, where he spoke of how Julius had almost single-handedly been responsible for developing school spirit at Farnsworth.

The Old Man talked about how Julius had taken the role of mascot and expanded it beyond his wildest dreams, and as a result was as responsible for the school becoming an integral part of the Midville community. He also shared stories of former and current students who had met Father Ferret when they were youngsters (he was called that even then, he did not want to be known as just ‘The Ferret) and thought about how cool it might be to attend Farnsworth when they were old enough. He also announced plans to rededicate the ferret statue outside Farnsworth Forum in Julius’s name.

Mr. Farnsworth’s comments were followed by the formal eulogy given by Freddie. Conrad strained to see if Freddie had a yarmulke on, but it appeared he did not. While the Old Man had put Father Ferret in the proper historical context from a “big picture” point of view, Freddie focused on the direct relationship between him and Julius.

Freddie spoke emotionally but eloquently, a feat that, according to what he had previously told Conrad, he would have been unlikely to do before being taken under Julius’ wing. Freddie’s comments were not quite as revealing as what he had shared with Conrad at Chaps and Spurs, but they still served to portray Julius as a kind and giving man who was responsible for turning Freddie’s life around.

As Freddie closed his remarks, he took out a black armband, strapped it around his left arm, and asked all Farnsworth athletes to wear one for the balance of the school year. Although Conrad wished Freddie had ran that by him first, he made a mental note to issue a department-wide e-mail supporting that request and turning it into policy.
The service concluded with the Farnsworth chorus giving a beautiful rendition of “Amazing Grace,” then the crowd slowly filed out. Conrad slowly made his way to the front of the chapel like the proverbial salmon swimming upstream to see Freddie. Finally reaching his friend, Conrad put his hand on his shoulder and said, “Excellent job, Freddie. I’m sure Father Ferret would have been deeply touched by your words.”

“Thanks, Conrad,” Freddie said. “That was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“Well, you did great,” Conrad added. “Where are you heading?”

“The Rosencratz family invited me to the wake, so I’m going to spend some time with them,” Freddie said.

“Good,” Conrad said. “I’ll see you whenever you get home.”

Conrad had planned on taking in the end of either the field hockey or women’s soccer games, but instead walked around campus lost in his thoughts. He had never met Father Ferret, but just watching such an outpouring of grief was very unsettling. It made the dozen or so people that gathered for his mother’s funeral seem even paltrier in contrast.

Like most people, Conrad had never dealt with death very well. Although he had been brought up in a catholic home, his faith had waned greatly over the years, making the thoughts of death even more troubling by diminishing the focus on a happy afterlife. He had lost so much over these past few weeks, he thought, and he was damned tired of it. As his shoulder continued to throb, he just felt very, very tired.

Part 1, Episode 19: "Comings and Goings"

Father Ferret continued to hover near death for a couple of days, and a noticeable pall had descended upon the Farnsworth campus. Conrad finally called Gretchen in to his office and asked, “What is the deal with Father Ferret?”

“What do you mean,” she replied.

‘I understand that he was the first mascot here,” Conrad said, “but the way people are acting, it’s like he founded the place. I’d expect that if the Old Man were sick, but not a former mascot.”

“Oh, so no one’s told you his story yet, huh? Meow,” Gretchen said.

“No,” Conrad said.

“Well, if you’ve got a few minutes I can fill you in,” Gretchen offered.

“Please do,” Conrad said. “I’m all ears.”

“Sure,” Gretchen began. “Julius Rosencrantz, AKA Father Ferret, enrolled as a student here when Farnsworth opened its doors eleven years ago. He was studying pre-law.”

“Can I insert a joke here?” Conrad said snidely.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Gretchen admonished. “We didn’t have any sports teams that first year but plans were underway to start an athletic program in the second year. Mr. Farnsworth held a contest among the students to find the best possible mascot for the school.”

“So Fighting Ferrets wasn’t his brainstorm?” Conrad said.

“He added the fighting part, but no, ferrets came about as a result of the contest,” Gretchen said. “There were at least a couple hundred entries, and they pretty well ran the gamut from traditional, you know, lions, tigers and bears…”

“Oh my!” Conrad interrupted.

Gretchen glared at her boss for a moment and began barking. “Are you going to let me finish this?” she asked with a very peeved tone.

Conrad sat back in his chair, hunched down like an admonished little boy. “I’m sorry, Gretchen,” he said. “Please continue.”

Gretchen stopped barking and resumed telling the story. “As I was saying, the entries into the mascot contest ranged from the traditional to the downright weird. One guy came up with “The Fire.”

“That doesn’t seem so strange,” Conrad said.

“Not on the surface,” Gretchen agreed, “but it turns out he was just a pyromaniac who was looking for an excuse to set things on fire. He nearly succeeded in burning down the gymnasium during tryouts. Anyway, it came down to ferrets and aardvarks.”

Conrad stared at Gretchen for a moment. “You’ve got to be joking,” he said. “What kind of drugs was the committee on?”

“There was no committee,” Gretchen said. “It was solely up to Mr. Farnsworth. He was going through a divorce at the time, I think it was his fourth, I lose track, and we weren’t quite sure what medication he was taking.”

“Aardvark?” Conrad asked.

“Mr. Farnsworth obviously liked the idea of having a unique mascot,” Gretchen said. “He considered aardvark because that would put our school first alphabetically on any listing of college mascots. So anyway, it came down to Julius’ ferret and Andy Aaron’s aardvark.”

“Was Andy any relation to Hank Aaron,” Conrad asked, unable to stop himself from yet another smart-ass remark.

“Funny you should ask that,” Gretchen replied. “Andy told everyone he was a distant cousin of Hanks, but no one really believed him. That ultimately hurt his chances of gaining Mr. Farnsworth’s approval.”

“Why did people doubt him?” Conrad asked.

“Mainly because Andy was white,” she said. ‘Yes, it was still possible he was related, but no one really bought it.”

“So what finally swung Mr. Farnsworth to pick the ferret,” Conrad asked.

“It was really more like he picked Julius than his falling in love with the ferret,”
Gretchen said. “Julius somehow got a ferret suit made for him, one that looks a lot like what Freddie wears now.

“Any idea why he wanted to be a ferret?” Conrad asked.

“I think it was something about him having one for a pet as a child. The story goes that he really loved it, but it got run over by a pet supplies truck.”

“Can’t escape the irony there,” Conrad interrupted.

“Anyway,” Gretchen said after a deep sigh, “There was something about him that was hard to describe. He really seemed like the embodiment of what school spirit should be about. Julius was the most enthusiastic person anyone could remember every being around. Mr. Farnsworth felt he would be the perfect person to become the face of the school.”

“So he went all around town like Freddie does now?” Conrad asked.

“Even more so, if you can believe it,” Gretchen said. “In a very short time, a public event wasn’t worth the effort to put it on if Father Ferret wasn’t there. He did everything from new building dedications to birthday parties. He was everywhere, and everyone loved him.”

“Was he called ‘Father Ferret’ then?” Conrad asked.

“Yes, he was,” Gretchen replied. “From the start, Julius was simply magical with little kids. That’s where he’s a bit different than Freddie, who is more comfortable with other adults. Julius loved kids, and they loved him right back. There are students on campus now that enrolled here in large part because they remember Father Ferret playing with them or hugging them or just carrying on like a nut and as a result they grew up wanting to come to the school with the Ferret.”

“Wow, talk about a genius stroke of public relations,” Conrad said.

“It sure was, and it’s a tradition that Freddie carries on very well now,” Gretchen said. “We’ve needed to keep the focus on the Ferret given the lack of success our sports teams have had and the occasional indiscretion from Mr. Farnsworth.”

“Well, did Julius mentor Freddie?” Conrad asked.

“He sure did,” Gretchen said. “Julius was the Ferret for two years, but he knew he would never make it into law school without giving his studies full focus during his final year. He told Mr. Farnsworth, who then found Freddie. Julius taught Freddie the ropes for his first year, then left Freddie on his own when he went off to law school.”

“Did Freddie try out for the spot like Julius did?” Conrad asked.

“I don’t really know how Mr. Farnsworth came up with Freddie,” Gretchen admitted. “It was like all of a sudden he just appeared on campus in the ferret suit. No one I know of has ever seen him without it or even knows what his name was. He’s just always been Freddie Ferret.”

That was true enough, Conrad thought. Freddie didn’t just play the role of the ferret; he WAS the ferret.


That evening, Conrad entered his suite following his stop at Galaxy Burger shortly after Freddie had returned from another visit to Father Ferret, who was still in intensive care at Johns Hopkins. “Hey Freddie,” Conrad greeted him. “You want to go out and throw down a few and try to get your mind off things tonight?”

“I’m not sure I would be very good company,” Freddie said.

“That’s okay, I can be charming enough for both of us,” Conrad told his friend.
Freddie smiled at hearing the familiar line. While he was considering the invitation, Conrad’s cell phone rang. John Smith was on the other end of the call.

“Hey boss, are you in the middle of anything?” John said excitedly.

“Not really,” Conrad asked, fearing there was another disaster for him to clean up. “What’s up?”

“I think I’ve found your bowling team,” John said.

“You found an entire team?” Conrad asked incredulously.

“Yep,” John assured him. “Can you come down to Town Square Lanes and check them out?”

“Yeah, why not,” Conrad said. “They are prospective students, aren’t they?”

“Yes sir,” John said. “They’re going to Midville Community College this semester.”

“That’s encouraging,” Conrad replied. “I’ll be right down.”

After hanging up the phone, Conrad turned to Freddie and asked, “You want to come along with me and check out some prospective bowlers?”

Freddie did not immediately jump at the opportunity.

“They’re young ladies, you know,” Conrad said.

“Let’s roll,” Freddie said as he jumped to his feet.


Conrad and Freddie arrived at the Town Square Lanes on the other side of the tracks. No really, they had to cross railroad tracks to get there. Anyway, Freddie’s arrival caused quite a stir, and Midville’s favorite celebrity passed through the throng of bowlers hugging the ladies and shaking the men’s hands. They found John Smith waiting for them near the far end of the bowling center, waving at them like he was trying to land a plane.

“Alright John, here we are,” Conrad began, “where’s the bowlers.”

John pointed to the pair of lanes immediately in front of them. There, wearing identical pink bowling shirts with “Midville Beauty Center” in black script on the back were five identical looking girls.

Conrad and Freddie stood and stared for a moment, and Conrad felt his jaw drop slightly. John, pleased with the dramatic impact, said “Gentlemen, I give you the McNulty quintuplets; Jan, Jean, Jen, Joan, and June.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Conrad finally managed to get out. He looked up at the scores being flashed overhead and saw that the quints were destroying their competition, “Barney’s Bail Bonds.” “What kind of averages are they carrying?” he asked.

“They’re all in the 180’s,” John replied. “They’ve been bowling since they were eight, and they’ve got a bunch of trophies they won along the way in different age-group tournaments. They might be pros somewhere down the line.”

“Are they interested in a college education?” Conrad asked.

“Oh yeah,” John replied. “They’re going to Midville Community College now because that’s all they can afford. They’re all working part-time to pay for it while they still live at home.”

“This would really be something, quints on the same college team,” Conrad said, considering the possibility of the Ferrets’ sports program actually receiving some positive recognition in the media.

“That’s what I thought, sir,” John said. “Look, they’re finishing up their final game. I asked them to stay around afterward so you could meet them.”

“Sounds good,” Conrad said. “Freddie, let’s grab a seat and watch them finish up.”

Conrad, Freddie, and John sat together and watched the McNulty quints finish up a sweep in their match. Conrad couldn’t help but notice how cute they were. All five girls were blonde, between 5’ 5” and 5’ 7” with average builds but, unlike so many young girls these days, they had curves.

Conrad’s mind raced, imagining their pictures on calendars, posters on the walls of teenage boys all around Midville. He imagined them posing in a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue in the section where they featured attractive athletes. Look out, Anna Kournakova, here come the McNulty quints!

The girls finished up their match and, seeing Freddie sitting with the others in the snack bar, squealed with excitement and rushed to meet him. “Oooh, Freddie, you’re so cute!” Jan said. Or was it Jean? Maybe it was June. Could have been Jen. Perhaps it was Joan. Could we please have them wear name tags if they’re going to be in this story, would that be too much to ask?


By the time 7:00 came around the next evening, Conrad was wrung out. It had been a fairly quiet day at work and John Smith was moving along full steam ahead on drawing up the paperwork to offer financial-aid scholarships to the McNulty quintuplets, pending NCAA certification of the Farnsworth bowling team as a varsity sport. There was no change in Father Ferret’s condition, although his time on earth still appeared short.

Conrad had been bothered all day by muscle spasms below his left shoulder blade, but what had really weighed on his mind was the meeting scheduled with Camilla that night. He no longer thought of her as his wife, rather, as his future ex-wife. She had bailed out on him and took their daughter 3,000 miles away from him, effectively extinguishing the final dying embers of their marriage.

What Conrad had found out since then was that, despite the pain his marriage had brought him, he still desired female companionship. How else could he rationally explain his attraction to the stupid football coach just because he was dressed in drag? He still had trouble thinking about that little escapade.

It would be several more months before a divorce could be finalized, but Conrad did not want to wait that long to restart the romantic portion of his life. It may be all for naught, he may not find anyone that tickled his fancy, that he truly wanted to be with, but he knew he wanted the door to be open just in case.

That was the mindset with which he approached this meeting with Camilla and their attorneys at the Baltimore firm of Rabinowitz, Fine, and Sheckel, Camilla’s representatives. “That controlling bitch would have to have ‘home court advantage,’ wouldn’t she,” he thought. She hadn’t even bothered to bring little Connie cross-country with her, making it clear she wanted to spend as little time in Conrad’s presence as humanly possible. They had agreed to meet to tie up any remaining loose ends and establish the framework for their divorce settlement, making the final hearing after the required 12-month separation a mere formality.

When Conrad arrived, Camilla and both attorneys were already in place. He had
under estimated the flow of traffic along Interstate 70, and it was nearly 7:15 when he entered the meeting room. Camilla, impatient as usual, was visibly annoyed but said nothing. Not hello, how are you, nothing. Conrad’s attorney, Myron Lebowitz, began the meeting by reviewing the terms he and Camilla’s representative, Ira Finkelstein, had negotiated.

Conrad was pleased that there were no surprises as they went through the arrangements. Their house would be offered to the current renter after his one-year lease expired. If he declined the option, it would be put on the market with Conrad and Camilla splitting the receipts. There would be no alimony and, since Camilla made significantly more money than Conrad, he would be liable for only a token child support payment. In exchange for that, Camilla was not obligated to bring Connie back to the east coast at any set time. Conrad would have to take the initiative and bear the expense of traveling to California to visit her.

The final item discussed did catch Conrad by surprise. Camilla had requested a stipulation that both parties were free to have any and all levels of involvement with members of the opposite sex short of marriage during the separation period without penalty. He was all too happy to accept this, and the meeting ended with all parties signing the document and the attorneys leaving the room.
Conrad stood up and stared across the table at Camilla, who was quickly gathering her belongings and ready to make a quick exit. “So you’ve found someone else, huh?” he asked.

“Why do you say that,” Camilla responded coldly.

“You wouldn’t have agreed to that clause if it wasn’t in your interest,” Conrad said. “You’d leave me hanging if you didn’t already have your next victim picked out.”

“He’s a good man who meets my needs,” Camilla said, still not looking at Conrad. “He adores Connie, and she has taken to him very well.”

“You didn’t waste much time finding a replacement,” Conrad said.

Camilla looked sternly into Conrad’s eyes and said, “The position has been vacant for some time. I finally had the opportunity to fill it with a qualified person.”

Conrad was reeling internally from that vicious blow, but was determined not to show it. “Goodbye, Camilla.”

She turned and headed out the door. Without looking back, she said, “Goodbye, Conrad.”

Part 1, Episode 18: Four F-The Man, The Myth, The Moron

From the telltale mooing he heard outside his office, Conrad knew trouble was approaching. Gretchen stuck her head in the door and said, “Hazel Broomhouse is here to see you, Conrad.”

That sounded harmless enough, he thought, although he wondered what a Hazel Broomhouse was and why she wanted to see him. “What is she here for?” he asked.

“Something about a bowling team?” Gretchen replied, sounding puzzled.

“Oh, okay,” Conrad said. “We’re looking at starting a varsity bowling team next season.”

Gretchen hesitated for a minute, looked out towards the hall, then back at Conrad. “You said a varsity team, right, not one we’re sponsoring at a local bowling alley? Moo!”

“Sure. We’re not going to fool with sponsoring anyone,” Conrad replied. “This is strictly varsity. Mr. Farnsworth told Four F to start doing some recruiting and send prospects in to see me.”

“Ooookay. I’ll send her in. Moo!” Gretchen said.

Moments later, a 50-ish lady who reminded Conrad of a less-attractive Shelly Winters strolled in to his office. Conrad stared at her until Hazel broke the silence. “I’m here for the bowling team,” she announced.

‘Okay,” Conrad said. “Have a seat.” He pondered how to handle what seemed to be another Four F foul up. Finally, he said to Hazel, “You realize that this is a varsity team.”

Hazel just stared back at him. After a moment, Conrad continued, “That means you would have to be a student here and enrolled in at least 12 credit hours to be eligible.”

Hazel’s face scrunched up, obviously unhappy with this news. “That Farnsworth fella didn’t say nothin’ about takin’ no classes,” she barked. “He said you folks were puttin’ together a bowling team and he thought I was good enough to be on it. I carry a 187 average in the Tuesday morning league, you know!”

“That’s a very strong average, Miss Broomhouse,” Conrad said. “I’m sure you’re good enough to make any team around here. The problem is, however, that Four F, er, I mean Fred Farnsworth neglected to mention that our team was only for students. I’m sorry you wasted a trip in here.”

“You mean you people ain’t sponsorin’ no bowling team!” Hazel barked.

“No, I’m afraid we’re not,” Conrad said. “We just get involved in activities with students.”

“You folks have money. It wouldn’t kill you to spend a few bucks and sponsor a team, you know!” Hazel said with great indignation.

“I suppose we could afford it,” Conrad said in his best conciliatory tone, “but we’ve got our hands full with the student activities. We just can’t take anything else on.”

“Yeah, I heard someone blew up your stadium a while back,” Hazel said with a sneer, “you’d probably find some way to louse this up, too.”

“You might be right,” Conrad said, wondering if she might actually be correct. “Again, I apologize for the misunderstanding.” He rose to signal the end of the meeting, and was relieved when Hazel took the hint.

“You people need to get your act together,” she said as she huffed out of Conrad’s office. “How can you run a school when you can’t even get straight what you’re doin’ with a bowling team?” Walking by Gretchen’s desk, Hazel heard the mooing. “What’s your problem, sister?” she asked Gretchen in an accusatory manner. Gretchen said, “I’m sorry,” and then began whimpering like a hurt puppy.

Conrad, still shaking his head in amazement, walked to his doorway and motioned Gretchen to come in. She took a seat in front of his desk while Conrad walked back to his chair. “Another fine mess that moron got us into,” he began.
“I assume he didn’t bother telling anyone they needed to enroll in classes to be our bowling team. Woof!” Gretchen said.

“That’s right,” Conrad confirmed. “Unfortunately, I think we can expect more visitors like lovely Hazel. If anyone calls to set up an appointment, tell them the situation. I’ll handle anyone who gets really irate.”

“What if somebody just shows up like she did? Woof!” Gretchen asked.

“I’d better see them. If I’m not around, page me,” Conrad replied.

They sat quietly for a moment, Conrad stewing about yet again having to clean up after Four F. “We’ve got to find something constructive for this clown to do!” he exclaimed.

“Well, I know he sure can talk his way into anything,” Gretchen offered. “He can talk others into doing stuff too. He’s like a used car salesman! Grrrrrr!”

Conrad leapt out of his seat and slammed his palm on the desk. “That’s it! Sales! Let him go out and schmooze all the time, that’s all he’s good at anyway.”

Gretchen momentarily whimpered after Conrad’s burst of excitement startled her, then gathered herself and asked, “What would he sell?”

“Farnsworth athletics! He can go out to businesses large and small, visit groups, encourage them to buy sponsorships or blocks of tickets,” Conrad said, pumping his fist with excitement.

“Do we really need much of that?” Gretchen asked.

“Not right now, no,” he answered. “If we aspire to go big time at some point though, which Mr. Farnsworth has clearly stated is his vision for Ferret sports, then we’ll need more cash inflow. I know his pockets are deep, but I’m sure there’s a limit to how much he’ll put into sports. We’ll need to supplement that with sponsors and support from the business community, and I think Four F might actually be able to go out and get it.”

“You know, Conrad, you just might be right!” Gretchen said, beginning to share her boss’ excitement.

“And as an extra added bonus,” Conrad added, “it will keep him off campus and out of our hair most of the time. What’s not to love?”

“That last part is really appealing,” Gretchen concurred.

“Okay then, call Kate and see when I can get in to the Old Man and pitch it. I want to do it ASAP before Four F causes more trouble for us.”

Almost as if he were a puppy that had been summoned for dinner, Four F stuck his head in the door. “Hey guys, how are ya!” he bellowed.

“We’re doing okay, Fred,” Conrad replied wearily.

“Have any of my bowling recruits come in yet?” he asked.

“I just met one of them,” Conrad said. “I’m afraid she didn’t work out.”

“Why not?” Four F said with astonishment. “They were all terrific bowlers.”

“I’m sure they were,” Conrad said, “but the lady I just talked to didn’t seem to grasp the part about having to be a student here.”

“Well geez, anyone would know that,” Four F said in a condescending tone.

“Apparently not,” Conrad countered. “I’ve got a hunch we’re going to run into that same problem with the rest of your so-called recruits.”

“Go figure,” Four F said, not acknowledging any contribution to this problem. “Good help is so hard to find these days.”

“Tell me about it!” Conrad exclaimed. “What brings you in today?” Conrad asked, trying to move him along.

“Oh yeah, I was looking for my briefcase,” Four F replied.

Conrad quickly flashed back to the previous Saturday. Two weeks of relative peace and quiet had passed since the disaster at Civil War day, and he had joined Troy Flemstone for his return to the broadcast booth for the Ferret’s football game vs. Aspiring Novelists College. The debris from the cannon blast had been cleaned up, and a large tarp was covering the hole in the right corner of the press box, protecting the equipment and announcers from the elements.

As expected, Farnsworth was being taken out to the woodshed by the Writers, losing 30-3 late in the third quarter, when Conrad felt a tap on his shoulder during a stoppage in play. He turned around and was surprised to see “Sarge” Bennett, a Gulf War hero who was now the head of security at Farnsworth University.

“Conrad, we’ve got a situation here,” Sarge said.

“Can it wait?” Conrad said, “We’re getting ready to go back on the air.”

“No!” Sarge barked. “You need to come with me right now.”

Troy looked up with concern, and Conrad told him, “Just keep the play-by-play going until there’s a reason not to. I’ll hopefully be back soon.” Troy nodded, and Conrad walked down the press box stairs with Sarge.

After reaching the exit to the press box, Sarge led Conrad around the corner and pointed at a briefcase propped up against the structure. It was a deep, dark brown, and the covering looked like real leather. “That object has been sitting there unattended since after halftime. We’re concerned it might contain explosives,” Sarge told Conrad.

“Explosives!” Conrad shouted, understandably sensitive regarding that notion. “Geez, did someone declare war against us?”

“I don’t know about that, Conrad,” Sarge said, “but we’re at the point where we need to treat this as a suspicious package.”

“Okay, what should we do?” Conrad asked while he wondered why the briefcase looked vaguely familiar.

“I’ve already called in the bomb squad,” Sarge said, “and I think we should evacuate the area as a precaution.”

“I understand,” Conrad said, wanting to insure there were no additions to the list of casualties at Ferret sporting events this season. “I’ll get on it.”

Conrad then hustled out to the Farnsworth sideline and, during a stoppage in play, attracted the attention of the referee.

“We’ve got a bomb threat,” Conrad said quickly, “and we need to clear the stadium. Quickly, let’s get the head coaches together.”

The referee, fighting the urge to freak out, motioned for both coaches to join him and Conrad at midfield. When they arrived, Conrad spoke. “Look, we’ve got a bomb threat here at the stadium. The bomb squad is on its way. We need to clear the field.”

“What about finishing the game?” the Writers’ coach asked.

“I think we all know how it’s going to turn out,” Conrad said. “Let’s just call it here and make sure everyone’s safe. Just get your teams into the locker room and have them stay there until we give you the all clear.”

Both coaches nodded and proceeded to take their teams off the field. Conrad then grabbed a bullhorn from one of the cheerleaders and addressed the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please. We have a bomb threat here at the stadium. Please exit the stands at either end of the field quickly but calmly. The game will not be resumed. Thank you and we are sorry for the inconvenience.”

Conrad then rushed to the press box and ran up the stairs. Troy had been describing the departure of the team and fans, but had not wanted to make a specific announcement until talking with Conrad. Huffing and puffing after his dash up the stairs, Conrad told Troy, “Just announce there is a bomb threat, everyone is being safely evacuated, the game is final, and then sign off and get the hell out of here!”

Troy dutifully broadcast exactly what Conrad had told him to and signed off. Conrad waited to help his still gimpy friend down the stairs. “Whath the ruth?” Troy athked, er asked.

“Because there’s a suspicious package down by the bottom of the stairs,” Conrad replied.

“Hey, I’m going to want hatherdouth duty pay,” Troy said only half jokingly.

“I hear you, pal,” Conrad said. “Just keep moving down the stairs and let’s get clear of this.”

Ultimately, everyone cleared the field safely while the package rested against the press box intact. As a final resolution, the bomb squad blew it up in a controlled explosion and found that it was merely a briefcase full of papers. While waiting for word from Sarge Bennett, Conrad and Troy wondered what would blow up at their next home game.

“What does your briefcase look like?” Conrad asked Four F.

“It’s dark brown with a leather exterior,” Four F said. “It’s sweet, but I’m more concerned about someone finding it and going through the contents.”

“What was in it?” Conrad asked.

“Some magazines,” Four F replied.

“Magazines?” Conrad asked.

“Yeah, ones that I wouldn’t want anyone else to find, if you know what I mean,” Four F said with a wink.

Great, Conrad thought, we stopped a football game and evacuated the fans to blow up a briefcase of porn. Just when it looked like things at Farnsworth couldn’t get any stranger, they did.

“You have to go now,” Conrad told Four F.

“Okay, but let me know if you see it,” Four F said. “Remember, no peeking.”
“I’ll give him such a peek,” Conrad said through clenched teeth within earshot of Gretchen.”

“Woof! Woof!” she said.

“I couldn’t’ agree more,” Conrad said.


That afternoon, Conrad did one of his periodic sweeps of the athletic facilities. The red-hot Ferrets’ field hockey team, winners of eight games in a row, was facing conference foe Southwestern Eastern Shore University and, by the time Conrad arrived, had a comfortable 3-0 lead in the third quarter. He noticed that Coach Cage was wearing only a polo shirt, shorts, and shoes with no socks. This seemed to be an odd outfit for a crisp October afternoon where the temperature was struggling to stay above 50 degrees and a steady breeze was blowing across the field. While noticing Cage was obviously cold yet refusing to don a jacket, this did not register with Conrad as being particularly strange given what he had seen at Farnsworth in less than two months on the job.

Conrad stayed long enough to see the Ferrets stretch their lead to 5-0, made his evening stop at Galaxy Burger, then headed home. Freddie was on the phone when he entered, and when Conrad’s wave hello was not acknowledged he sat down and started channel surfing on the television. Freddie completed his phone call shortly thereafter and sat on the couch, looking out into space.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Conrad asked.

“It’s Father Ferret,” Freddie said, still off in the distance.

“Something wrong, I assume?” Conrad followed up.

“Yeah,” Freddie replied, “he got hit by a Petco truck.”

Unfortunately, the first thing that flashed into Conrad’s mind was the classic scene in the old Mary Tyler Moore show when Chuckles the Clown met his demise when, dressed as a giant peanut, an elephant had tried to eat him.

Seeing how upset Freddie was, Conrad doubted he would see the ironic humor here, so he bit down on his tongue so hard he felt tears trickle down his cheeks. Finally, he managed to say, “That’s terrible, Freddie,” without laughing.

“Yeah, they don’t know if he’s going to make it,” Freddie said dejectedly.

“Anything I can do for you?” Conrad said, now over his potential giggle fit.

“Can we just hang out tonight?” Freddie said.

“Sure, man,” Conrad replied. “How about watching the Monday Night Countdown show to get ready for the Cowboys-Eagles game?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Freddie said.

They sat together as the game stretched past midnight, and Conrad was amazed at how much comfort a person could find in just having a friend to sit with and not having to face a problem alone.