Part 1, Episode 5: "The Voices of Farnsworth"

Hearing a knock at his door, Conrad looked up and saw John Smith, an intern in the athletic department. “It’s almost time, sir!” the excited young man announced.

John was a student in his senior year at Farnsworth and had worked in the department since his first day on campus. He had drawn special attention from Conrad because he seemed to be the only person in the building besides Gretchen who he could count on to complete a task without turning it into an adventure. To his knowledge, John was the only person around with both a normal name and the ability to correctly pronounce Conrad’s last name.

The day had been a trying one. Conrad had already been required to put out several fires and hoped John was not coming to alert him of a new one. Conrad had advised several football players that they were indeed required to attend class and perform the course work. These future captains of industry had thought all they needed to do was show up on time for football practice and play the games. They had no clue why an academic adviser had given them a class schedule and showed little interest in following it. He doubted they would survive the first semester at Farnsworth. “How could our coach get knuckleheads like this admitted to school and STILL stink so badly?” Conrad wondered.

He had also fielded a request from the water polo coach to hire a lifeguard for the pool during practice. Apparently some of the members of this fledgling squad, preparing for their first game ever, weren’t particularly good swimmers, and the coach was afraid of casualties. If the coach was concerned about his players drowning, it did not bode well for their chances of actually winning a game, Conrad thought.

The lowlight of Conrad’s day had come when he had to break up a fight while on his way for a Super Star Burger combo (no cheese, only ketchup). A pack of field hockey players and a separate group of women’s soccer players had tried to stake out the same area of the food court in the student union as “their turf” and the dispute quickly turned into a large scale cat fight.

Conrad had to admit he liked the spirit of the field hockey team, which quickly had the soccer players in full retreat. He was thankful the field hockey “ladies” did not have their sticks handy or else there would have been serious injuries. The combatants sobered up quickly when Conrad got caught in the crossfire of the food fight that had broken out between the teams. Apparently the sight of the school’s athletic director with spaghetti noodles and sauce dripping off his face onto his suit refocused their priorities away from where they sat during lunch and turned them more toward hoping to avoid suspension.

As Conrad made the trip back to his room for a change of clothes, he had decided to let the coaches handle the disciplinary action, although he considered recommending some anger management counseling for the field hockey players. He then returned to Galaxy Burger, resisted the urge to choke someone when they put cheese and mustard on his Super Star burger despite his explicit instructions to the contrary, and took his re-done combo back to the office before another fight could break out.

The events of the day had distracted Conrad from what John had come to remind him about. It was approaching 5:00, which meant it was almost time for the debut of “Ferret Forum.” Last year, Old Man Farnsworth had purchased a local radio station that broadcasted on the AM 1000 frequency. He had significantly upgraded its transmitter, and changed the letters to WFUR, standing for Farnsworth University Radio. The Old Man had grown weary of being rebuffed by other local stations in his attempts to convince one of them to carry Fighting Ferrets’ games, so he decided to buy one and broadcast them himself.

This was the initial day of the call letter change, and the first new program would be the premiere edition of “Ferret Forum.” It would be a daily show focused on Farnsworth athletics and broadcast during afternoon drive time between 5:00-6:00 PM. The host was the new voice of the Ferrets, Troy Flemstone, and today’s guest would be Old Man Farnsworth himself. Conrad was eager to hear Flemstone, who the Old Man had hired to host Ferret-related shows and do the play-by-play on game broadcasts.

Flemstone was a veteran broadcaster who had been out of the business for a while, and Farnsworth was giving him a chance to revive his career. Conrad felt good about this, happy to have an experienced pro behind the microphone rather than a youngster just learning the ropes. He felt it would help the athletic program gain some much needed credibility and respect.

Then Conrad turned on the radio and quickly felt all the color drain from his face.

“Hello, everyone, thith ith Troy Flemthstone and I’m proud to be the voith of the Fighting Ferreth on the new WFUR. Welcome to Ferreth Forum, where you will hear from the key people in Ferreth athleticth. Ferreth fanth will get a chanth to have their thay when we open the phone lineth later in the program. We’ll be back with our very spethial getht, the prethident of Farnthworth Univerthity, Frederick Farnthworth, in jutht a moment.”

Conrad sat in stunned silenth, er, silence for a moment, then jumped to his feet. “WHAT IN GOD’S NAME IS THIS?” he screamed in the direction of John Smith, who doubtlessly was wondering the same thing. “No wonder he was out of broadcasting. You can’t underthand, I mean understand him! God almighty! ‘The voith of the Ferreth? Had Farnsworth ever heard this guy talk before he hired him?” Conrad ranted.

“I don’t know what to thay,” John Smith sheepishly replied, then cringed when he heard himself. “My god, it’s contagiouth,” John said in amazement.

“If the wrong person hears one of his broadcasts, it could completely blow up. It could go national. We could be the butt of jokes every night on Sports Center. My god, can you imagine if Leno and Letterman got a tape of this guy? The possibilities are endleth!” Conrad lamented.

“Let’s listen for a while,” John offered, clutching to the hope that Conrad was overreacting. “Maybe after he gets warmed up it’s not as bad,” John offered with a shrug.

“Yeah, might as well,” Conrad said as he slumped in his chair and reached for his latest bottle of antacid tablets. He then motioned John to take a seat. “I’m not going to suffer through this by myself,” Conrad told the youngster.

And suffer he did through the first two segments, devoted to a one-on-one interview with Old Man Farnsworth. The Old Man seemed oblivious to Troy’s lisp from hell and chatted with great enthusiasm about the continued growth of FU (Conrad made a mental note to ask him to try and refrain from referring to the school by its initials) and the wonderful things in store for the athletic program.

Farnsworth announced that he had commissioned plans for a 65,000 seat football stadium to be built on the corner of campus that backed up to the interstate. The current attendance for an entire season of Ferret football would fit comfortably on one side of a stadium that large. John Smith literally fell out of his chair when he heard this pledge since the best thing he could say about the football team was that they looked sharp in their blue and gold uniforms.

Farnsworth also told the listeners that he had hired a new athletic director who would quickly move them from Division III competition into Division I, perhaps even becoming the 14th member of the Enormous East Conference, joining recently admitted Edgar Allen Poe University. This caused Conrad to slump into his chair so much he slid out and cracked his head on what he learned was a very solid desk. John rushed over to him and, after a moment, Conrad began to pull himself upright. “I guess I’m not unconscious, am I?” Conrad asked his young assistant.

“No sir,” John dutifully replied.

“Too bad,” Conrad said, unsteadily repositioning himself in his chair. He then reached over and turned the radio off. “I can’t take anymore tonight. When is this program on again?” he asked John.

“Tomorrow, sir. It’s on every weekday from 5-6 PM.”

“Oh joy,” Conrad said wearily.

Conrad sat motionless after John’s departure trying to come up with some type of action plan to deal with an announcer that couldn’t be understood and a president who thought a struggling Division III program (by NCAA rules not allowed to offer athletic scholarships) could magically turn into a Division I school competing in one of the toughest conferences in the nation. He thought things had hit bottom.

Then the phone rang. It was John Smith, calling from his car via cell phone. He was bordering on hysteria. “Sir, you need to turn Ferrets’ Forum back on right away!”

“What could possibly make me want to do that?” Conrad asked.

“Well sir, they started taking calls, and it’s gotten sorta weird.”

“It’s GOTTEN weird? I already thought we’d been in the Twilight Zone, for crying out loud. How could it have gotten worse?”

“Well, sir, the calls are pretty strange. It’s like they don’t know it’s supposed to be a sports show or something. And Old Man Farnsworth is saying stuff that he probably shouldn’t be saying, at least in public.”

“Worse than that insanity about joining the Enormous East?”

“I’m afraid it’s a lot worse sir.”

Conrad’s blood ran cold. “Alright, against my better judgment I’ll turn the thing back on,” he told John as he again reached for the radio dial.

The show was just coming back from a commercial break when Troy, sounding a bit shaky, said “OK folkth, leth take another call. Jane from Brunthwood, whath your quethtion?”

Jane began, “Well, my husband says he’s bored with our sex life and needs to mix it up a bit. He suggested a threesome. Do you think I should let him do that? Would that be condoning him being unfaithful?”

“An excellent question,” Old Man Farnsworth replied enthusiastically. “Personally, I’ve always enjoyed three-way encounters. The trick is you need to have two different types of girls. My preference is always to have one who’s quite petite and flexible, probably a younger girl, and a more full-figured woman, older and more experienced, with a nice rack. I generally start out with the older one, because the young ones have more energy and can carry more of the action in round two.”

Conrad, who had been leaning back in his chair, felt it tip over backwards. He landed with a thud, still in the chair, with his legs sticking up in the air. He made no effort to get up or make any movement whatsoever.

“Of course,” Farnsworth continued, “from your perspective, just make sure you are one of the girls in the threesome. That could be problematic if you’re not. It was just that type of misunderstanding that led to the end of my third marriage.”

“I’ll make sure to clarify that with my husband. Are you sure this will be a good thing for our marriage?” Jane asked.

“Oh yes, my dear, “Farnsworth responded, “it will give things a nice boost. With the right partner, this will satisfy the wanderlust you husband is experiencing without having to go behind your back. This really perked up my fourth marriage. It’s like he can have his cake and eat it to.”

At that point, Conrad managed to reach far enough from his prone position to unplug the cord to his radio and spare himself from further horror, not to mention mental images he would spend the rest of the night getting out of his mind. Still lying on the floor with his legs now draped over the seat of his chair, he heard a knock at his door.

“Hey Connie, you here?” bellowed Four F, making one of his infrequent visits to the office.

“Yeah, I’m down here Fred,” Conrad morbidly replied. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were listening to Grandpa on the radio?” Four F asked. “Something else wasn’t it?”

“It sure was something else,” Conrad replied, seizing the rare opportunity to agree with the nitwit.

“Yeah, Grandpa was freakin’ awesome!” Four F gushed. “Pretty cool, wasn’t it. There used to be a therapist on during this time slot, and I guess the callers didn’t pick up on the new format.”

At least that explained the questions they were asking. “Maybe the Old Man forgot he was supposed to be on a sports show,“ Conrad thought.

“He was so cool! Grandpa rocks!” Four F announced with obvious pride. “Well, gotta go, just wanted to make sure you heard it.”

“I heard it alright. Thanks for dropping by.” Conrad sarcastically replied.

“No prob Connie. Later!” Conrad could hear Four F saying “Grandpa ROCKS!” as he headed toward the exit or wherever he was wandering off to.

Gretchen, who had been down at the copier for the past hour, returned and glanced into her boss’ office. She thought it was odd that his desk chair was missing and, when she stepped through the doorway, noticed Conrad still on the floor in his tipped-over chair. Startled, Gretchen said “Oh my God! Woof! Woof! Conrad, are you all right? Woof! Do you need some help? Woof!”

“No,” he responded, “I’m just fine down here for a while.”

“What Woof! Happened?”

“I was listening to Old Man Farnsworth talking on the radio about his favorite way to set up a threesome.”

“A threesome?”

“Yeah, you know, a guy and two girls having sex.”

“He was on the radio?”

“Yeah, on his new station.”

“Talking about having sex with two girls?”

“Yep.”

Gretchen was frozen, stunned into complete silence. Even the animal menagerie in her head could not muster a sound. Finally, she said, “I should just go home now, shouldn’t I.”

“Yeah,” Conrad replied, “that’s probably a good idea.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“I have no idea. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Conrad laid their for a while, pondering what damage control he would need to do and desperately trying to erase the image of Old Man Farnsworth getting his freak on with two babes.

Shortly after Gretchen left, Conrad heard another knock at the door. “Is Mr. Kon-rad-o-vich here?” the visitor asked.

“Close enough,” Conrad replied, still on the floor. “I’m down here.”

The visitor peered around the desk, saw Conrad, and handed him an envelope. “Mr. Konradovich, you’ve been served.”

The server left and Conrad opened the envelope to find what he expected-a petition for divorce drafted by his wife’s attorney. Just like her to go the dramatic route and have a process server deliver it. She’ll probably be disappointed when she finds out no one was here to witness it. “Yep,” Conrad thought, “the perfect end to a perfect day.”

Finally, Conrad awkwardly pulled himself up and righted the chair behind the desk. After stopping at Galaxy Burger, he would head home and hang out with his new buddy in the ferret suit and watch him work out on his giant wheel.

“Welcome to the new normal,” Conrad ruefully thought.

Coming next week, "Media Daze"

Part 1, Episode 4: "WWFD-What Would Freddie Do?"

On his way to work Tuesday, Conrad stopped at the student union and bought a bottle of antacid tablets, figuring he would need them as he met with various staff members and began the uphill climb to reshape the Farnsworth athletic department.

On Thursday morning, he returned to purchase a king sized bottle, having already emptied the one he had picked up Tuesday.

Conrad spent much of his first week on the job evaluating the merits of cleaning house and dropping down to a skeleton crew while he hired more competent people versus those of keeping the current staff in place with the realization that there would be considerable damage control and resistance to culture change.

Remembering the furor in Washington when little Danny Snyder purchased the Redskins from the estate of Jack Kent Cooke and did his best impersonation of Cape Canaveral (by firing everything in sight), Conrad reluctantly chose the latter course of action. He decided he had enough problems without coming off as a hatchet man, particularly in an environment where someone previously had to practically commit a felony to get fired. He also wondered if he could buy antacids in bulk.

Conrad’s Friday activities began with a meeting regarding the football team’s new media guide. It had gone to the printer before Conrad was hired, and Thursday had been his first opportunity to review the content. His first action upon completing his review was to schedule a meeting with the Farnsworth sports information director, Gabe “Gabby” Sullivan.

Promptly at 9:00, Gabe arrived at Conrad’s office, announced by Gretchen whimpering like a dog who just had a paw run over by a car. Conrad had learned just how reliable her “early warning” system was and braced himself for trouble.

Conrad stood behind his desk and welcomed Gabe. “No small table for this meeting,” Conrad thought, “this clown needs to know that I’m in charge.” Conrad began, “Thanks for coming by, Gabe. It’s good to meet you.”

Gabe, spitting out words in double time, replied, “It’s good to meet you Mr. Cone-ro-do-witz. I’ve heard you did a lot of good things at EAPU, including the dean’s wife. I hear she was a real hottie. Boy, I hope she was worth getting kicked down here to the bush leagues. My wife’s not very attractive, so she’s probably safe from your libido. I hope so anyway, because I’m not that much of a catch either and I’d hate to put myself back on the market. How are you today?”

There it is, Conrad thought, the first person to broach the subject. The mention of the circumstances leading to the sudden end of his career at Edgar Allen Poe University filled Conrad with the rage every seemingly helpless victim must feel. Quickly gathering himself, he considered his options. He didn’t know which to do first; jump over his desk and strangle this idiot (fun but messy), fire him on the spot (desirable but probably subject to being overturned by human resources), or calmly slice him to ribbons, point by point. As was his custom when confronted, Conrad selected the third option.

“First off Gabe,” Conrad began deliberately but forcefully, “the issue of my termination from EAPU is absolutely none of your concern. Second, any and every married woman is safe from my libido. Third, you work for me, at least for the moment, and I WILL be treated with respect. This point is non-negotiable. Fourth, I called you in here to explain this football media guide you produced. Start explaining.”

Conrad sat back, having successfully knocked this blowhard off stride, and watched him squirm. Gabe mustered a burst of righteous indignation and huffed, “What do you mean, EXPLAIN it? This is a fine publication!”

Conrad evenly replied, “Yeah, for a third grader. If all you want to do is look at pretty pictures, this guide is full of them. If you want to read about Old Man Farnsworth and how he founded this school, that’s in there too. Without a word being changed in the last six years, I noticed. What I don’t see, Gabe, is much about THE FREAKIN’ FOOTBALL TEAM!”

Gabe, trying in vain to keep himself together, shakily responded, “Mr. Farnsworth tells me that I should put out information that reflects well on the school. That’s what I did with the media guide.”

“If this were targeted toward prospective students with no interest in sports, it would be pretty good. The two main purposes of this publication, however, are to make Farnsworth an attractive destination for high school football players, and to also serve as an information resource for the media. This, Gabe, does neither.”

“Have you SEEN our football team play?”

“No, I haven’t. And I didn’t learn a whole lot about them by reading this glorified post card either! This is a 96-page publication, and there are only 28 pages that even mention the word football. Half of those are nothing but pictures. What IS this!?”

“Have you SEEN our team play? The only school we beat regularly is Galludet, you know, the deaf kids. We haven’t beaten a team than can hear in five years! How am I supposed to make that look good?” Gabe responded, flailing his arms about wildly.

“You’ve still got to put out basic information,” Conrad said, refusing to waver. “With all our kids, there should be the essentials, you know, how they did in high school, what accomplishments (if any) they’ve had since they’ve been here, maybe a pronunciation guide, which I noticed is not your area of expertise. That’s what other schools do, even the ones that suck.”

Gabe stared back, arms folded, and offered no reply.

Conrad broke the silence. “When are the basketball guides due at the printer?”

“I don’t know,” Gabe snapped.

“Find out. I expect to see the draft BEFORE it goes to the printer, and I expect it with enough time to edit it before it goes out.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” Gabe replied, now in a full snit.

“If you want to keep your job, you’ll figure it out. We’re done here. Have a nice day.”

Gabe stood and tried to have the last word, but Conrad had abruptly turned to face the window, leaving only the back of his chair for Gabe to rail against. Declining that option, Gabe huffed off as Gretchen hissed at him.

Conrad sat for a few moments and then left his office for a walk to clear his head. Gretchen stood up and they locked eyes for the moment. No words were exchanged, but they didn’t need to be. The encouraging, respectful look in Gretchen’s eyes gave Conrad a much needed morale boost.

It was approaching noon on Saturday when Freddie strolled out of his room and found Conrad poring over yet another stack of papers he had brought from the office. This scene had been repeated every night for the past week. Even after staying late in his office, Conrad has usually brought a SuperStar Burger combo (no cheese, only ketchup) and a stack of work home with him, devouring the food while he attacked the mound of paper. Freddie decided enough was enough. Tonight he would liberate Conrad and show him a good time, by force if necessary.

“Hey Conrad, am I safe in assuming you don’t have any plans for tonight?” Freddie asked.

“No, nothing big. I thought I might catch a movie on the satellite. Is there a channel you don’t get?” Conrad replied.

“I don’t think so. The funny thing is I don’t watch much TV. I’m a participant not a spectator pal. Anyway, I’ve made some plans for the both of us tonight. I’m going to treat you to a night on the town, Ferret style,” Freddie said enthusiastically.

“Here in Farnsworth? How long will that take, about five minutes?” Conrad snorted.

“No silly,” said Freddie, undeterred. “There’s a town just up the Interstate called Midville. It’s where the land for the school was annexed from. I know it’s not as glamorous as big-city Baltimore, but there’s more there than a few cornfields and a general store. We do have nightlife around here and I know just where to find it. I’m Central Maryland’s Official Hospitality Ferret.”

“Official Hospitality Ferret?” Conrad asked with a tone of disbelief.

“That’s right,” Freddie insisted. “Central Maryland Magazine gave me this plaque right here two years ago. When they were doing photo shoots for their ‘Best of Central Maryland’ issue, the editor noticed I kept showing up everywhere. This area loves me, and I love this area.”

Conrad saw that there actually was an engraved plaque from Central Maryland Magazine proclaiming Freddie Ferret as “Central Maryland’s Official Hospitality Ferret.” He stood and thought about Freddie’s proposal. He could stand to blow off some steam, and apparently trailing Freddie around would not be a freak show—“Hey, mommy, look at the six-foot tall ferret. He scares me!” Instead, he was a celebrity.

Freddie Ferret was a figure not only accepted, but also perhaps even revered locally. Conrad wondered what kind of town would make a ferret mascot its hero. Well, this night seemed as good a time as any to find out. “Let’s do it,” Conrad said to his approving friend.

Downtown Midville is a mix of antique shops, quirky specialty stores, restaurants covering the full spectrum of pricing, row houses, and boarded up buildings waiting for someone to bring them back to life. This night was a beautiful early September evening, lacking the stifling humidity common in the mid-Atlantic region this time of year. A light breeze made the night downright comfortable as Freddie and Conrad reached their first destination.

Conrad had been nervous when Freddie insisted on driving (when is the last time YOU got in a car with a ferret behind the wheel?), but Freddie was able to navigate his Hummer down the narrow streets flawlessly. Conrad noticed that Freddie had skin-tight covering on his hands with the furry paws laying over them, allowing him to take advantage of the opposable thumbs he received at birth. It was the first time Conrad had ever been in a Hummer, a Farnsworth owned vehicle provided to insure Freddie was never restricted by bad weather.

There was a line waiting to enter “A Taste of Rome,” but the greeter saw Freddie and ushered him and his friend to the one empty table at their sidewalk café. Conrad expected to hear someone voice an objection, but none was forthcoming. The cute little waitress assigned to their table absolutely gushed over Freddie, and Conrad enjoyed some overflow.

Between bites of his linguini, a few fans came up and asked Freddie for his autograph, requests he gladly responded to, signing with a wild flair to his F’s, making it look like “FF” with scribbles next to them. Two girls walked up with t-shits displaying “W.W.F.D” and asked Freddie to sign them.

“What does WWFD stand for?” Conrad asked.

“What Would Freddie Do?” Freddie replied.

“You’re putting me on,” Conrad said, dumbfounded.

“No, really. A t-shirt shop in town started selling these a couple of years ago. Mr. Farnsworth asked me if I minded and I told him of course not! Pretty cool, huh?”

“Amazing,” Conrad responded, shaking his head.

The night was all about Freddie, and Conrad was content to kick back and watch him soak up the attention. Freddie did not come across as needy, having to thrust himself out amongst the masses to receive adulation and, therefore, validation. Instead, Conrad observed that he approached his accessibility as more of a responsibility. If he was going to be Freddie Ferret, this came with the territory, and he embraced it graciously. As Conrad would see during the course of their outing, it was good to be Freddie Ferret in Midville.

After a pleasant meal, Freddie headed off to their next stop for the evening. Conrad was still thinking about how amazing it was that Freddie could eat a bowl of linguini in a ferret suit and not get a drop of marinara sauce on it. After all, Conrad had to dab off spots of lasagna from his shirt, making him happy he had worn a navy blue polo instead of white or a pastel. Freddie apparently felt like some dancing, because their next stop was “Inhale,” the most popular dance club in the area.

Again, Freddie was able to ignore a long line outside the building and gain immediate entrance for himself and Conrad. Once inside, Freddie was mobbed by more fans, most of them females. There were a couple of instances where fist fights nearly broke out when women were jockeying for position on Freddie’s dance card. Conrad was impressed watching his furry friend glide around the dance floor. Freddie had all the moves--he was one agile ferret.

Freddie was also considerate, sitting out dances to share a drink with Conrad. Conrad thought back to his younger days, when his best friend Nick had bailed on him more than once during outings like this when a cutie gave him a “come hither” look. Freddie, however, was making sure Conrad was enjoying himself, and it was working. Although he did not venture onto the dance floor, Conrad was enjoying the music (an eclectic mix of ‘80’s and 90’s songs) and the energy from the crowd. When Freddie wasn’t sitting and shouting to him over the music, Conrad got a big kick out of seeing a six-foot ferret doing what frequently crossed over into dirty dancing. Yep, he had ALL the moves.

The dynamic duo’s final destination for the night was “Country Corner.” There was no crowd hanging outside the door with the hour now well past midnight, but it was a packed house inside. Once Freddie was spotted, a loud cheer went up and Freddie waved to the adoring masses. He then gave the keys to his Hummer to the manager, indicating it was time to seriously kick back and throw down some cold ones.

There was no dancing here, just mingling with others, swapping stories, and lots and lots of laughter. Later on, Conrad found himself caught up in the revelry and, joined by Freddie, leading everyone in song.
“You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille. With four hungry children and a crop in the field. I’ve had some bad times, lived through some sad times, this time the hurtin’ won’t heal. You picked a fine time to leave me, Lucille.”

After several rounds of that classic (or is it infamous) Kenny Rogers bar song, Freddie had a young lady on each arm and motioned the crowd to a drawn out climax and a finish punctuated with loud cheers. He then bid them and the ladies adieu for the night (by then morning) and asked for a cab to be called to shuttle Conrad and himself back to campus.

As they were downing their last beverage of the evening, Conrad looked at Freddie and said, “Thanks, man. This was freakin’ GREAT!”

“My pleasure,” Freddie responded. “It was good to see you unwind.”

“It felt really good to relax for a change. It was amazing to see you in action. You are a furry gigolo,” Conrad said, clanking bottles with his friend.

“True ‘dat!” Freddie exclaimed.

Coming Tuesday, August 1: "The Voices of Farnsworth"

Part 1, Episode 3: "First Day Of School"

After a fitful night’s sleep, Conrad awoke Monday morning as ready as he could be to begin the arduous chore of transforming the Farnsworth University athletics department into a big time operation. His shower didn’t quite wake him up, but the jarring sight of Freddie’s larger-than-life wheel prior to ingesting the magic elixir known as the day’s first cup of coffee did the trick (and necessitated an extra trip to the little athletic director’s room).

As Conrad prepared to head into the office for the first time, he looked toward Freddie’s room. Freddie had told him last night that he was a late riser and a sound sleeper so don’t look for him early in the morning or worry about tiptoeing around the room. Apparently ferrets are nocturnal animals, Conrad thought.

A question had popped into his mind as he was preparing for the day; does Freddie sleep in the ferret suit? It was hardly a vital fact to know but a very interesting one nonetheless. Fighting pangs of guilt for wanting to invade his new friend’s privacy, Conrad moved toward the door to Freddie’s sleep chamber and attempted to crack it open. Alas, it was locked tight. “A private little animal, isn’t he”, Conrad thought as he hastily grabbed his briefcase and began his career (or was it a sentence) as the Athletic Director of the Farnsworth Fighting Ferrets.

The school’s athletic department was housed in offices adjacent to Farnsworth Forum, the school’s glamorous basketball arena. The offices were not luxurious compared to the administrative building, but it was quickly clear to Conrad that no expense had been spared furnishing this facility either. The main reception area featured a large half-oval desk, apparently done in mahogany wood, surrounded by several plush leather chairs and couches on the perimeter. “Stay out of those man-eating chairs,” Conrad thought to himself.

The receptionist was a lady he guessed to be in her mid 30’s with a petite build and bright red hair that was somewhat askew. She was hyperactively trying to handle several tasks at once as Conrad approached. He noticed the nameplate on the front railing-“Gretchen Applebuns.” Does anything around here have a normal name, he wondered to himself. Stepping forward, he made eye contact with Gretchen and said, “Hello, Gretchen, I’m Conrad Kondratowicz, the new athletic director.” She responded by standing up and going “Mooooooo! Moooooooo!”

Conrad had tried to prepare for anything this morning, but being greeted with bovine noises from the receptionist was not a contingency he had considered. He was frozen in his tracks, not having the first clue what to say, when a young man who had been sitting in one of the chairs stood up and rescued him. “I’m Fred Farnsworth, Connie, welcome! Good to meet you.” Conrad, still processing his welcome from Gretchen, stuck his had out weakly and said, “Hi.”

“Let me show you to your office so you can start getting settled in,” Fred said to Conrad, already steering him in that direction. “OK,” Conrad replied, fearing what could be behind closed doors in this loony bin if the person out front mooed at guests.

As Fred led the way to his new office, Conrad made note of the expensive décor, furniture, and equipment in the department’s main work area. At least he wouldn’t be embarrassed bringing people into this first-rate office setting. He wondered if there was a back door so they could avoid being greeted by strange noises out front. Fred stopped in front of an office that was large enough for the football team to practice in. The furniture and shelving reminded him more of how a CEO’s office would be appointed. It sure beat the old metal desk and file cabinets that wouldn’t quite close which he was used to working with, he thought.
“Here’s your office,” Fred announced. “Sweet, huh?”

“It sure is,” Conrad replied while he tried to avoid the appearance of gawking. “Everything I’ve seen here is first class.”

“That’s what my granddad is all about. First class all the way! Pretty good for a guy that started out shoveling horse poop.”

“Really? Wow, he sure has come a long way.”

“You bet. That was the inspiration that led to his fortune.”

“Do you mean the hard work and humility he learned working in a horse stall?”

“No, I mean that instead of shoveling it, he was going to use it so he never had to do menial work again. That’s how he made his fortune.”

“On what, horses? Is he a breeder?”

“No, he hasn’t liked horses since one pooped on him while he was cleaning a stall. I mean the poop! He started Farnsworth Fertilizer and built it into the world’s largest producer of odorless fertilizer. It made him a billionaire!”

“So his fortune is based on…”

“Poop. Crap. Dung. Feces. Excrement. Yep, that’s my granddad.”

“That explains the ‘sweet smell of success’ he referred to in my interview. I THOUGHT it smelled like poop. Please tell me everything around here doesn’t smell like that.”

“No silly. He has that in his office because he never wants to loose touch with his roots. He says it keeps him grounded, whatever that means. By the way, don’t ever use the S-word around him. He finds it very demeaning.”

“Demeaning?”

“Yeah. He’s always felt that fertilizer doesn’t get enough respect. He won’t even watch HBO because they use the S-word so often.”

“Well, I sure wouldn’t want to disrespect fertilizer.”

Conrad moved around his desk and lowered himself into the chair gingerly. “Ah, this one is nice and firm,” he thought when he did not feel himself being swallowed up. He relaxed, leaned back in the chair, and reengaged Fred. “So, what do you do around here, Fred?”

“I’m the assistant athletic director. I’m really glad granddad hired someone with your background. I sure could use the help around here,” Fred somewhat exasperated, told Conrad.

Feeling his eyebrows raise yet again, Conrad thought maybe he should have them stapled that way and save the effort. “YOU need help around here?” he slowly spit out at Fred. “What exactly do you do?”
“Well, you know, lead, motivate, and assign tasks, that kind of thing.”

“In other words, none of what you do has any kind of measurable performance objective?”

“I’ve been told that before, so I guess not. I don’t fool with a lot of details or handle paper, that’s what the underlings are here for.”

“I see. Where’s your office?”

“Oh, I don’t really need one. I’m out in the field most of the time.”

“Doing what? Oh, I know, leading, motivating, and delegating, right?”

“See, that’s why you’re going to do so well here. You pick up on stuff real quick!”

“Yes, I do, my friend, I certainly do,” Conrad replied ruefully. “Can you have someone get me the staff personnel files so I can begin reviewing them and meeting with the people?”

“I’ll have one of my underlings get those for you. Anything else I can help you out with?”

“Just a couple of quick things. First, it’s Conrad, not Connie. Second, please don’t let me hear you use the word “underlings” again. Employees or staff would work much better.”

“Whatever floats your boat ConRAD,” Fred emphasized. “I’ll have those files sent to you ASAP.”

“Twit,” Conrad thought as his alleged assistant sauntered out the door.

After Fred departed, Conrad turned around in his chair and faced toward his office window, which gave him a panoramic view of this beautiful campus. His hopes of having a few moments to unwind were quickly dashed when he heard a frantic knocking at his door. Turning around, he saw a distraught Gretchen. She blurted out, “Sir, may I take a few moments of your time and try to convince you not to fire me? Mooooo! Mooooo!”

“Sure,” Conrad replied, “close the door and have a seat.”

Gretchen, obviously terrified, inched toward Conrad’s desk. Seeing her hesitation, he stood and moved to a small circular table closer to the door with only two chairs around it. If he was going to find out what was up with this chick, Conrad needed to put her at ease as much as possible. “Please, let’s sit over here,” Conrad said, motioning to the small table. Gretchen followed his lead and sat, moving her chair away from the outer edge of the table. She sat motionless and speechless. Just entering the office had apparently taken all the courage she could muster; she had none left to speak.

Conrad decided to break the silence, “Well, Gretchen, let’s start with the obvious. What’s with the mooing?”

“It’s not just mooing, sir. Sometimes it’s barking, other times it’s howling, growling, hissing, sounds like that.” Gretchen said as she slumped in her seat.

“That’s good to know, but you didn’t answer my question”

“I have a condition, sir.”

“I already figured that much out Gretchen. What type of condition?”

“It’s called Tourrete’s Syndrome, sir. It usually kicks in when I’m really stressed. Woof! Woof!”

“Like now, I assume. I think I’ve heard of that, but I thought people mainly shouted obscenities instead of making animal noises.”

“That’s usually what they show on television, sir. I do that sometimes when I’m really, really upset, but it’s mostly animal noises. The doctors tell me it’s involuntary. I’m on medication that keeps it from being worse, but there’s no cure. I’m so sorry, sir.” Gretchen then began to cry and howl.

Trying to stop the crying and, more importantly, cease the god-awful howling, Conrad reached over and touched her gently on the arm. “Gretchen, one thing I’ve learned how to do in my career is to look at someone’s talents and put them in positions where they can be successful. I’m hopeful I can find a spot for you that will minimize the stress and help you keep these outbursts to a minimum. I am sure, however, that it won’t be as the receptionist. What rocket scientist came up with that idea?”

“Four F, sir.” Gretchen replied, still looking down at the floor.

“Four F? Who’s that?”

“Fred Farnsworth, sir, the assistant athletic director. We call him that because his full name is Frederick F. Farnsworth the Fourth. It also seems somewhat descriptive.” Gretchen, now making eye contact with Conrad, told him.

“Four F was the classification of an Army reject, wasn’t it?”

“Yes sir.”

“I get it,” Conrad replied, feeling a slight grin appearing on his face. “Can you get coverage for the rest of the day at the reception desk?”

“I think I can, sir.”

“Good. I’ll need some help going through the personnel roster and files. Why don’t you work with me today on that and maybe during the process we can figure out a better role for you to play on our team.”

Gretchen, now sitting fully upright, began to crack a smile, “I would be honored to work with you, sir.”

Conrad shook his head and smiled himself. “Gretchen, let’s find a middle ground between mooing and treating me like a General. Why don’t you just call me Conrad?”

Gretchen replied, “Yes sir, Conrad sir!”

As the afternoon wore on, Conrad spent most of his time reviewing the personnel files (which Gretchen had obtained after Four F had wandered off). He also took time to ask Gretchen, who had worked for the athletic department since the school first fielded athletic teams nine years ago, what she knew about some of the key people. It was quickly evident who she did not like, since those names were met with loud barking. “At least,” thought Conrad, “I won’t have to spend a lot of time reading between the lines with her. I’ll have a pretty good inkling when she’s upset about something.”

When the workday was coming to a close, Conrad put down the files and asked Gretchen to sit with him for a moment. “I think I know a good spot for you in the department,” Conrad said.

“That would be wonderful, sir. Where would that be?“

“Right outside my office. There’s enough open space out there to set up a desk and the necessary equipment. You’ve really impressed me this afternoon, Gretchen, and I’d like you to be my administrative assistant.”

“That would be wonderful, sir. What would my duties consist of?”

“Primarily helping me sort through this mess of a department and trying to make sense out of it. You have a lot of institutional knowledge I desperately need, plus you seem to have a good knack for organization. I think you could be a tremendous help to me. What do you say?”

“That would be wonderful, sir. Are you sure my condition won’t be too much of a hindrance?”

“I’ll admit it will take some getting used to, but I think it will be worth the effort. I’ll try to treat it like an ‘early-warning system.’ If I hear noises, I’ll assume there is some problem and try to make myself available to deal with it.”

“That would be wonderful, sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I’m sure you won’t. I’m sure it will be wonderful.” Conrad smiled.

Gretchen, embarrassed at realizing how many times she had repeated herself, started whining like a hurt puppy. Conrad said, “I’m just having some fun with you, Gretchen. Don’t take me too seriously. I try not to take myself too seriously either. Let’s try to have some fun amidst this chaos, OK?”

“That would be wonderful, sir,” Gretchen replied, then hustled out of Conrad’s office, her whining noise gradually fading as she walked.

Conrad ended the day more pessimistic about his chances for success at Farnsworth that he was at the beginning. Not only did he have a pompous blowhard rich kid for his assistant AD, the rest of his staff review had left him with a feeling of isolation. The files read more like a rogues’ gallery than a staff roster. Was he going to have to try and turn this department around by himself?

No, he had Gretchen, a competent professional who he suspected was much more talented than she realized. Oh yeah, and who also made various animal noises when stressed. Well, at least it was a start. Since the fall season was about to get underway, he needed to move along at a brisk pace.

Or maybe he could just find a good place to hide.

Part 1, Episode 2: "Introducing Freddie Ferret"

“Well, what do you think?” Conrad asked. The question was directed at his childhood pal, Nick Petrocini. Both Baltimore natives, they had known each other since sharing classes at Our Lady of the Eternal Virgin school in the sixth grade, and their mutual love of sports led them to develop a fast friendship. They quickly became inseparable and stayed that way through Our Lady of Perpetual Desperation high school and graduated together from Edgar Allen Poe University.

Conrad stayed at EAPU to begin his career in the athletic department while working on his masters in sports management. Nick went to law school at nearby Loyola College. Since then, Nick has often served as a de-facto agent for Conrad, who reciprocated with free passes to any EAPU games Nick desired. That pipeline was now sealed off, but Nick was still willing to look over the contract that Conrad dropped off at his house Friday night. Now, on Sunday afternoon at their favorite watering hole, “The Ravens Nest,” Conrad was asking for Nick’s feedback.

“Aside from this six-month salary holdback, everything is pretty straightforward,” Nick replied, “no tricks, no strange clauses. It does clearly state that you will be terminated if you don’t have at least one of the teams on track for Division I within six months from date of employment. How are you going to pull off that trick? Bribe someone? Sleep with someone? Sleep with several people?” Nick saw Conrad tense up and look away. “Hey, I’m sorry I struck a nerve. I know YOU don’t play that way. All I was trying to say is I just can’t imagine how you are going to meet that ridiculous time frame.”

Conrad reestablished eye contact with Nick and said, “I understand what you’re saying. If I told you I had a plan in mind of how to do that, I’d be lying. I’m just hoping I can pull a rabbit out of my hat before the deadline.”

“Well, what do you know, I sittin’ across from freakin’ David Copperfield! So tell me, Dave, why DID you breakup with Claudia Schiffer?” Nick asked.

“She was too needy. Plus, she always wanted me to eat salads and vegetables. She crossed the line and I had no choice but to show her the door,” Conrad replied.

“Are you crazy? I would have eaten bugs and dog poop to get a shot at her.”

“I’m sure your wife would just love to hear that.”

The laughter following that exchange momentarily broke the tension. It had become standard operating procedure over the years for one of them to make a wise-ass remark when the two friends were dealing with serious issues.

“Really, Conrad, what are you gonna do? The Fighting Ferrets?! Aren’t they like little weasels? Have you ever actually seen a ferret?” Nick asked with genuine concern.

Conrad responded, “I figure, worst case scenario is I keep the job for six months, hope things have somewhat blown over and that I made enough headway there to land a semi-decent job afterwards and start over. At least I’m still in my field and I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you’ve got you’re act together, I just wonder if anyone else there does. I don’t care how good you are or how hard you work, you can’t do it all by yourself,” Nick added.

“I did for a while at EAPU,” Conrad contradicted.

“Yeah, and look where that got you!” Nick blurted out. Conrad said nothing and became immersed in the Orioles game being shown on the big screen. Nick thought this would be a good time to shut up, watch the ball game, and sip on his beer.

Before meeting Nick, Conrad had checked out of the “Beltway Express” motel which had been his “home” since his wife had evicted him from their house a few days ago. After leaving the Ravens Nest, Conrad made his way back down I-70 toward his new digs. As he returned to the Farnsworth campus, he was relieved that this time he knew how to find his destination. A map showing where to find his accommodations had been included in the package with his contract.

“Farnsworth sure hadn’t thought there was much of a chance he would turn down the job offer,” Conrad thought as he traveled through the beautiful campus. Part of him felt like Superman in the old 1950’s TV show when the bad guys had kidnapped Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen for the umpteenth time; he knew it was a trap but what choice did he have but to go rescue them? Conrad could not shake the feeling of being set up for failure, but what other options did he have?

In his moment of despair, Conrad looked to the heavens for a sign. He quickly found one, the familiar golden star of his favorite eating establishment in the world. There had been many times in his life that the sight of a Shooting Star fast-food joint had turned Conrad’s frown upside down, but this one was totally unexpected.

The sign was outside the school’s student union, where upon entering he was astonished to find not just the home of the Star Burger but a full-blown mini-mall. There was a grocery store, a drug store, a newsstand, several apparel and accessory shops, a bank, and several chain restaurants and fast food joints.

Farnsworth had told him there were unlimited resources, and this facility was a clue that this philosophy applied to the students as well.

As he sat and devoured his double SuperStar Burger (two quarter-pound patties) combo with no cheese, only ketchup and worked on his second diet cola refill, he sat back and observed the activity around him.

He had traveled to numerous big-time campuses during his years at EAPU and saw students in countless settings. The level of activity, the attitude and look of the students, none of it even remotely resembled the Podunk school he had been expecting. In this small snapshot of campus life at Farnsworth, he saw scenes that could have been at any large school where students were returning for the new semester. The atmosphere seemed charged with a confidence, even an excitement, of people who truly wanted to be there, not ones who had chosen Farnsworth University as a last resort. Hopefully, Conrad thought as he departed the student union, you can tell a book by its cover, at least this book.

Content with the familiar feeling of a SuperStar Burger rumbling through his digestive system, Conrad headed toward his new room. He wasn’t going to call it home, since he still felt his was back at the house he was chased from in Owings Mills, but it would hopefully be an upgrade over the motel. Conrad found the building where he would be staying and became confused. The map had led him back to the administrative building where he had met Farnsworth two days ago. He walked around the back and found the door he was looking for, the one with the distinctive “FF” symbol the map said would mark his room.

After fumbling with the key, Conrad opened the door to the suite and flailed around to find a light switch. Once he found one and flipped it on, he let out a blood-curling scream. “Oh my God, what is that?!!!” he shrieked. His eyes were focused on what looked like a giant hamster wheel near the far wall of what he supposed was the living room. The wheel appeared to be large enough to accommodate a six-foot tall man. Then he thought it would also work for a six-foot tall hamster and felt his blood run cold.

He stood transfixed by the wheel and felt a tap on his shoulder. He jumped and turned around to find himself face-to-face with what looked like a six-foot tall weasel. “Oh my god,” Conrad screamed, “what are you?!” Overcome with confusion and no small amount of fear, he dropped to his knees and held his head in his hands. He wondered if he had walked into a gigantic weasel cage! Or perhaps the wheel and weasel were their normal size and he had been zapped with a shrinking ray, like Superman’s enemy Braniac used to capture the Kryptonian city of Kandor and keep it in a bottle.

Conrad closed his eyes, still on his knees, and shouted, “God, I know I’ve been drinking a bit extra since I lost my job, but I really didn’t think I had drank THAT much! I’m sorry God, I’ll go back on the wagon, just make this stuff go away!” After a moment, Conrad struggled to his feet, opened his eyes, and found that both the wheel and the weasel were exactly where he had last seen them. “Oh God, you’re killing me here. My mind was the only thing I had left! Jooop! Jooop!”

Then, just to top things off, the weasel spoke. “Hey pal, it’s OK. You must be Connie. Welcome.” Oh great, Conrad thought, Farnsworth has a giant weasel as his Welcome Wagon representative. The weasel continued, “Mr. F told me to expect you tonight. I’m Freddie Ferret and we’ll be rooming together for a while. Glad to have you buddy.”

Conrad stared at him and his extended paw for a moment and sought to say something intelligent. Instead, he said, “You can talk?”

“Sure pal,” Freddie responded. “Under this fur exterior is a flesh and blood person just like you.” Not quite like me, Conrad thought. “Are you the mascot?” he asked, managing only a slightly more intelligent question.

“I’m more than just a mascot Connie,” Freddie said proudly, “I’m the face of the Farnsworth Fighting Ferrets.”

“Conrad, please call me Conrad,” Conrad said, beginning to pull himself together. “I’m sorry I went all bonkers on you, but I wasn’t expecting anything like this and I’ve had a rough few days.”

“That’s OK pal. I just figured Mr. F would give you the heads up. I guess this was his way of having fun with you. He can be quite the kidder.”

This little stunt made Farnsworth’s Pollock jokes seem like high-brow humor to Conrad. “Could you point out where the men’s room is? I REALLY need to go.”

“It’s over there on the left. Take your time, relax, and then let’s hang out a bit and get to know each other,” Freddie said, his good humor not even slightly dented by Conrad’s psychotic episode.

“Yeah, relax. Sure.” Conrad said, still in somewhat of a state of shock. He staggered into the men’s room and sat down on the toilet. “I don’t know whether I’m being filmed for an episode of The Twilight Zone or Candid Camera. This just ain’t right!” Conrad thought. “I’m working for a total nut job and living with a talking ferret. And what’s the deal with the wheel. He’s not a freakin’ hamster, he’s a ferret. Wait a minute, he’s not a ferret-he just dresses like one. Is that better or worse? If he were a talking ferret, it’s not like he would have a choice in how he looks. But if he is wearing a ferret suit, he must have decided to do that at some point. Where do you buy a ferret suit anyway? I’m sure you don’t just get one off the rack at Wal-Mart. Would Freddie wear a size 2x or 3x?

Conrad, having taken care of his business, stood up and slapped himself hard, once on each cheek (on his face, people, on his face). He then looked into the mirror and made a final attempt to gather himself. Unaware of how much time had passed, he washed his face and went back out to the living area. Freddie had been waiting patiently on the couch and stood up when he saw Conrad finally emerge.

“Freddie, I’m really sorry,” Conrad began. “I’m usually not like that when I meet new people. Of course, they usually aren’t wearing a ferret suit, either, but that’s beside the point. Can we start over?”
“Sure!” Freddie replied. “Have a seat. I’m sure you have a bunch of questions, so fire away.”

“OK,” Conrad began, “why are you wearing the suit now. Did Farnsworth put you up to that to startle me?”
“Oh no,” Freddie shook his head, “I wear this all the time. I don’t just dress up as a ferret. I AM the ferret, the Farnsworth Fighting Ferret.”

“All the time, huh?” Conrad asked as he pondered that fact. “I guess you have trouble getting dates then, don’t you?”

Freddie burst out laughing. “Conrad, I am the BFOC. Nobody can keep up with me.”

“BFOC?”

“Big Ferret On Campus, man. I am a babe magnet. I’m not talking female ferrets either, pal. I’m talking about girls with big luscious lips and nice firm…”

“I get it, I get it!” Conrad interrupted. “BFOC. All right then, what’s with the wheel?”

“Good question. Mr. F got that for the original Farnsworth Ferret. We call him ‘Father Ferret.” Mr. F wasn’t up on his ferret facts then, he got us confused with hamsters and gerbils. But it’s great for exercise, not to mention a real conversation piece when I have guests. Would you like to give it a spin?”

“No thanks, I pretty sure I’m not up for that tonight.”

“Suit yourself. Hey, would you like some background on the folks that work for you.”

“Sure,” Conrad replied. “Anything I can use to get a leg up on things would be very helpful. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. After all, we’re teammates now. I’ve got your back, pal.”

By the time the evening was over and it was time to retire to bed, Conrad had come to believe this strange dude in the ferret suit actually would have his back. They talked for hours, covering much more than the school’s athletic department. Conrad was able to spill his guts to Freddie, telling him all about the events that had led him to this point, things he hadn’t even told Nick.

As they were talking, Conrad realized just how much he had needed someone to open up to. He was still very skeptical about Freddie and the “babes”, but after today he was more open to strange possibilities than at any other time in his life. He also thought he had a handle on the group of knuckleheads, morons, and otherwise impaired people staffing the Farnsworth athletic department.

As he prepared for bed, Conrad would focus on his furry new friend Freddie and drift off to sleep. Tomorrow, however, he feared he would begin to learn how a hamster felt running around in his wheel, expending a lot of energy without getting anywhere.

Part 1, Episode 1: "Welcome to Farnsworth"

“My name is Frederick Farnsworth, president of Farnsworth University. You need a job, I need your skills. Come to my office at 3:00 PM tomorrow so we can discuss a mutually beneficial endeavor.”

The cryptic voice mail Conrad received on his cell phone the prior evening had intrigued him. Along with wondering how Farnsworth had obtained his cell phone number, he was curious about the nature of this “endeavor.” After several days of indulging in self-pity, Conrad was finally ready to begin at least tentatively moving forward and establishing some direction for this new life he had been thrust into.

Conrad Kondratowicz had given the last twenty years of his life to the athletic program at Edgar Allen Poe University in Baltimore, Maryland. During that time, he had worked his way up from an unpaid intern to the position of assistant athletic director. Conrad had once been considered a rising star in the field of college athletic administration, but the rug had just been snatched out from beneath him, leaving only a seemingly bottomless hole to fall through. At 43 years old, he now felt that he had lost everything that meant anything to him.

To be sure, Conrad’s career was now dead in the water. He had astutely concluded that Saddam Hussein had a better chance of being elected president than he had of landing a decent job in athletic administration. As far as other schools were concerned, he was radioactive. Recent events had also apparently extinguished the last dim spark in Conrad’s eight-year marriage and threatened to widen the distance between himself and his precious four-year old daughter Connie.

When a man feels he has nothing left to lose, he can find himself receptive to opportunities that would have previously held little or no interest for him. That attitude had led him to answer the summons and make the trip from his motel room in suburban Baltimore down I-70 toward Farnsworth, Maryland to meet the mysterious Frederick Farnsworth.

Farnsworth was a very rich man who had founded Farnsworth University nine years ago. The county was so eager to receive the financial benefits of hosting his university that they allowed him to annex the acreage for the campus, incorporate it as a town and name it after himself. Having been so absorbed with his work at Edgar Allen Poe U, Conrad had paid little attention to schools not competing at the same athletic level. EAPU was an emerging Division I power in several sports, while Farnsworth University had a rather non-descript Division III program. He didn’t even know what the school’s mascot was.

Conrad had heard that Mr. Farnsworth was considered a loose screw, a combination of Mark Cuban and George Steinbrenner. As he cruised down the interstate, he wondered what it would be like working for someone like that. After all, Steinbrenner’s employees seldom seemed happy despite dominating major league baseball for nearly a decade. Any man who would name a town after himself was probably not to be trifled with. In Conrad’s present situation, however, self-actualization was not a priority. If all Farnsworth wanted was someone to flip burgers in the school cafeteria, he felt he would have to swallow hard and listen. He needed cash to pay for his motel and his suddenly substantial beverage expense, and his estranged wife Camilla had a stranglehold on most of the assets accumulated during their marriage.

As Conrad wondered for what may have been the thousandth time over the last few days how it was possible he could be in this situation, he exited the highway on the ramp designated for Farnsworth University. Visiting the campus for the first time, he was impressed enough with the spectacular landscaping and immaculately kept grounds to take his mind off his problems for just a moment. It was a magnificent late August afternoon, and the beautiful flora and fauna including a babbling brook meandering through the property more closely resembled an image of Augusta National Golf Course than a college campus. Despite a serious drought in central Maryland that summer, the grounds practically glowed with a plush greenness.

He quickly found the sign marking the location of the school’s administrative offices, where he would begin his quest to find Mr. Farnsworth. The voice message he had left for Conrad was lacking some basic information, such as a phone number and the location of his office. He wondered how difficult it would be to pry information about this “endeavor” out of the old man.

The administration building more closely resembled the home of an old southern plantation owner, and Conrad was taken aback by the exquisite antique furnishing that filled the interior of the facility. He was hardly a furniture expert, but to his untrained eye it appeared that there were a lot of hand-carved features in the furnishings he encountered in the lobby. He thought that Farnsworth must either be a man of style or had hired a decorator that had seen “Gone With the Wind” one too many times.

Conrad was warmly greeted at the information desk at the end of the majestic lobby. He was quickly given directions to Frederick Farnsworth’s suite, noting how odd it was that it was not called an office. The clerk also handed Conrad a glossy color map of the campus and implored him to, “enjoy your visit to Farnsworth!” As he made his way back to Farnsworth’s suite, he noticed that some of the tension he carried around with him had dissipated and given way to a hint of optimism. That feeling lasted until he reached the suite and encountered Farnsworth’s executive assistant, a plain librarian-type 40-ish woman identified only as “Kate” by the simple nameplate on her desk.

Conrad stood at her desk for a few moments not wanting to interrupt Kate, whose fingers were attacking the keyboard on her computer. As he looked around, he felt like he was in a museum. The paintings on the wall were all from the impressionist period, a fact he would never have know if his estranged wife had not dragged him to a few art galleries back when they actually did things together. The furniture was of a similar ostentatious design to that he had seen in the lobby. Finally, Kate looked away from her computer screen, obviously annoyed at having her personal space invaded by an outsider, and asked, “Are you Mr. Kon-RAD-o-witz?”

“Yes,” he replied, “I’m Conrad Kon-drah-TOE-veech.”

Kate’s glare hardened, as she apparently did not care for being corrected. “Mr. Farnsworth will be with you shortly,” she snapped.

“Is there any paperwork you need me to fill out?” Conrad inquired.

Having turned back to her computer, Kate jerked her chair around to face him directly and sternly told him “If there were, I would have given it to you. Sit!”

Ah yes, there’s that familiar tension, Conrad thought while he felt his body tense up as if it were a rubber band being stretched in preparation for launching. He noticed that he was seated in a hunched down position like a young boy who had been scolded by his mother or schoolteacher. “I see Farnsworth has armed himself with the latest version of the attack secretary”, Conrad thought as he squirmed in his seat.

Conrad sat as his fellow victims in the waiting area were granted their audience with Farnsworth. Finally, at precisely 4:32, an hour and forty-five minutes after his arrival, Conrad was ordered in to meet The Man. He could have sworn he heard Kate hissing at him as he passed her desk, but dismissed that thought when Frederick Farnsworth welcomed him with a hearty back slap and a firm handshake. “It’s good to meet you Connie. I’m glad you accepted my invitation.” Conrad fought the instinctive urge to cringe, hating what he considered the effeminate bastardization of his name and responded “Good to meet you too, sir.”

During the handshake, Conrad had a moment to size up this captain of industry (although he did not know which one) and patriarch of higher learning. Farnsworth was a solidly-built man, Conrad observed, probably standing around 6’3” with a full head of hair that clearly was not all originally his. For a man probably well into his 60’s he was quite an imposing figure, much more so than Conrad could ever hope to be with his slight 5’10” (on a good day) build.

After being ushered into a plush black leather chair in front of Farnsworth’s massive desk, Conrad’s mind drifted for a second and pictured a fighter jet landing comfortably on that majestic piece of dark mahogany furniture. It dominated the office that, while large, hardly merited being labeled a “suite.” He could not help but sink down in the chair, putting him below eye level as he faced Farnsworth. He sure knows all the power moves, Conrad thought as he struggled to maintain an erect posture.

Farnsworth, after settling in to what resembled a leather throne behind his desk, then reengaged Conrad. “I’m sure you are wondering what I have in mind, aren’t you Connie?”

“That I am sir,” Connie, er, Conrad, replied.

“Well, I’ll tell you. By the way, your last name, Kon-RAD-o-witz, is that Polish?” Farnsworth inquired.

“Yes sir, it his” he replied, “Kon-drah-TOE-veech comes from Polish ancestry.”

“Really?” Farnsworth asked thoughtfully. “Have you heard about the Polish man who locked his keys in his car?”

Conrad, stunned that he was being told a Pollock joke on what he assumed was a job interview, gathered himself and said, “No sir, I haven’t.”

Farnsworth continued, “He had to use a coat hanger to get his family out!”

Conrad forced himself to chuckle while Farnsworth was roaring with laughter. At least, Conrad thought, he didn’t tell than awful joke about the Pollocks screwing in the light bulb. If he heard that one more time in his life, he thought he would surely scream or barf or both.

After Farnsworth pulled himself together, he asked Conrad, ‘Well surely you’ve heard the one about how many Pollocks it takes to screw in a light bulb?”

“More times than I care to mention sir,” Conrad replied, struggling to keep the tone of his voice level and avoid screaming or barfing.

“Yes, my boy, that’s a classic all right,” Farnsworth said somewhat wistfully.

“Anyway,” Farnsworth abruptly barked as he spun to directly face Conrad, “I need a new athletic director here at Farnsworth U. I’m rich, and we should have the best of everything here, but so far our athletic program hasn’t gotten off the ground. I think you’re the man that can put Farnsworth athletics on the map, and on television.”

Oh my god, Conrad thought, he thinks this twinkie school can get into big-time college sports. This guy IS a squirrel.

After allowing a moment for the job offer to sink in, Farnsworth stood up, moved around his vast desk, and sat on the front edge only inches away from where Conrad was being consumed by the leather chair. “I know you’ve had a bad run of luck recently, Connie. I’ve checked you out quite thoroughly. You have a great work ethic, outstanding problem solving skills, and the leadership qualities that your previous employer did not properly utilize. Besides, don’t you want the chance to pluck the feathers of those dastardly Edgar Allen Poe Ravens?”

Flattery and revenge were two good selling points, and Conrad found himself momentarily captivated with the idea of running his own program, a notion inconceivable when this day began. But this one? How could he get a young Division III program with no winning tradition to the point where it could compete with a powerhouse like EAPU? The next-to-last thing he wanted was to take a beating from the Ravens. Of course, the LAST thing he wanted was prolonged unemployment. Finally, he responded to Farnsworth, “This is certainly an intriguing offer.”

Farnsworth jumped in before Conrad could continue, “I know what you’re thinking, my boy. How can you compete with a major program like EAPU? We don’t even do that well in our current division.”

Wow, Conrad thought, this guy is gooood.

“The answer is simple, my boy,” Farnsworth continued, “I’m rich. Some call it filthy rich. You smell that aroma Connie? That’s the sweet smell of success!” Conrad thought it smelled more like freshly planted farmland. “If you need anything, I will get it for you. You will have unlimited resources, and a good man with that kind of backing can’t help but be successful.”

Conrad pondered the indisputable logic of that last statement. “What would be the terms of employment?”

Farnsworth smiled, knowing he had his man. “We do things a bit differently here at Farnsworth. You’re salary will be $100,000 to start, with 50% deferred the first six months. If your performance is deemed acceptable, and I have no doubt it will be, you will receive the balance in a manner of your choosing at that time and start being paid at your full salary.”

Conrad fought to lower his eyebrows, which had instinctively arched when Farnsworth said $100,000. “What will determine whether or not my performance is acceptable?” Conrad asked. “Two things,” Farnsworth began, “first, I want a thorough review of our fall sports with a detailed action plan that will have our weaker sports, especially football, on a path to short-term success in our current division.”

“Fair enough,” responded Conrad, “what’s the second part?”

“Oh yes,” Farnsworth lit up, “I expect at least one of our teams to be on track to gain acceptance into Division I. I know the process takes a while, but I expect at least one of our teams to be on that path.”

“In six months?!,” Conrad, somewhat exasperated, asked.

“My dear Connie, if the job was easy, I wouldn’t need someone of your abilities to do it, now would I? Do we have a deal, or are you currently entertaining other offers?” Of course, they both knew there would be no other offers for Conrad’s services in the foreseeable future.

Conrad stood up after fighting his way out of the man-eating leather chair and uttered words he was sure he would soon regret, “We have a deal sir.”

Farnsworth took the extended hand and pumped it enthusiastically. “Welcome aboard, my boy! Now go enjoy your weekend and report in Monday morning. Here’s your contract, take a good look over it and I’ll answer any questions you may have then. I know your living situation is somewhat unsettled right now, so I have arranged for a room on campus for you.”

“Thank you for the opportunity sir,” Conrad said, trying his best to sound sincerely grateful. It would be nice, he thought, to move out of the crappy motel he had been staying at. “By the way, what is the school’s mascot?”

“The ferret, my boy, the ferret!” Farnsworth proudly announced, “You are now the leader of the Farnsworth Fighting Ferrets!”

Conrad wondered, not for the last time, if he would have been better off leading Custer’s troops at Little Big Horn.

Introducing "Tales of the Fighting Ferrets"

My name is Jim Johnson and I’ll be your guide through a story that I hope you feel is funny, interesting, at times moving, but most importantly something you find entertaining.

This is the tale of an average man who finds himself in a very unusual situation. His career as a college athletics administrator appears to be ruined, his family leaves him, and he has only one viable option to try and rebuild his life.

It is at Farnsworth University in rural Maryland that Conrad Kondratowicz finds a group of people he thinks belong on The Island of Misfit Toys. He feels that he is surrounded by knuckleheads and nitwits along with a few people who are just plain strange. Despite this, he is desperate enough to salvage his career and sense of self-worth that he plows forward trying to pull together Farnsworth’s pitiful Division III athletic department.

Along the way, Conrad begins to wonder if his life was actually ruined after all. As he gets to know the eclectic gathering of people he works with, he sees past the dysfunction and quirks some of them have and finds sincere, hard-working, even loving individuals.

It’s a good thing too, because Farnsworth athletics is always in a state of crisis. You’ll see Conrad deal with explosions, sabotage, general incompetence, and a history of failure by the school’s varsity teams. Even the most basic things, like having his hamburgers prepared correctly, become daunting challenges for our hero.

Then there’s Freddie Ferret, the school mascot. Freddie goes beyond that role, acting more as the goodwill ambassador for a school that sorely needs one. He’s got his own issues that Conrad will get to see up close and personal.

I am very happy that out of all the journalists he could have selected to tell this story, Conrad chose me. I will go behind the scenes of his life and the inner-workings of the Farnsworth athletic department. You, the reader, deserve to know what really goes on there.

Then again, perhaps I’ll just make it all up.

Either way, I hope you will enjoy “Tales of the Fighting Ferrets.” Beginning with Chapter 5, there will be a new chapter posted every Tuesday.

Tell your friends, tell your family and let me know what you think of this story by posting a comment or sending e-mail to thecourtmaster@aol.com.

Remember, Fear the Ferret!