Part 1, Episode 9: "Defeat Sounds Like This"

Sitting in Old Man Farnsworth’s office, Conrad felt a mixture of emotions. The fact that Mr. Farnsworth told him his job would depend on dealing with Richard Dick meant that he still had a job. That was good. With the pressure of avoiding any further hits from EAPU, however, he would be working with a gun to his head. That was bad.

The Old Man gave Conrad a few moments to process this information, and then continued the meeting. “Connie, we also have to discuss your incident with the vermin from the Star-Bulletin yesterday.”

“Yes sir,” Conrad replied, slumping back in his seat.

“Obviously, we can’t have this kind of behavior from the senior staff of the university, no matter how much that rodent may have deserved it,” Mr. Farnsworth went on.

“I understand, sir. I lost it. I realize I was completely out of line.”

“Good. I know you’ve been here only a short time, my boy, but you’re off to an awfully rough start. Between the foul-up with the Moran kid and threatening the sports editor of the only local newspaper, you’ve already given me grounds for firing you.”

Conrad squirmed, wondering if the Old Man was going to contradict himself and give him the ax after all. Farnsworth continued, “I might very well have done so if not for one thing.”

“What was that, sir?” Conrad asked.

“You’ve already developed one very staunch ally. Someone who has shown great disdain for your predecessors but would be ready to go to war with you.”

“Who is that, sir?” Conrad wondered.

“Why, Gretchen, of course!” the Old Man replied, puzzled that Conrad could not figure that out on his own.

“Gretchen came to see you about me, sir?” Conrad asked, taken aback that she would stick her neck out for him.

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose. We talked about you last night after we had sex,” Farnsworth nonchalantly answered.

If Conrad had been sitting in a normal chair, he surely would have fallen out of it. Having come to expect the unexpected at good ‘ol FU, he still did not expect that.

“You have a relationship with Gretchen?” Conrad asked, trying to dampen the astonishment he was feeling.

“My dear Connie, why else would any sane man keep a receptionist with Tourette’s Syndrome employed for nearly ten years? Sure, she has skills that you have been sharp enough to uncover, but she also has other skills that I have enjoyed for quite some time now. My fifth wife didn’t appreciate it very much, but I resolved that issue some time back.”

Conrad braced himself to hear a recital of Gretchen’s “other” skills, but was relieved that the Old Man showed a rare moment of restraint.

“Of course,” Farnsworth added, “this relationship is not public knowledge. I would appreciate it if you would not tell Gretchen that I shared it with you.”

“It’s none of my business, sir,” Conrad replied. “I assure you the subject will never come up.”

“Excellent, I knew I could count on you for that. Now then, we still have the matter of pacifying Buddy Wright at the Star-Bulletin. I asked Gretchen to whip up a statement where you offer an apology. I want you to look it over and, if it is agreeable with you, sign it and fax it over to the paper this afternoon.”

Conrad had a vision of Gretchen sitting at a computer in Mr. Farnsworth’s home typing, still naked, with the Old Man giving her a backrub. He moved past that quickly, scanned the release, and signed it.
“It looks fine to me, sir. I’ll get this on the fax machine when I get back to my office and follow up with a phone call to make sure it gets into the right hands.”

“Very good Connie. Oh, by the way, I’ll be at the football game Saturday. I’d like you to sit up in my box and tell me what you think of our gridiron warriors.”

Conrad had planned on blending into the background at the game, but he thought this would work also. “Sure,” he replied, “I’ll be up there before kickoff.”

“I’ll look forward to your expert analysis. Let’s wrap this up then, my boy, and get back to business.”

“Yes sir. I’ll see you Saturday,” Conrad said as he exited Mr. Farnsworth’s office.

On his way out, Conrad saw Kate motioning for him to come over toward her desk. When he was within earshot of her, Kate said in a loud whisper, “Go get the bastard!”

Conrad looked puzzled, so Kate spelled it out, “Dick! Take him down!”

“I’ll do my best,” Conrad replied, receiving an affirmative nod from Kate. “What is the story behind that?” he wondered. He was pretty sure Kate had never worked in the athletic department at EAPU, but maybe she had held another position there and come across Dick. Maybe they were former lovers. Maybe there would come a time where he experienced a day at Farnsworth U that could be more appropriately reported in Sports Illustrated rather than Soap Opera Digest.

Saturday morning began with Freddie nearly bouncing off the walls. Despite going into his eighth year as the face of Farnsworth sports and the likelihood of another dismal season, football Saturdays still got Freddie as excited as a little boy on Christmas morning. As Conrad watched his furry friend count down the minutes until it was time to leave for the stadium, it was obvious how much Freddie loved what he did. “Boy, talk about a main ingredient for a happy life,” Conrad thought. Maybe happiness was living in a ferret suit.

Farnsworth Field could hold about 10,000 people in the seats and another thousand or so in a grassy cove beyond the west end zone. The facility was essentially a large high school stadium with more comfortable seats and better concessions. A few years ago, the stands would occasionally be full for games against top rivals like nearby Central Maryland College.

More recently, however, Farnsworth football struggled to fill even half of the stands. Four consecutive 1-10 seasons does have a way of eroding fan support. Conrad suspected a large portion of those brave souls who did show up at Farnsworth Field were there to see Freddie perform.

This game was particularly critical for the Fighting Ferrets. The opponent was Galludet University, the one team the Fighting Ferrets had defeated each of the last four seasons. Conrad had spoken to coach Frank “Stump” Williams during the week to get a feel for how prepared the Ferrets would be for this game. Conrad had decided not to get too close to Williams because there was a strong likelihood he would have to make a coaching change next year, if Conrad was even there to do so. Williams, a man with a firm handshake but unusually smooth hands, expressed confidence that the Ferrets would keep their winning streak over Galludet alive.

A beautiful sun-drenched Saturday afternoon and the promise of the Ferrets’ annual win brought a crowd of over 5,000 to Farnsworth Field. Freddie did his usual magic getting the fans fired up, performing with more energy than the Energizer Bunny. He bounced, jumped, did cartwheels, mingled with fans, performed with the cheerleaders, did routines worthy of the gymnastics team while jumping on a trampoline, and led the marching band onto the field.

Once the actual game kicked off, the energy slowly drained out of the stadium. As Conrad sat with Mr. Farnsworth, it was obvious to him that neither team was very good. Conrad, used to watching Division I football, had constantly reminded himself leading up to this game that he needed to lower his expectations. He couldn’t possibly have lowered them enough to avoid being disappointed with what was transpiring on the field. What made things even worse was the fact that the radio play-by-play was being piped into the Old Man’s box. Troy Flemstone, the voice of the Fighting Ferrets, began the broadcast, “Hello, football fanth, and welcome to the exthitement of Fighting Ferreth football.” This is going to be a long, long season, Conrad thought as he slumped into his seat.

Late in the second quarter, with the Ferrets leading 6-3, Mr. Farnsworth asked Conrad, “What do you think about our offense’s execution.”

Instinctively, he replied with an old line from former USC football coach John McKay, “Sir, I think it would be a good idea.”

The Old Man thought that was one of the funniest things he had ever heard. “Good one, my boy! Good one!” he roared.

A Ferret fumble late in the first half deep in their own territory set the Bisons up for the tying field goal. When the Galludet kicker connected, Troy Flemstone announced, “the kick ith good, and that tieth the thcore at halftime. Ith the Fighting Ferreth thix and the Galludet Bithonth thix.”

Mr. Farnsworth was furious. “How can we be tied with a bunch of kids that can’t even hear! This is embarrassing! Conrad, I want you to go down to the locker room and tell Stump Williams that he had better figure out a way to win this game!”

“Mr. Farnsworth, I think he knows that already,” Conrad replied calmly, trying to keep his boss from having a stroke. “Let’s just give him time to make adjustments during the break. I’m sure he’ll come up with something that will give us the advantage in the second half.” Conrad hated lying to his boss, but he saw nothing to gain by bursting into the locker room and threatening the coach at halftime. That was something that was done in bad movies or, worse, bad novels. In reality, he was not at all certain that the Ferrets would win this game, but he didn’t dare let the Old Man know that.

Conrad’s fears were realized in the second half. It was Galludet that had made effective adjustments at halftime. A team sharp enough to run the snap counts on offense from the vibrations of beating a huge drum was well equipped to make changes in their game plan on the fly. The Bison defense crowded the line of scrimmage, effectively stuffing the Fighting Ferrets running game and forcing them to rely on the arm of erratic quarterback Seymour Singletary. This kid brought inconsistency to a new level. He was ambidextrous and couldn’t seem to make up his mind which arm he would throw with. Not surprisingly, his passes were scattered all over the field. As the Galludet defense tightened up, Singletary’s throws began finding enemy players as often as his own.

The reason for this was a mystery to Troy Flemstone. “I justh don’t underthdand why Themore Thingletary ith thrugling tho muth here in the thecond half,” he announced early in the fourth quarter.

Conrad said to no one in particular but within earshot of Mr. Farnsworth, “Come on, it’s obvious Galludet is crowding the line and playing the receivers with tight man-to-man coverage. They’re daring Thingletary, I mean Singletary, to throw long, and he’s not very good at it with either hand.”

“That’s very insightful, Connie,” the Old Man said. “I’m sure the fans listening on radio would appreciate that analysis.”

Yeah, both of them, Conrad thought.

Singletary threw four interceptions in the second half. One was returned for a touchdown and another set up a Galludet field goal. The Ferrets countered with only a single field goal and left the field on the short end of a 16-9 score.

Not surprisingly, Mr. Farnsworth became more agitated as the game wore on. By the time the final gun went off, he let the anger out in a loud outburst punctuated by his arms flailing wildly. “Conrad, I want you to go down and fire that idiot who claims to be coaching this team. How, how, how can we lose to the deaf school! Maybe we could find a school with blind kids and play them. No wait a minute, they’d probably beat us too! AAARRRGGGHHH!!!!”

Conrad allowed a few moments to pass so the Old Man could recover from channeling the Tasmanian Devil. Then, in as soothing a tone as he could muster, Conrad addressed him, “Mr. Farnsworth, as bad as this is, and there’s no question it’s very bad, firing Coach Williams right now would make it even worse.”

“How can it get worse than losing to a deaf team!” the Old Man shrieked.

“Here’s how. Not even Division I schools fire coaches after their opening game. For a D3 school, where athletic success is still supposed to be secondary to the kids getting an education, to do so would give us some very bad press.”

“Worse than having such a sorry excuse for a football team?”

“Amazingly enough, yes it would, because then the priorities of the entire school would be called into question. Unless Williams has committed some kind of horrendous rule violation, and losing to a deaf school is not technically a violation, then we’ve got to ride him out. Besides, firing him at this point would only succeed in making it that much harder to hire a new coach. Any good candidate is going to wonder how much rope he has and, let’s be realistic, they’re going to need a lot of rope to rebuild this football program.”

Mr. Farnsworth pondered what Conrad had said for a moment, then replied, “I suppose you’re right, my boy. This is your area, and you know better than I do. I’m just so frustrated! There’s no reason why we should be so pathetic on the football field.”

“I agree, sir, but we really need to wait until the season is over to make a move unless he does something that really embarrasses the school.”

“You mean even worse than today’s debacle?”

“Yes, even worse than that. As long as he doesn’t do anything to put the school’s integrity into question, he needs to finish out the year.”

“It’s going to be a very long season, my boy.”

“It seems like it already has been, sir.”

“Well, there is one thing I can do to improve the situation.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“I liked your comments during the game. I thought you had a lot of insight into what was happening down on the field. I know Troy Flemstone can be a bit hard to understand at times, so I’d like you to sit in the booth with him and be his analyst.”

So Troy’s a bit hard to understand, Conrad thought. Yeah, just like Bobby Knight’s got a bit of a temper problem. “You mean on the air, sir?” he replied.

“Of course, my boy. I think you’ll make a fine team. Let’s start that next week at the McWorthy College game.”

“Okay, I guess, sir.”

Conrad stood and watched the Old Man head toward the exit of his box. He let out a sigh and thought it thertainly wath going to be a very long thethun.