Part 1, Episode 10: "Leading the Followers"

“Wow, Conrad! What do you think I should do?” Freddie asked.

Conrad, sitting across the table from him, smiled and shook his head. The wonder that is Freddie Ferret continued to amaze him. Freddie had received a phone call earlier that evening from Dirk Smithson, the leader of the Democratic Party in Midville. Dirk informed Freddie that one of his party’s candidates for Midville City Alderman had fallen ill and would have to drop out of the primary election, which was only eight days away. Without this candidate, one of the seats would go uncontested to the Republicans. Smithson had asked Freddie to fill that slot.

“Is this something you would want to do?” Conrad asked.

“Sure. My second degree is in political science. I’m working on one now in psychology. If anything, I’m probably overqualified for a local position like this,” Freddie replied.

“If his current degree program was in abnormal psychology, that would make Freddie more qualified to be athletic director here than me,” Conrad thought. “Well, you sure do know Midville, and the town just loves you,” Conrad said, rubbing his goatee as he pondered this unlikely situation.

“Yeah, if an actor could be elected President of the United States, why couldn’t a ferret win a city alderman’s seat?” Freddie chimed in.

Freddie had a good point, Conrad thought, but there was a factor he had apparently not addressed. “Even as popular as you are, though, it would not be easy to win this election.”

“Why not?” Freddie asked, surprised at the skepticism implied in Conrad’s tone.

“You need to remember,” Conrad continued, “that this is a staunchly Republican area. They have most of the political muscle in this town and quite likely won’t look very kindly upon an interloper in a ferret suit. They’ll pull out all the stops to make sure you don’t win.”

“Yeah, but what can they really do to me, Conrad?” Freddie asked. “My public persona is comparable to a Boy Scout.”

“What about the ladies?” Conrad asked.

“That wouldn’t be a problem. I joke with you about being a furry gigolo, but I am not a ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ or one-night stand ferret. I’m very nurturing and sensitive,” Freddie said defensively.

“Ok, then what about your past. I’m assuming you weren’t born in the ferret suit. Are you up to someone digging around in you pre-Farnsworth days and making public anything that might embarrass you and cost you votes?” Conrad countered.

Freddie fell silent and stared at the floor. After a few moments, he broke the silence. “I guess I should really think about this before I jump in,” he said softly.

Earlier that day, Conrad had met with his intern, John Smith, to go over the Fighting Ferret results so far in the fall season. Conrad had tasked John to attend as many games for as many sports as possible, serving as his eyes while Conrad was still trying to pull things together in the office. None of the teams were faring very well in the early going, but there were two in particular that required special attention.
“What’s going on with the field hockey team?” Conrad asked John.

“They’ve lost their first two games, 7-1 to Central Maryland College and 6-1 to Southern Penn,” John replied.

“Geez, those are some bad whippings for field hockey. I thought we had some pretty good players, or at least that’s what Coach Cage told me,” Conrad said. “Why do we have a male field hockey coach, anyway?”

“Four F hired Gene Cage after your predecessor quit. His philosophy, if you can call it that, is that women aren’t good leaders, and therefore not qualified to be coaches,” John told Conrad. “It didn’t go over very well with the players, and they’re taking their anger out on anything around them.”

“How so, I’m afraid to ask,” Conrad said.

“They’re getting penalty calls out the wazoo,” John replied. “If the other team has the nerve to score a goal, the player that scores is getting pummeled with fists and sticks. That usually gets at least one of our players ejected, and just like in soccer, when a player is ejected in field hockey, the team plays short-handed the rest of the game.”

“That’s not good,” Conrad said, stating the obvious.

“It gets worse,” John continued. “With our team playing shorthanded, we’re more likely to give up another goal, which starts another fight and gets another player ejected. It’s like the proverbial snowball rolling down the mountain.”

“Yeah, a really pissed off snowball with a weapon,” Conrad added.

“Take our last game against Southern Penn,” John added. “We were up 1-0 with less than ten minutes left in the game. They scored, we started a fight, they scored again, we started another fight, and by the end of the game we only had five players left on the field. They probably could have scored ten goals but they were afraid of suffering more casualties. The players have also taken to carrying their sticks around everywhere they go.”

“So girls are getting hurt in these fights?” Conrad asked.

“Oh yeah, the report from the Southern Penn game was two concussions and a broken arm. We’re supposed to play St. Josephine’s on Thursday and they’re threatening not to show up.”

“I’ll talk to Coach Cage and let him know he’s got to get control of his team. Now you told me we were also having problems with the water polo team.”

“Yeah. Believe it or not, several of the guys still can’t swim very well.”

“I remember Coach Fishwell being concerned about that the first week of school. He asked for a lifeguard at practice, for God’s sake.”

“I think you’d better make sure one is there sir, or else we might lose one of players.”

“Wow, we’re that bad? That does explain how we could lose the opener 14-0.”

“Sir, it was so bad one of our attack men received a pass and refused to take one arm out of the water to catch it. He stopped it with his head and pushed it forward with his nose like a freakin’ seal! He was afraid he wouldn’t stay afloat if he didn’t do it that way. I also think I saw a couple of our defenders doing the dog paddle trying to stay afloat.”

“Wow, that’s pathetic! I’d better get Coach Fishwell in here and how he plans to improve on this.” Conrad stopped and shook his head, “Whose bright idea was it to have a water polo team anyway, for crying out loud?”

“Four F’s sir,” John replied. “Coach Fishwell met with him last year and sold him on the idea.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Conrad said, then let out a deep sigh.

Later that week, Conrad met with his beleaguered field hockey and water polo coaches, amazed that such low profile programs were quickly reaching the point of becoming a major disaster for the athletic department and Farnsworth U as a whole.

First, he talked with Gene Cage, the alleged leader of the field hockey Ferrets. “Gene, you know we’ve got
a serious problem with your team, don’t you?”

“I know, we’re not playing very good defense,” Cage responded.

“No, not that. I’m talking about your girls’ propensity toward creating anarchy.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Your players need to stop beating the crap out of the other team’s players, is that clear enough? That is one angry group you’ve got there Gene, and you’ve got to get it under control.”

“Well, I know they can get a bit overly aggressive at times…”

“Overly aggressive?! They’re putting people in the hospital, for God’s sake! I’ve heard they’re even carrying their sticks around to class, practically daring anyone to mess with them. Fortunately, nothing has happened yet, probably because they’ve scared the crap out of everyone. You’ve got to get this thing ratcheted down in a hurry or else no one will play us, and we could be facing lawsuits from your team’s victims.”

“Lawsuits? On what basis?”

“Coaching negligence would be my best guess.”

Cage looked down at the floor and, after a moment, began to cry. “I don’t know what to do, Conrad. The girls hate me! I’m afraid if I try to correct them, they’ll turn on me. You’ve heard what they can do. If they go after me, you might need dental records to identify the body!”

Conrad sat stunned for a moment. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Coach Cage, but he knew this wasn’t it. Conrad spent a few moments fighting the urge to get Cage to pull himself together by slapping him. Finally, he came up with a non-violent approach.

“Gene, if discipline and fear won’t work on these girls, try motivating them,” Conrad began. “Give them some goal they can reach that will mean something to them. That way they can gain more of a sense of accomplishment by putting the ball in the goal and focus less on putting their opponents in the hospital. If they can channel this anger into some positive energy, you just might have a really good team. Better yet, we won’t get sued.”

Cage thought for a moment then asked, “How would I do that?”
“I don’t know,” Conrad replied. “You’re the one that spends time with these girls so you need to figure out what would motivate them. You’ve got until Thursday afternoon. St. Josephine’s is threatening not to come here for the next game, but I’ll call the school and assure them you will have the problem under control.”

“What if I haven’t figured it out by then?” Cage asked.

“We’ll forfeit the game and bring in someone who can motivate these girls and get them to quit hurting people and putting the school at risk,” Conrad replied firmly with his eyes fixed on Cage’s. The coach then stood up without saying anything further and shuffled out of Conrad’s office with Gretchen’s meowing in the background.

The next day, Conrad met with Biff Fishwell, the water polo coach. Fishwell had grown up in the Midville area and became a collegiate water polo star at Western California, helping lead them to the 1997 national championship. After moving back to Maryland to take a federal government job, he found he still had the itch for water polo. He had approached Four F last spring about getting Farnsworth U to field a team, and Four F quickly agreed.

It appeared to Conrad that Fishwell might have been an outstanding player but had no particular aptitude toward coaching water polo. After speaking with him for a while and realizing just how clueless Fishwell was, Conrad called the Farnsworth swimming coach, Sam Schwimmer, and offered him a bonus if he would spend some time with the water polo players and teach them how to swim. Coach Schwimmer had watched the 14-0 loss to Ike and Mike College and had already been considering volunteering his services. A bonus made him even more willing, although he was understandably puzzled how a collegiate team in a water sport could need swimming lessons.

Shortly after Conrad hung up with Coach Schwimmer, Gretchen announced that Freddie was holding on the phone for him. “Hey Freddie, what’s up buddy?” Conrad said as he took the call.

“Conrad, I’m still having trouble deciding about running for Alderman, and the party is pushing me for an answer. You and Mr. Farnsworth are the only people I can really talk to about something like this. If I can get in with him this afternoon, are you available to sit with us and help me figure this out?”
“Sure, Freddie,” Conrad replied. “I’m pretty open this afternoon, so just have Kate call Gretchen and let her know when I should come over.”

“Thanks a lot, man. I’ll see you later,” Freddie replied.

After they finished talking, Conrad sat back and pondered what was going on inside the head of his furry friend. It was very obvious that Freddie wanted to run for the Alderman seat, but what was he afraid of? Was there something so bad in his past that he would give this up just so he would not risk its disclosure? Would this secret explain why he was so happy living in a ferret suit, an issue that he had not yet taken up with Freddie? “I bet the Old Man knows,” Conrad thought, “he seems to have a very paternal relationship with Freddie. I wonder if I can get him to tell me?”

Conrad arrived at Mr. Farnsworth’s office a few minutes before the scheduled 3:00 PM meeting and found Freddie chatting up Kate. Watching them interact, Conrad was surprised to find that, when she was not wearing her “Satan’s Mistress” scowl, Kate had an alluring spark in her eye and was not unattractive. Maybe she didn’t actually fly in to work on her broom every morning, he thought.

Shortly after 3:00, Kate ushered them into the Old Man’s office while, it appeared to Conrad, still displaying that spark when she made eye contact with him. The meeting was a short one, with Mr. Farnsworth and Conrad both expressing concern about the background search the media and the Republican Party would perform once Freddie announced he was a political candidate. Ultimately, it was important enough to Freddie to keep his past a mystery to the public that he decided to turn down Dick Smithson’s offer.

Freddie, dejected over having to pass on his opportunity to run for office, left quickly after the conversation was over. Conrad hung back for a moment, hoping for a private word with the Old Man.

“Mr. Farnsworth,” Conrad asked when they were alone, “what could be so bad in Freddie’s past that the fear of disclosing it would make him pass up the chance for something he very clearly wanted to do?”

The Old Man flashed a very stern look in Conrad’s direction and said coldly, “Don’t go there. Just don’t go there.”

Taken aback by the firmness of Mr. Farnsworth’s response, Conrad quickly excused himself and left the office. As he blew by Kate’s desk, he could feel her gaze upon him. It was not the glare that he had grown accustomed to receiving the first few times he came in contact with her, either. It felt more like the brief glimpse he caught just before entering the Old Man’s office. By the time he stopped to turn around and meet her eyes with his, Kate had turned away and become engrossed in whatever was on her computer screen.

As he walked back to his office, Conrad wondered if he would ever figure out the strange cast of characters he now worked with.