Part 1, Episode 13: "Coach in a Blue Dress"

“This hasn’t been a bad week, has it?” Conrad asked his trusty sidekick, John Smith.

“No sir, not bad at all. For here, it’s been very quiet,” John replied.

Indeed, this was the first week of the fall sports season that had gone by without incident, a milestone Conrad was taking a moment to savor late Friday afternoon. John was in his office providing his rundown on how the various Fighting Ferrets’ varsity teams were faring on the field, and for the first time there were no new off-the-field issues mixed in.

The men’s and women’s soccer teams had emerged as the most likely teams to challenge for a fall championship in the Little Atlantic Conference, the league that Farnsworth University joined nine years ago. Conrad was still amazed that the Ferrets had not won a single league championship in any sport. Not all of the teams were as bad as the football squad, but Farnsworth had seldom even fielded a competitive team during their dismal sports history.

Last week had seen one of the cross-country runners disqualified from a meet because she had wandered off the course, but that hardly ranked as a major issue. It would have been, Conrad thought, if she were driving the team bus. Neither the men’s or women’s cross-country teams were very good, so it was not like that misdirection had really cost the team anything.

Soccer, however, was a different story. Both the men’s and women’s coaches had adopted a strategy last season of recruiting any foreign-born player in the region that was not good enough to earn a scholarship from a Division I or II school. This resulted in their rosters reading like a United Nations meeting, but these kids also knew how to play soccer.

Even more significant, in most cases they had grown up with their primary athletic focus on soccer (some players still called it football), and it was not a default choice for them after failing at football or basketball. This infusion of talent had helped the Ferrets place a strong third in the LAC last season in both men’s and women’s soccer, and they were challenging conference powers Conservative Arch University and Wright Wing College for first place so far this year.

Finishing his roundup, John told Conrad that the volleyball team appeared to be destined for the middle of the pack in the conference, and the field hockey squad had won twice more since collectively reigning in their tempers.

John understood that he was not to bring up the football team unless there was a very compelling reason to do so. This unspoken directive was not difficult for John to comply with, since he did not want to address that depressing subject any more than Conrad did.

There was, however, a football related matter that he did need to discuss. “I’ve got some information for you on the halftime show next week for the Key College football game,” he told Conrad.

This was a matter of great concern for Conrad. Last Monday, he had received a call from Mr. Farnsworth imploring him to find something tangible and constructive for Four F to get involved with. Without thinking, Conrad had blurted out, “Well, he could put together a halftime show at our next home football game.” The Old Man loved the idea, thanked Conrad for suggesting it, and went about engaging Four F in planning “a halftime spectacular,” as he referred to it.

To Conrad’s way of thinking, this could be a spectacular disaster, but he really had no choice but to observe and hope no one got hurt. Four F had been secretive about this project, which made Conrad even more apprehensive. Feeling that being forewarned led to being forearmed, he had directed John Smith to sniff around and find out what he could about Four F’s plans.

Conrad now sat back in his chair and braced himself for John’s report. “Okay, tell me what you found out,” he said.

“He’s doing a Civil War theme. He’s got some exhibits out front during the pre-game, they’re doing a battle of the Monocacy reenactment at halftime, and anyone wearing a Civil War uniform gets in free,” John told him.

“You’re putting me on. He’s got people to do a freakin’ Civil War reenactment in fifteen minutes?” Conrad asked incredulously.

“Apparently. Civil War reenactments are a big deal up here. The Monocacy Battlefield is just a few miles away from here, and we’re not all that far from Antietam, which was the bloodiest battle of the Civil War,” John replied.

“Okay, but tying it in with a football game?” Conrad asked, maintaining his incredulous tone.

“What I heard is he’s trying to make Farnsworth U and Key College into a Civil War type rivalry. The outcome should be just about as bad at the Monocacy battle. The North gave the South a real butt-kicking in July 1864, and I doubt we’ll be much more competitive with Key,” John offered.

“Yeah, even if we were armed,” Conrad mused. “Boy, give our quarterback a loaded gun and the safest person in the world would be the one he is aiming at.”

John chuckled at the thought of their scatter-armed quarterback, Seymour Singletary, trying to hit a target with a gun. “Precision is not exactly his strong suit,” he replied.

“Why is it that I spend more of my time worrying about casualties at our events than us actually winning some of them? We need to get that fixed,” Conrad said, with John nodding in agreement.

The next day he observed the Ferrets suffer yet another blowout loss on the football field, this one 41-6 at Shallow Valley College. Conrad decided on the drive back to Midville that he would head directly for the Chaps and Spurs sports bar and begin unwinding a bit earlier than usual.

Upon arriving at the bar, he quickly scanned the crowd for his friend Frankie. Conrad did not find her, but he was not disappointed, either, since it was still late afternoon and he had not seen her there ahead of the early evening hours. He was able to snag an empty pool table and shoot by himself for a while. Conrad had determined that there would be no rematch with Frankie this week. After suffering through another football debacle, he did not need to be humiliated again in billiards.

As he had hoped, Conrad became totally focused on shooting pool. After a while, he didn’t even pay attention to any of the multitude of college football games on the televisions scattered throughout the bar. He was in the zone and began reconsidering taking Frankie on, but figured he would be better off quitting while he was ahead.

Conrad had lost track of how many racks he had played when he looked up at the clock and saw that it was nearly 8:00. He had held the table for over two hours and saw that there was still no sign of Frankie. With his concentration broken, he finished his current rack and yielded the table. After settling up with the cashier, he sat by himself at the bar and caught up on the day’s football scores.

At it approached 9:00, Conrad was considering leaving while he was still fit to drive himself home. He was startled to feel a tap on his right shoulder and hear a raspy, “you wanna buy a friend a drink?” Frankie had finally arrived and she looked really beaten down.

“Wow,” Conrad thought, “things must be really tough at work for her.” “Sure,” he said. “I was afraid you weren’t coming tonight. This is the highlight of my social life, you know.”

“Yeah, mine too, I’m afraid,” Frankie said. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Conrad said wearing a rueful grin. They were indeed two lost souls finding temporary refuge in each other’s company. That was OK with him, because there were worse ways to spend a Saturday night. Being alone, for example.

“You look like you’ve had a rough week. Things getting worse at work?” Conrad asked, trying to draw Frankie out.

“Not so much worse as just staying really, really bad. It’s wearing me down, Conrad. I feel helpless. I’m not this bad, but you couldn’t tell it from the results,” Frankie said, the frustration building in her voice.

“Why don’t we get a table and throw down a few?” Conrad suggested.

“That sounds like just what the doctor ordered,” Frankie quickly agreed.

After sharing a couple of pitchers of beer, Conrad noticed Frankie beginning to wind down. They began focusing on the Texas A&M-LSU game, and Conrad was impressed with how much Frankie understood about the X’s and O’s of football. “See, LSU is playing a 3-4 defense, but they don’t have any pass rush on either edge. There’s no way you can pressure a quarterback in that defense without at least one guy coming from the outside to compliment a good push from your interior linemen,” Frankie observed after watching A&M convert two third-and-long situations due in part to their quarterback having plenty of time to throw.

“You really know your football, don’t you?” Conrad commented.

“Yeah, I grew up in a family that was football nuts, and grew to really love the game. I don’t think there’s anything that gives me more pleasure than watching a good football game,” Frankie replied.

“Anything?” Conrad asked mischievously.

“Yep. Anything.” Frankie responded firmly.

If memory served, Conrad could think of something he used to do what seemed like eons ago that beat watching any sporting event, but it probably wouldn’t help anything to bring that up now, he thought.
They sat quietly for a while, drinking and watching football, neither in any hurry to leave and rejoin the real world.

Eventually Conrad felt himself drifting off. Later, he began stirring and immediately noticed he had a pounding headache. “No,” he thought, “pounding doesn’t do it justice. It’s more like a jack hammer drilling on top of my head.” He struggled to sit up and, noticing he was wearing only his underwear, saw the sun streaming in through the window. “Looks like a nice day,” he thought.

As he was slowly gathering his wits about him, he realized that he was in unfamiliar surroundings. “Where am I?” he wondered. “Geez, how much did I have to drink last night?”

Slowly turning his head so he could take in the entire room, he saw a dress draped over an overstuffed easy chair. “That looks familiar,” Conrad thought. “I know-that’s the blue dress Frankie wore last night.”

He suddenly sat up straight, his back completely rigid, and put his hands up to cover his face. “Oh crap,” Conrad thought, “did I take advantage of her last night? Or did she take advantage of me?” He then dropped his hands down to his side and eased his body around so he could see the other side of the bed. He saw a figure lying next to him with shorter hair than he remembered Frankie having. “Guess she wears a wig,” Conrad thought. “Oh man, what have I done?”

As if on cue, the other person in the bed began stirring. Conrad, curious to see what Frankie was wearing (and praying she was wearing something), reached over and lifted the covers up to peek underneath. What he saw was another man clad in only boxer shorts.

Conrad leaped out of bed and began screaming, “What the hell is going on here! What the hell is going on here!”

The other man in the bed struggled to sit up. He managed to say, “For God’s sake, Conrad, will you keep the noise down! I’ve got a bear of a hangover.”

Seeing who the man was set Conrad off again. “What are you doing here! Where’s Frankie?”

The man just sat there and gave Conrad one of those “how stupid are you?” looks. Truth be told, Conrad felt very stupid at that moment as he looked back toward the disheveled man.

It wasn’t bad enough that Frankie was apparently a cross-dresser who Conrad mistook for a woman. That was a scene out of a bad sitcom. It was much worse that he knew who the man was. That was a scene out of an “R” rated movie. It was infinitely worse that the man was the Farnsworth football coach Frank “Stump” Williams. Conrad was then struck with terror. He frantically looked around the room for a video camera, wondering if he had starred in a porno movie last night.

“Tell me we didn’t do anything last night!” Conrad demanded.

“What do you think I am, queer?” Frank asked. “No, we didn’t do anything, you moron.”

“Then how did I wind up in bed with only my skivvies on?” Conrad asked.

“Look, just calm down and don’t get your ‘skivvies’ all in a bunch,” Frank began. “We both had a lot to drink and by closing time neither one of us could even think about driving. I was still lucid enough to ask for a cab to be called for us. I had him drop us off here for the night.”

“Okay, but how did I wind up in bed with you?” Conrad pressed.

“I tried setting you up on the couch,” Frank responded, “but you kept rolling off onto the floor. I was pretty shaky myself, so I finally said the hell with it and dragged you in here. I guess I took your clothes off, I don’t really remember because I passed out pretty soon after I got you in bed.”

Conrad was quiet for a few moments. Rolling off the couch several times did help explain this dull ache he noticed in his left shoulder. He had a lot of information to process in a very impaired condition. After most of the facts had adequately sunk in, he asked, “Frank, why did you do this?”

“Do what?” Frank asked.

“Do what!?” Conrad screamed. “Dress up as a woman and act like my friend, that’s what! You knew who I was, damn it! What kind of sick game were you playing?”

The room fell uncomfortably quiet for several minutes. Finally, Frank broke the silence. “I wasn’t playing a game, Conrad. You of all people know what I’m going through right now. The football team is hopelessly bad. We’re a laughing stock in town and on campus. I just needed a little refuge where I wasn’t ‘Stump’. I needed a friend, Conrad, and no one around here would be one to ‘Stump.’ I thought they might be to Frankie, though.”

Conrad felt some of his anger abating and being replaced with sympathy. “So, if you don’t mind me asking,” Conrad began hesitantly, “how long have you been dressing up like a woman?”

Frank fixed a “you just don’t get it” look upon Conrad then replied, “I don’t dress up like a woman, Conrad. I AM a woman.”