Part 1, Episode 23: Days of the Unexpected

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes sir,” John replied.

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

“Ten-four,” John replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boy, thath pretty harth,” Troy replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You too,” Troy said with a sly grin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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