NLN: Opening Day: The Aurora Connection, Part 2
By Francis Ferry, NLN beat writerdu
read Part 1 of the Aurora Connection
April 3, 2012: Aurora, Colorado – Workers brought tall ladders out to the 20-foot high Connect Four board that they had built behind second base, one for each of the seven columns. A platform had been built at the top edge of the structure, and upon that, large black and white circular pieces were laid. As the last piece was laid upon the platform and the ladders were secured in place, the fate of the Aurora Borealis was soon to be determined.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” boomed the voice of the public address announcer, “welcome back to Northern Lights Park, home of your Aurora Borealis.” The first real sense of being back at the yard and ready for the new season hit, and the crowd roared in appreciation. In one moment, the disappointment of last season was finally gone and “next year” had arrived. “Today’s game, the first of a three-game series to open the season between your Aurora Borealis…” (raucous cheers) “…and the visiting Bakersfield Bears.” (equally load and boisterous boos) With the addition of Carlos Guerera, the Bears promised to be a dangerous club once more.
The crowd was invited to rise and show their respects with the playing of the anthem. A lone violinist from the Denver Symphony played a haunting rendition of the National Anthem, to which the crowd applauded enthusiastically.
“Before today’s game,” began the PA announcer, “we have a truly unique event. You know of the great debate within the Borealis family, and today, for all to see, there shall be resolution. We present to you all before today’s game: ‘Connect Four Aurora’.” With that, a huge banner was released from the top of the Connect Four board and dangled in front of it. Members of the grounds crew grabbed hold of the banner, pulled it downward and laid it out in front of the board, over second base.
“You know the stakes; now let us meet the competitors…”
Chris Rodriguez sat quietly in a corner of the visiting dugout, Bears milling about, some looking at him oddly, questioningly. A couple of Bears, most notably Pat Lilly, stopped by for a brief word of encouragement, but mostly Chris was alone. His phone rang, and after a very brief exchange of words, he hung up. For a cold morning, the sweat was beading up on his forehead. Ulderico Alfero came up the runway and put an arm around Chris. “This is your chance to embarrass the Tophams once and for all.”
“Don’t worry,” Chris said, “I have this under control. He’s just a kid. In front of this huge crowd, he’ll wilt.”
“I certainly hope so. Our future is at stake here, and you gave Penny everything.”
“Don’t worry…”
“One-time GM of Aurora and currently the VP of Baseball Operations. Son of the PEBA founder and Commissioner until his untimely death last spring. Let me introduce to you someone who needs no introduction: Chris Rodriguez.” A smattering of applause, mostly polite. A chorus of boos, too, but neither cheers nor jeers outdid the other. It seemed the crowd was nonplussed with this competitor.
“You know him as the young, exciting GM of the Aurora Borealis. Dubbed by some as the Boy Wonder, please welcome…”
William Topham had been in situations like this before. The tension was no different from many of the tennis matches he had competed in. 3rd set tiebreaker, down on set point. This was nothing. He told his father he could win this blindfolded and he intended to do so. His father had entrusted him with the fate of the franchise by making him GM, and he believed he’d done a good job. If he was good enough to mold the future of the team, he was good enough to dispatch that slimeball Chris. He hated that guy. So rude, and for what reason? He had been nothing but polite, seeking advice from the start but getting nothing but sneers and bile in return. His phone buzzed and he looked down. He typed briefly and sent the message: ”I got this, Dad. Love you, too.”
“…Will Topham.” And with that call from the PA, Aurora’s boy GM popped out of the home dugout and sprinted to the field.
Chris Rodriguez walked onto the field from the visitor’s dugout dressed as he did every day: coat and tie along with a hat to keep his thinning-haired head protected from the sun. No Aurora cap here. Not now. Not ever, should he fail to win this foolish duel. He walked in with a “damn the world, I’m in charge and you don’t even know it” kind of a manner. Will Topham sprinted out of the home dugout to a few boos (no doubt the ardent Rodriguez supporters), plenty of cheers and even some hysterical screams from the young ladies in the stands. Doffing his new-styled Aurora cap to the crowd, he reached the mound and waved to the crowd, turning a circle as he did.
On the mound was a table, and upon that table was a piece of paper. The Agreement. This piece of paper was what they played for. The Agreement stated that the winner of this event would gain complete control of the team through the sale of the loser’s portion for the grand some of one dollar. The crowd was too busy with their cheers and jeers to notice two people walking towards the table: Ulderico Alfero, legal counsel for Rodriguez, and Boone Reel, counsel for Golden Entertainment and the Tophams.
“Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce the Master of Ceremonies for this event. You know him all too well; he suggested it, and here we are! The one, the eclectic, George Crocker.”
George Crocker, the man who had his promising career cut short, came out of the dugout in typical fashion: wearing a jersey of a team no one had heard of. The public had become used to this aspect of George, but on this day it seemed to carry a big message – he was wearing the jersey of the San Francisco Fog.
He moved quickly to the table, just as he moved in the outfield years ago, and picked up the mic that had been placed there. “Opening Day!” he began. “Opening Day is always the coolest day of the year. Colors, excitement, anticipation. I remember back when I was playing for K-Zoo, we loved it. We tried to get the owner to make every day Opening Day. It was, like, the only day we knew we’d be in first. But here in Aurora, it’s like we are in first every day, isn’t that right?” With that, the crowd erupted. After all, Aurora did go wire-to-wire last year in winning the Desert Hills division.
“Today we’ve got something real exciting for you. If this doesn’t get your blood pumping, nothing will. This is like facing a George Thompson fastball without a batting helmet.” He turned towards the Aurora dugout and pointed. George Thompson, one of the interested onlookers, smiled and returned the favor. “This franchise deserves stability and, by molly-golly, today we are going to get it, George Crocker-style!” With that, he did a little jig for the crowd that elicited a bit of laughter from the crowd. They had learned from his radio show with Mark Gunter that George Crocker was apt to do or say anything.
“So boys and girls, here’s the deal. We’ve got ole Pickle Face here taking on the Boy Wonder.” He turned towards the combatants. “Hey, sorry Willie, I just really dig that nickname. What can I say?” Then back towards the crowd, “So these are the rules: We’re playing Connect Four. Basic, old school C4… ha, ha… C4? Dy-no-mite! Ha, get it? This whole thing is going to be dynamite!” Crocker, obviously too full of himself, pumped both arms back and forth as he ran in place for a second. “Loser signs this paper,” Crocker turned and grabed two sheets, displaying them to the crowd. “One for Grumpy over here should he lose,” he motioned towards Rodriguez, “and the other for ole Chillie Willie, but I think we all know that it won’t be needed.” If looks could kill, then Chris Rodriguez would have done in George Crocker in a nanosecond.
“So they’ll climb the ladders one at a time, deposit their pieces and then repeat,” Crocker continued. “Once a piece has been played, they’ll have two minutes before they have to begin ascending a ladder to play the next piece. By special request of the Aurora police, there will only be one person up top of the grid at a time. We don’t want any… accidents.” He glanced over at the seething Chris Rodriguez. “Hey Chrissy, JK… no hard feelings? JK? Just… kidding…?” “Chrissy” apparently did not find it funny. He mumbled something that the crowd could not hear, but if there had been a bee floating about the few clovers in the grass, it would have heard something like, “Why in God’s name did I hire you? I must have lost my mind!” Some might very well agree with this sentiment. The bee, itself, would have been clueless.
“Alright, so if we are clear about the rules…” he glanced at Will Topham, who shook his head and gave a two thumbs-up, and at Chris Rodriguez, who just gave him the circular “get it moving” hand motion, “…we will get started. Through a predetermined drawing Chris will be black, and folks, ain’t that the truth!” Rodriguez glared and growled at Crocker. “Will Topham will be white. We will begin doing it old school-style. Roshambo!”
With that, Chris Rodriguez stepped forward, saying to himself, “I can’t believe we are actually going to do this.” Will Topham likewise stepped forward, and they faced each other. There was a brief pause, and as the crowd quieted. They could hear faint voices as they were caught by George Crocker’s mic. “Ro… sham… bo!” With that, each shook his fist in unison like people have done for who knows how long. Will Topham produced a closed fist, while Chris Rodriguez displayed all his fingers extended outward. Paper. Paper beats rock. Chris Rodriguez smiled. The first victory was his. Will Topham smiled, too.
Will Chris Rodriguez prevail and retain his team? Will the Boy Wonder live up to expectations? Might George Crocker mess it all up? Stay tuned for the final episode of The Aurora Connection.
