By Francis Ferry, NLN beat writer

April 3, 2012: Aurora, Colorado – All of the Front Range awoke on this morning to a low-lying fog that had visibility next to nothing.  The irony of the morning’s weather was not lost on the quiet community of Aurora.  They had grown to love their new baseball team, the Borealis, who in five seasons had brought excitement back to Colorado Baseball.  The past year had been a tumultuous one with the death of the patriarch of the Borealis (and all of the PEBA) and the sale of his team to a family from San Francisco.

That is not the irony.  The fog that has arisen around the team in the past six months due to the bickering within the hierarchy of the team, between the Tophams and Chris Rodriguez, intensified.  Then the revelation that Rodriguez was in fact part owner of the team dropped a cloud of uncertainty upon the team that was, finally, to lift today.

Provided the fog that descended upon the city of Aurora lifted itself.

It is a child’s game.  Connect Four.  A suggestion made by a madman as a solution to an adult problem.  Readily accepted in a fit of rage by a man whose anger, fueled by his sense of entitlement, clouded his vision – clouded his vision from day one, some would say.

Connect Four.  Who would have dreamed that the fate of an American sports franchise would lie in the hands of an 18-year-old playing a child’s game?

When the low tule fog persists into the midday, the cool air can chill to the bone, and as the sellout crowd of Aurora fans streamed onto the streets towards Northern Lights Park, they were bundled up against a cold that was more appropriate for December than April.  But this was the Front Range: 80° one day, 40° the next.  The crowd would normally be excited and boisterous in anticipation of the first pitch, but the fog – both literal and figurative – had them subdued.  They resembled the crowd that streamed out of the park that fateful November 1^st day when Aurora’s 9^th inning rally fell one run short in their Game 7 loss to Florida.  Aurora fans left Northern Lights Park silently after the last game of the 2011 season, and they return for the start of the 2012 season in the same silence.  Fog covered the land.  Fog covered the state of the franchise.  Fog covered the emotions of the Aurora fan base.  Appropriate for a team owned by San Franciscans.

Chris Rodriguez held a press conference shortly after the Tophams announced their final decision on the changes to the uniform.  Rodriguez lambasted the organization for ”bastardizing” the classic look of the team.  “My father would roll in his grave.”

Speaking to reporters of the Denver Post (extending his boycott of NLN), he continued his rampage, at one point nearly spitting in rage as he expressed displeasure over the loss of Nathan Bolitho despite the fact the trade brought an early 2^nd round pick for a player whose time with the team had clearly neared an end.  “I would have had Guerera with us in a heartbeat and instead that Little Boy Wonder let him sneak off to Bakersfield!”

His rage escalated when reporters began questioning him about the state of his “coup” and attempts to take over the team.  With rumors coming out of legal circles that he clearly has no case, he finally broke down and said, “If they want to sit down and play Connect Four or H-O-R-S-E or something, fine!”

It took Will Topham all of 10 minutes to convince his father that this was a good idea.

Fans entered Northern Lights Park to the same splendid bunting that they had left behind.  Highlights of 2011 were rolling on the scoreboard – images of the PEC distinctly missing.  Those who arrived early were treated to extended batting practice.  Early on, balls struck by Chris Weaver would launch into the fog, seemingly never to be seen again.  But as the Borealis finished their turns, the fog began to finally lift and the Bakersfield Bears began to take their cuts under a brilliant sunshine filtered by the remaining fog.  Vendors began to fill the aisles and passageways, selling their wares – caps, dogs, beers and pennants.  Program hawkers shouted out to the fans, imploring them to, ”Get your program here.”  You’d think it were any other day of the season, if not for the silence that followed the crowd.  They milled about, got their dogs and beers and took to their seats early in anticipation of the main event.  Which event was the main event was, after all, a matter of opinion.

Michael Topham had tried to satisfy the wishes of old family friend John Rodriguez, Sr., but the junior Rodriguez had finally overstepped his boundary.  With Chris’s acquisition of a portion of the team that no one knew existed, Chris had become increasingly unpleasant to work with.  His insistence on not selling that piece of the team, coupled with his verbal outbursts at the organization at each turn, made it obvious that something needed to happen.  It was him or it was the Tophams.  It was with that sense of exhausted frustration that Michael Topham gave into his son’s confidence.

As the Bears threw the last pitches of batting practice and the grounds crew began to prepare the field, another group of workers took to the field and, behind second base, began to construct a vertical structure made with numerous cells.  A stranger to Aurora would enter the park and stare in bewilderment at the structure going up; perhaps some unique fireworks display?  The knowledgeable Borealis fan knows it for what it will be: A giant Connect Four board.

The sight of this structure rising from the ground finally broke the zombie-like trance of the crowd, and suddenly the noise level in the park began to rise.  There began to be a feeling of excitement as the realization of what had been rumored – what had been suggested – was finally coming to pass.  Excited banter between fans filled the air as the game board rose above the infield.  Young entrepreneurs began roaming the stands, taking bets on the competition.  Police even saw to arrest the more aggressive of the “Connect Four Bookies”.

It wasn’t just the bookies the police busied themselves with.  Some fans had become very passionate over the outcome they wanted to see.  Some were strongly behind Chris Rodriguez, taking offense to the intruding family despite the positive vibes they brought to the community.  Others, appalled at Chris’s behavior, just wished he’d go away.  Inevitably, fights broke out, pulling the cops away from the bookies.  Clearly, the division in the team’s hierarchy had polarized a segment of the fan base more than one would imagine.

Mostly, though, the fans gathered in great anticipation, and so did the players – from both teams.  Pitchers and catchers came out to begin warming up, but after every other toss or so, Bill Bradley would glance out to the field as the massive structure continued to rise.  Likewise, Pedro Barrón would pause as he prepared.  The immensity of the event was lost on no one.

Chris Rodriguez was a proud man, but he was also cocky.  Despite the advice given to him to prepare, to look at other alternatives for a resolution, when it came to losing his job to an 18-year-old boy, he was blinded by the arrogance that bloomed openly and freely in his ego.  He would never, ever admit that the kid had done as good a job as could be expected despite tough decisions on large contracts looming in the near future.  His team.  Chris’s team.  He resented the kid.  Little Mikey Topham’s Boy Wonder was going to be taken down.  He had no doubts in his mind.  He was older, wiser, and his cunning mind built the dynasty at hand.  His Dynasty, one that he intended to fight for and defend to the end.  And the end was near.  The end was on a horizon that was now becoming visible, as the fog had finally lifted on the town of Aurora.

For Chris Rodriguez, the fog was just beginning to thicken.