A few nights ago, I was about to sit down to eat dinner with my family when I received a phone call. In all innocence, I took the receiver from my sister (who was, of course, expecting a call of her own), unaware that I was about to be plunged headlong into a most bizarre intrigue.
“Hello?” I appropriately said.
“Ira?” the voice on the other end, immediately recognizable, responded. “Blunderson here. Have you eaten?”
“As a matter of fact,” I began, “I was just sitting down to -“
“Good. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Professor,” I protested, “I was just about to eat dinner with my folks!”
“They cannot come,” he insisted. “We have important business to discuss…alone. Besides,” the Professor added, “I’m buying.”
What could I say. Five minutes later (Professor Blunderson had apparently called from a pay phone around the corner), we were being seated at Moishe’s, our usual eatery.
“Professor,” I said as we sat down, “take off those ridiculous glasses and that nose.”
“My boy,” he said, mysteriously, “I cannot. There are powers at work here that are greater than both of us.”
Now, the Professor is often given to dramatic excess, but, when a person, any person, talks of danger in that manner, I find it hard not to listen. Thus, even though I was somewhat embarrassed sitting there with him, I asked the Professor what was happening soon after we had ordered our meals.
“I know,” Blunderson told me, “what’s wrong with the sports teams in Toronto.”
I nearly spit up my first spoonful of cream of chicken tomato soup. The Professor had not had a reasonably functional theory in the five years I had known him (and, I don’t care if he did have tenure at the institution – better left nameless – at which he had taught me). I had been pretty naïve to think that this time would be any different. I was eating the man’s food, though, so I felt obligated to hear him out.
“I haven’t quite figured out all the technical details,” the Professor explained, “but, I am convinced that there is an energy-draining device blanketing this city. This device is responsible for the low energy levels in our athletes, resulting in their poor showings…”
“I don’t believe it!” I exclaimed. Heads turned, forcing me into momentary silence. Professor Blunderson gave me a look that indicated I should stop calling attention to us. I should!
“At first, I didn’t believe it either,” the Professor finally said, “but, it’s true.” He might have gone further, but just at that moment he was trying to figure out how to raise his fork to his mouth without hitting his fake nose and making himself look ridiculous. Eventually, throwing caution to the winds, he took the disguise off.
“Assuming such a process exists,” I said, somewhat calmer, “it would take enormous amounts of energy to drain a city the size of Toronto, wouldn’t it?”
“Actually,” Blunderson stated, “assuming that the drained energy could be recycled…put back into the system…it might not take as much power as you might thi – terrible weather we’re having, wouldn’t you say?”
“Wha…?” the waitress had brought our entrees. For a moment, I thought Professor Blunderson was talking in tongues.
“Besides,” the Professor continued in conspiratorial tones, “what are we talking about? Maple Leaf Gardens and Exhibition Stadium – an area of a few city blocks. No, my friend, energy output would not be much of a problem.”
“Why..” I started, taking a few seconds to right myself when I found the sauce I thought I was dipping my ribs into was actually my glass of water. “Why,” I tried again, “doesn’t this field of yours affect the other teams that come to the city?”
“I don’t doubt that it does,” the Professor answered, gleefully popping a french fry into his mouth.
“Wouldn’t that cancel the effect?” I followed my reasoning to its obvious conclusion.
“Not necessarily,” Blunderson answered. “I believe that the field has a cumulative effect. Thus, it would most greatly hurt those teams that play the most in this city: the Maple leafs, the Argonauts and the Blue Jays.”
But… “But, the Argonauts won the Grey Cup last season,” I argued. “What does that do to your theory?”
“Did you see that game?” Blunderson countered. “It was one of the worst in CFL history. A disgrace. And,” he added with significant emphasis, “it wasn’t played in Toronto. Have you ever wondered why the Leafs always seem to do better away than at Maple Lead Gardens?”
Actually, a lot of people had wondered that. “Who would do such a thing?” I asked, half-convinced.
The waitress brought us ketchup. Philistine.
“Who would benefit the most from Toronto’s loss of prestige?” Blunderson responded. “Cities with other sports teams. I am certain that politicians in Montreal, the only other Canadian city with a baseball team, are behind this desperate plot. Perhaps the whole province of Quebec!”
We ate dessert in silence.
“Think about it,” Blunderson eventually broke the silence. “Why was there such a great push to have the new domed stadium downtown instead of some place like North York? Because, if the stadium were built in North York -“
“They wouldn’t be able to effectively cover all of Toronto’s sports arenas with one energy damping field!” I finished the Professor’s statement. It was beginning to make some fiendish sense, which worried me. “Professor, why are you telling me all this?”
“Because,” the Professor told me in his most serious tone, “I think they know I’m on to them, and I don’t know what they’ll stop at to keep their scheme a secret. If I seem to go missing for a few days, I want you to write about this in that newspaper of yours. I’m not concerned for my own safety, but I want to be sure that people know what’s going on.”
Before we parted company, Professor Blunderson made me promise to tell the story if he vanished.
Now, I do not for a moment believe anything I was told that evening. It’s simply too absurd. However, Professor Blunderson has not been seen by any of his pupils since I last saw him, and he cannot be reached at home.
So, if those responsible are reading this, please turn the old man loose. Your secret’s out.