Red Flags

Our favorite good-natured victim was James "Spike" Speicher, a retired Army colonel who, in an e-mail, made it plain that he didn't like how much credit "Clem Bradshaw" was getting. In the parody, Bradshaw is supposed to be a nationally known leader among Confederate-heritage promoters, a man who would have the clout to force Blunt and Barnes to turn the new sports arena into some sort of rebel shrine.

Speicher told us this was a repugnant idea -- a proper burial in a cemetery was a more appropriate solution for the rebel soldiers -- and who was this Bradshaw guy, anyway? "He has done our cause a major disservice ... I have been involved in Confederate history/heritage for almost 50 years and I have never even heard of the 'Friends of the Confederacy.'"

Spike then detailed his own impressive list of accomplishments as a defender of Confederate cemeteries and told us about a startling real-life parallel to our fabricated tale: In 1993, Speicher helped lead an effort that, over several years, exhumed dozens of Confederate remains from under a South Carolina football stadium that had been built on a cemetery in 1948.

"Now, I must ask, what are Mr. Bradshaw's credentials?" Speicher asked, throwing down his challenge.

This cheeky chuck roast rang him up to let him in on the joke, and Speicher, to his credit, sounded tickled when he realized we'd made the whole thing up.

But what really intrigued us was the way Speicher answered the telephone.

"FBI."

Uh, Spike, just what is it that you do? "I'm a supervisory intelligence analyst. I supervise 13 intelligence analysts in the Kansas City area."

So there. If you're still feeling punked by "Rebel Hell," just keep in mind that a guy whose job it is to sift through complex intelligence information and sort truth from conjecture fell just as hard for our made-up tale.

Of course, some folks reacted to "Rebel Hell" like their morning suppositories had turned sideways and got stuck. We don't suppose it occurred to KMBZ 980's daybreak news duo, Noel Heckerson and Ellen Schenk, how they sounded Friday morning, sucking up to Barnes as they discussed the parody in grave tones and asking the mayor if the Pitch spoof might actually hold up arena construction.

"Heavens, no," Barnes said, laughing, and we laughed with her. That afternoon, we strolled over to the sweltering arena groundbreaking ceremony to watch the mayor's dog-and-pony show. While we observed the hoopla over the quarter-billion-dollar project -- which, at the moment, has plans only to host tractor pulls and arena football -- one of the city's more prominent business leaders wandered over to us.

"So where are those bodies supposed to be?" he said with a laugh. "You really stirred things up downtown yesterday."

Unsure whether this was just a friendly greeting to get us to let our guard down before he hauled off and decked us, this porterhouse shrugged and said it was just having a bit of fun.

"Hey, the Pitch is just about the only organization in this city that can have any fun," he said, and we realized that this all-business-looking bigwig really did get it.

And for just a moment, we wondered whether the most uptight metropolis in this great nation might have some potential for letting loose.

Could be. But only, we figure, if we all just keep close to our hearts the immortal words of rebel Capt. Joshua Phipps, who gave his men that eternal nugget of wisdom:

Don't vex the whores of Kansas. -- as told to Tony Ortega