Last summer, the Piedmont Boll Weevils endured an out-of-kilter, wacky, unheard-of, never-before-seen minor league baseball season.

Fans were taken to the hospital when high fly balls doinked them on the noggin. The wife of a nearby mayor was hit in the face with a line drive. Players dropped like flies with injuries. And who could forget the night Bo the Weevil, the popular mascot, had his face smashed in with a bat during what was supposed to be a harmless, between-innings antic, requiring surgery.

It was enough to give a guy an ulcer or two.

Oh yeah, that’s right. The Boll Weevils even had ulcers to deal with.

Will it get any better this year for the team, which opens its Class A South Atlantic League season Monday night in Fieldcrest Cannon Stadium?

It has to. It couldn’t get any worse.

“Parnell: 25 perforated ulcers.”

His wife, Kelly, has it prominitely displayed in a scrapbook, “so when I’m old and gray, we can remember why my body’s like it is,” Parnell chuckles.

But the ulcers and the memories of a miserable 69-71 season is ancient history. So is the realization that the average attendance was 1,869, 10th in the 14-team league.

Don’t mention that to Parnell. The ulcers may return.

“What I want,” Parnell says, “is to turn Fieldcrest Cannon Stadium into the place to be in the summertime,” he says firmly.

After five years here, some think he’s nuts for thinking that. The Boll Weevils have never been a big draw and that’s completely baffling to the people who are regulars.

“Never, ever, ever, ever has anyone come here for the first time and A) not thought the place was beautiful and B) not had an absolutely great time,” Parnell notes. “And that’s a tribute to all the things we have going on out here. Something is happening every single night.”

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The South Atlantic League and baseball in general have noticed.

Baseball America once called Fieldcrest Cannon one of the top 10 minor league parks in the country. In 1999, the staff was a finalist for the prestegious Larry McPhail Award as the top promotional team in the country.

Parnell was even chosen as SAL Executive of the Year in 1999, despite the and empty seats.

“As an organization, we’re highly thought of,” he says.

And yet, fans won’t come in droves like they did when Parnell was making a name for himself at Double-A Reading, when there was literally a fight every night for the last seat.

“We don’t always realize what we have,” Parnell mused. “You might not realize how much Dad and Mom mean until you get older and the light comes on.

“The same might be said for Fieldcrest Cannon Stadium. As a community, we might not realize what a jewel we have . I want to be here when the light comes on.”

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So Parnell continues to believe. He continues getting little sleep, he continues his speeching engagements, he continues shaking a lot of hands and he continues promoting a bug called a Boll Weevil.

“A guy told me when I got into this business that it’s an addictive-type occupation,” Parnell said. “It’s really true. I think young people do it for the same reason I did it it — at age 21 — and that’s to go to work and drive to a ballpark. You meet famous people, which is really neat. And to be in a job that is so visible in the comunity gives you a lot of pride and enjoyment. But it also gives you a lot of responsibility.”

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It was that responsibility that finally did Parnell in last July. His stomach ached and many nights he laid in a fetal position. It hurt to move.

There was no secret to his close friends why the ulcers came. He was worrying about attendance figures that, although the highest in club history, was not Todd Parnell-like numbers.

But it was almost as if the ulcers were talking to him, telling him to slow down, look at what’s important. Like, for instance, something as simple as a hug and kiss from his two young daughters Lindsay, 5, and Samantha, 2.

“It was the roughest year ever,” he said. “But it helped me mature and keep my priorities straight. I have to keep my family as the top priority. You tend to lose perspective sometimes.”

Thank goodness for Kelly Parnell, a wife who met her husband at the ballpark in Reading.

“She knew what it was all about ... she knew what she was getting into,” Parnell said. “That doesn’t mean she likes it all the time. But she’s happy with it. It gave us a good life and let her retire.”

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It is a Saturday night, two days before the Boll Weevils open at home.

In another time, Todd Parnell might be a nervous wreck on the inside, wondering, “Will we fill the seats? Will there be the atmosphere I crave?”

But this is the new Todd Parnell. The 25-perforated ulcers have been released from the roster. He’s feeling good.

A new manager has arrived with a new batch of players.

The field looks great. The weather is supposed to cooperate. He’s excited but it’s a controlled excitement.

“On Opening Night, there’s a lot of anticipation of what might happen and you never know if it’s going to be a magical is going to happen,” said the 33-year old Parnell, a 12-year veteran of pro baseball.

There has already been some magic. Parnell and the Boll Weevils made it thorugh last season’s lunacy and lived.

Which makes Parnell as easy-going as Mr. Rogers.

“We’re going out tonight,” Parnell announces, and then adds, “Kelly is really looking good. See ya.”

Yeah, we will see ya, Todd. Monday night.

Maybe this really will be the magical year that a winning team fills those seats.

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