Goodbye Frito

I dropped by school today and Coach Madere showed me something that made me sad.

It was a drop form for one of my guys. It was Frito’s.

I knew he was going home, to Norway. But this made it real. I loved Frito for many reasons. Here are a few:

He showed up for our first meeting like every other player, eyes wide open and hanging on to every word. He listened intently and followed all my directions to the T. Soon he was in the weight room practicing. He couldn’t have weighed 120 pounds and wasn’t very strong, but he didn’t look out of place. He was cute and worked hard, but his accent gave him away. He didn’t have that South Louisiana Cajun twang or the north Louisiana drawl. His was European, different and obviously nothing like what we have in the south.

“Son, where are you from, and what is your name?” I asked him.

“Fridtjof Medhus” he replied. “I am from Norway.” No one could pronounce that – much less spell it – so we called him Frito.

He was so nice the other players loved and accepted him immediately. They took him in, took him to football games, parties and made him feel so comfortable. His stepdad was on assignment in the United States, working at one of the petroleum plants here in the parish. They were going to be here for two years. Since he was a sophomore, he would not graduate from Destrehan. But it didn’t matter. He was one of the boys and enjoying it.

We were doing a public service project for the Norco Christmas parade, when I first talked baseball with him. I asked him how much baseball they play in Norway, and he said ‘very little.’

When I asked him what position he played, he look perplexed and responded with, “I don’t know. I don’t even know the names of the positions.”

“Oh I see,” I said. “Well wait until we hit the field.”

The first day on the field I gave my assistants a heads up, and they took it from there. Frito had little experience with a ball. Some of the players took him out and showed him how to throw, but fielding balls was an adventure.

He started at second base. The infielders quickly sent him to work with the outfielders. But fly balls were no easier than grounders, and a lot more dangerous. The first fly ball went between his glove and his nose. The second hit him in the leg.

When I called him over and asked “Is this harder than you thought?” He nodded his head, eyes down. He knew this wasn’t going to work out.

So I came up with another plan.

“Frito we need a manager,” I said. “You will work for the coaches. I will spend time with you teaching you the game. How does that sound?”

A smile came to his face. He was a part of the family. He was a Wildcat.

And he was a hit. The players loved him. He was the hardest worker, and the players respected him. As an example of that, we had a specialty hat - a tri-color hat - and the captains decide who gets them. The hardest workers get them first. When I asked the players who should get the one, they chose Frito.

I asked them if they were sure they wanted to give the manager, the first hat, and they said, “Yes. Yes he deserves it.”

Wow, that’s pretty special.

Frito’s work habits were wonderful, and he learned baseball along the way. He also learned and observed human nature. He could not understand why all of the players didn’t work hard every day. The game looked so fun, yet players didn’t work or hustle. And he would tell them things in a way that only he could, wondering why God gave them such talent and they didn’t work to improve it. They couldn’t argue with him because he was no threat to them. And some did work harder.

He had trouble understanding why some players were selfish and not team players. He understood roles, but not egos. He once told a player to help carry the water on a road trip to the bus. The player responded, “I am a starter, I don’t carry water.”

Frito went berserk. He just couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t just help out because we needed it. What a great theory! I bet he never would have complained when he had to sacrifice bunt or hit behind a runner to help the team. I loved his pure innocence, the quality he brought to this team.

I did get that player to help with the water, despite being a starter (we don’t have any rule like that), and told Frito he would be the one to decide when that player didn’t have to carry water anymore. In pure Frito fashion, that guy is still carrying the water and doesn’t complain. I think I will let him pick the next water guy.

When the season ended, I knew Frito was going home to Norway. So, I made sure he got his letter jacket a year early so he would have one. I am not sure if I will ever find the qualities of Frito again, but I would love to put some of his qualities and vision into my

players. He never got a big hit or pitched a great game, but he brought so much to our team and to me.

Yes, I will miss him. I should thank him for showing me this game through virgin eyes. I forgot to enjoy it, and how much I love it. I sometimes wonder who taught who more. We introduced him to sports and to baseball, but he showed us so much more.

Goodbye Frito, you are a good friend.