When does Home become Home

When I first arrived at Destrehan High School (my fifth school and sixth job in 22 years), I noticed that some of the coaches were hometown boys. The principal was hard on these guys. They had lived here all of their life. With the exception of college, some have never experienced anywhere else. He knew he could do what ever he wanted to these coaches and they were tied to the community.

By their standards, I was a coaching nomad. No allegiances to anywhere. Growing up, my family lived in three time zones. I called California home. I came to New Orleans from Chicago, where I graduated from high school.

The most asked question in New Orleans is, "Where did you go to school?" And they mean, "What high school?" My answer is "James B. Conant High School in Illinois (note: he was a scientist who helped develop the atom bomb).

St. Charles Parish is a small town, and children stay in small towns. I hope so. My son is now a small town child and coaching at his high school. My high school. Destrehan has made us feel welcome. We are lucky.

As I finished my tenth year at Destrehan (my longest tenure), we finished in the playoffs for the tenth time. The program is feeding off its past, and the players are playing up to our reputation. We have young talent and will make deep runs into the playoffs in the next few years.

Building a successful program is fun. There is little expectation and the reward is high. But as you push the bar higher and higher, it becomes harder to maintain. Everyone expects the best and has become accustomed to the results. Even a season like 2011, (second place in district, an 18-15 record, and a regional loss to the eventual state champion) draws criticism.

Throughout Louisiana their are programs that are starved for a successful season. I know that because one them came calling in July.

After letting their coach go, East Ascension High School came looking for me. Their search committee was headed up by some hard core baseball men, and they were looking for the best.

They didn't start their search with me, but it didn't take them long to call. East Ascension is a program with a distinguished history, state championships and professional players. They have a quality stadium and great community support. Their teams have been competitive the last few years, but never played as a team.

Their offer was nice, with a comparable salary and coaching stipend. Extra funds were available, and involving the community was definitely a must.

New Athletic Director and Football Coach Paul Bourgeois sat with me and we hit it off immediately. Everything was in place to move. They were so excited to get a coach of my pedigree. All that they were waiting for was me to say yes. Just say yes and a new adventure will begin.

I talked about it with my wife, my children. Everyone was supportive and made sure the decision was mine.

Well almost everyone. Not my littlest one (she is 10 years old). All she wanted to know is why I would leave Destrehan. "Dad," she said. "You will need all new clothes."

And, she said, "It's not home".

HOME. I never had a home. I am the nomad.

This is the first time I ever coached and became a part of the community. I love Destrehan High School, and the people and the players and the past players and their families. Wow, why would I leave?

The last few years have been tough. Support and expectations sometimes get in each other's way. When the news leaked out, support from my past players and families poured in.

As one of them said, "You are my coach and that is my school, and you can't go somewhere else. If you do, that won't be my baseball team."

Support from the administration followed, and I knew I couldn't leave. Will the expectations change? No. They will always be high and off the chart. All I know is that only one team can win the state championship, and many programs believe it will be them.

There is a General Douglas MacArthur quote above the tunnel leading to the field at Yankee Stadium that says, "There is no substitute for Victory."

Well, we are not playing for the freedom of the world. We are playing for fun, and each other. I just want to teach young men how to love baseball and hopefully give them life lessons. When the are successful citizens, I will know I succeeded.

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.

Crank up the washing machine

The batting cages came down last week. The windscreens too.

The dugouts were cleaned and all the water coolers are stored for the winter. On Saturday it was rewashing the uniforms and hanging them up in storage.

All by myself, I cleaned and straightened and reflected on the season. Coaches always reevaluate the season. What did we do wrong? What could I have done different, or better?

Do CPAs spend time reevaluating their seasons?

Do plumbers say, "Could have been better or more efficient on that last job?"

Do all professionals reflect on their jobs, or is this just a trait of coaches? This is not unique to baseball coaches. I believe all good coaches do this. I just don't know if they do it by themselves on a summer Saturday afternoon during the spin cycle.

Oops. Gotta run the dryer just went off!

Coach can I play now?

The prep season was interesting as the season ended with a two game playoff run. We lost to Jesuit and they continued on to win the 5A State Championship, a great accomplishment. We were six outs from knocking them off in the regional , leading 7-4, in the sixth.

Why am I not happy? We were not supposed to be good, said my biggest critic. "You will be lucky to win ten games this year" said my own principal. We were 18-15 and into the playoffs, finishing 2nd in district.

Well, the summer will be more fun right? Well, it never is.

"It's too hot. It's too humid. You can't expect the kids to play in this weather," say some parents.

I use the summer to evaluate next year's team. A few seniors stay but never play well. The graduating seniors must have offers to play college baseball in order to play for us in the summer.

This year I had found a place for them to prepare for their college careers, playing with and against college talent. A chance to play 50 games, for free. Traveling to play in 5 states and participate in 8 tournaments. Their answer was "No thanks, we just want to play with you."

Maybe I should feel honored. Fifteen more games with us. Well now I am worried about their commitment to their careers. I wish them well, I do. I hope they're not home too soon.

We played the summer Legion program. Sometimes we were good. We were very young at times with three freshman and three sophomores on the field together. Most of the time we were OK. We hit and didn't pitch, or pitched and didn't hit. Some players started out hot and cooled, and some brought up low averages with late season streaks.

Overall we played better down the stretch and there are many positives going into next year. Some players made their stock rise and some fell off the radar. We had some players come out of nowhere, and some take their place.

Well everyone has about six months to grow and get stronger. Some will and some will disappear. The competition starts now in the weight room, only some players don't know it.

When January arrives and we hit the field, everyone's hopes will be high. The memory of the 2011 prep and summer season will have faded or been erased in everyone's mind but mine. It's my job. And as I reward those who worked harder and got stronger and better, the others will just transfer the blame to me. I guess I should have coached them better. After all they were Triple A travel ball stars.

This gets harder each year. Just ask the high school coaches in Louisiana. I have.