Not enough ways to say thank you

About 10 years ago, I was standing near the batting cage at Wrigley Field when Ryne Sandberg approached and leaned on the metal bars.

With a quizzical look on his face, he turned and said, "So you go from being a beer vendor to having a Hall of Fame vote?''

Well, not directly, I said, but you're in the neighborhood.

"I'm not sure,'' he said, "that I'm completely comfortable with that.''

If he wants to take it up with someone, Sandberg can blame Bob Frisk, because I did go directly from being a beer vendor to working for the Daily Herald in 1984.

A few months out of school and only days after the Padres finished off the Cubs in San Diego - putting an end to my sterling career as a salesman of all things ballpark food - I got a return call from Frisk, who needed some part-time help.

The rest, as they say, is hysterical.

The next spring, BF put me in charge of high school softball, my first experience as a beat writer, an assignment that proved to be great therapy during one of the most trying years of my life.

Maybe Frisk knew I needed that. It wouldn't surprise me, because that's the kind of person he's always been and will continue to be, even though he retires Friday after 50 years of safeguarding high school sports for the Daily Herald.

There aren't enough ways to say "thanks'' for giving me that chance, that sliver of hope, but that isn't even what I'll remember most about BF.

No, a man like Bob doesn't come along very often anymore, and what you remember is that he believed there is a right way to do things, a right way to play a game.

There is a place for sportsmanship, even in a society that promotes the most the pro athletes who display class the least.

As my first hockey coach said when I was 5, "Show some respect for the goalie, and when you score a goal, act like you've done it before.''

Of course we had our share of disagreements, but on this topic Bob and I were of the same opinion.

And on the days when my inbox was filled with argument against the notion that there ought to be some propriety in sports, that it's OK to covet players who do things the right way, BF always was there to back me up and fight for the cause.

Both in his columns and off the pages, in pro sports and amateur alike, Bob decried the lack of respect on the playing fields, applauded it where he saw it, encouraged it above all else, and called for us to take back the games from the selfish and indecent.

It's possible we're wrong, of course. Maybe something good does occur from athletes carrying guns, taunting fallen adversaries and performing one-man, Broadway shows after hitting home runs or scoring touchdowns.

Or maybe Bob Frisk is right, that if high school coaches teach athletes the meaning of respect when they're impressionable, maybe they won't forget it as they interact with peers, get married, become parents, or reach college and pro athletics.

If we expect nothing better, then isn't that exactly what we deserve to get?

Those are the conversations I will miss the most as I pass by an empty desk that always held in reserve a warm smile, firm handshake and optimistic tone - not to mention the last working typewriter known to man.

It was a place where we marveled at the providential, from Andre Dawson to Michael Jordan to Tiger Woods, laughed at the follies of our local favorites, celebrated the upsets in high school sports, and shed a tear over those no longer with us.

Over the years we have experienced the best and worst of life, and, yet, have survived to fight again, to mourn the sunset and cheer the sun's miraculous rise, however improbable, after those interminable, dark nights.

One reason for that is friendship, born of a common ground and a dream of more civil times.

So, BF, I will not say so long. Instead I'll consider the memories a blessing and the opportunity a gift.

I'll seek you out more often at high school games, where we can celebrate the good, and you'll help me laugh off the bad.

After 50 years of so much dignity, and such sincere decency, from you I would expect nothing less.

See you soon, Bob.

And thanks for everything.

brozner@dailyherald.com