Tag: Ken Griffey Jr.

Fathers and Sons: Top 20 All-Time Sons of Major Leaguers

The San Diego Padres and Philadelphia Phillies face off this weekend in a match-up featuring a bewildering assortment of player related in some way to other players, including Will Venable, Tony Gwynn Jr., Jayson Werth, Scott and Jerry Hairston, and Padres coach Glenn Hoffman.

Nevertheless, with Ken Griffey Jr., announcing his retirement on Wednesday, the era of Major League sons truly comes to a close.

In the last 25 years we’ve enjoyed the careers of several sons of major leaguers, including some of the best players of the generation.

So where does Griffey rank on the list of the Top 20 Sons of Former Major Leaguers of All Time?

Let’s have a look.

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Weekend Downer: Overshadowed Icon, Stolen Perfecto and Death Of A Wizard

This week in the world of sports, the phrase, “all bad things come is threes,” was taken to a new level. 

Much like the film industry, which lost Gary Coleman, Dennis Hopper and Rue McClanahan in a nine-day span, the sport’s world experienced the retirement of a baseball icon, a perfect game sabotaged and the death of a college basketball coaching legend.

It started late-Wednesday afternoon when reports out of Seattle said the Mariners’ Ken Griffey Jr., 40, was retiring. 

Griffey, the first pick in the 1987 amateur draft, played 23 big-league seasons, hit 630 home runs (fifth all time), made 13 All-Star appearances (including 11 straight from 1990-2000), won the 1992 American League MVP (with five top-five finishes in voting) and 10 Gold Gloves (all from 1990-’99).

Simply put, Griffey was unlike many players we will ever see.

In the 1990’s, The Kid, played the game hard, fast and at such an extremely high level it earned him a spot on baseball’s All-Century team, which included Hall-of-Fame outfielders Hank Aaron, Ted Williams, Babe Ruth, Willie Mays, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle, Ty Cobb, Pete Rose and Stan Musial.

In the 1996 and 1997 seasons, Griffey hit 56 home runs and became one of the first players to push Roger Maris’ single-season home-run record of 61.

Unfortunately for Griffey, things took a turn for the worst when he decided to leave Seattle for Cincinnati in 2000.

Griffey had some respectable years as a Red but his iconic status, which reached its peak in the late-90’s, faded when Barry Bonds demolished Maris’ and Mark McGwire’s records. 

Injury troubles helped Junior fade into the background. Without much media attention, which is given to most stars that approach milestones, Griffey slipped past they 500-and 600-home run benchmarks.

After a tough start to the 2010 season, which featured a .184 batting average after only 98 at bats and an overblown story of Griffey napping in the clubhouse, The Kid called it quits saying he no longer wanted to be a distraction to Mariners, the team which help make him great and took him back, last season, even after his glory days were long gone.

However, on the same night Junior would call it quits and baseball fans, especially Seattle supporters, thought they would finally cheer for him like they once did, umpire Jim Joyce, in Barry Band-like fashion, stole the spotlight.

In the bottom of the ninth, two outs and a perfect game on-the-line, Detroit Tiger’s hurler, Armando Galarraga, got Cleveland Indians’ shortstop Jason Donald to hit a soft grounder to first baseman Miguel Cabrera.

Cabrera fielded, threw to Galarraga, who was covering first, and celebrated the perfecto… prematurely.

To the naked eye watching the television, the play looked too-close-too-call. Observers could only be saddened as first-base umpire, Joyce, called Donald safe.

However, after further review it was easy to conclude that Joyce was wrong, very wrong.

Donald was out by a full stride and baseball history was made, not in a positive light, but in a negative once.

New York Times writer Paul Clemens described it best on writing on Friday, “Galarraga went from becoming only the 21st pitcher in Major League history to throw a perfect game (and the third in four weeks, a convergence of perfection that can be expected to recur with Halley’s Comet-like regularity) to one of countless in Major League history to throw a one-hit shutout.”

Pitching only four seasons in the big leagues, Galarraga, 28, has compiled a 21-18 overall record and a 4.50 ERA.

No way will Galarraga become a Hall-of-Famer, Cy Young winner or MVP nominee.

Sadly, Galarraga one glory moment will not go into history as one of the greatest perfect games of all time (Galarraga was on pace to finish his perfect game with less than five strikeouts and 90 pitches.)

Instead, Galarraga will be known as the pitcher that was robbed of a perfect game and, for years to come, Joyce will be the answer to many trivia questions.

Saturday morning, the trifecta was completed when college basketball’s greatest coach, John Wooden, died of natural causes in California.

Wooden, 99, led the Bruins to 10 National Championships including sevens straight from 1967-’73.

Wooden, also knows as the Wizard of Westwood, is also the only person be elected into the Basketball Hall-of-Fame as player and coach.

However, Wooden’s legend grew more after his coaching days as he wrote numerous books on basketball, coaching and life.

“(Wooden is) about a perfect sports personality as anyone I’ve met in my years of broadcasting,” praised NBC broadcaster Dick Enberg in an interview about the Wizard.

Enberg says Wooden is sport’s Abraham Lincoln or Winston Churchill. Many would agree.

Even through his 90’s, Wooden was still writing books and conducting radio interviews trying to inspire players, coaches and people to do the best they can with what they have.

Wooden is the Yogi Berra of inspiring sports quotations.

“Sports don’t build character, they reveal it,” and “Be quick but don’t hurry,” are some of my favorites.

Don’t be surprised in 15 years professors build curriculum around his philosophies.

When asked in a 2008 interview what the secret of life is, Wooden replied, “Not being afraid of death and having peace within yourself. All of life is peaks and valleys. Don’t let the peaks get too high and valley’s too low.”

Today, the sports world has reached a valley. Tomorrow, the sport’s world and its fans will begin working towards a peak.

 

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Ken Griffey Jr. Is My Version of the Beatles

Ken Griffey Jr. is my version of The Beatles.

For every generation there are cultural phenomena that don’t resonate with their predecessors and go unappreciated by their successors.

I spent about two hours attempting to write a fitting sendoff for Junior the morning after he retired.

I explained the inaccurate parallel between the end of a great player’s career and a funeral. I explained how I’d begun writing an article disagreeing with Dave Cameron’s USS Mariner entry entitled Respect , and that when Mike Sweeney began hitting everything out of the yard he killed my best argument for Junior remaining a Mariner.

I used the same tired clichés and comparisons between Junior and Babe Ruth that I’ve used a half dozen times each since Junior returned to Seattle, once with the Reds and eventually as a Mariner.

Then I realized, I no longer had to defend Junior using specifics. His career as a player is over, and no matter where a player falls or how far overdrawn his career was, or how terribly it ended, the debate is truly moot at this point.

As reality sinks in that we’ve seen the last of Junior on the field, dozens of articles reflecting on a great career have surfaced.

I don’t want to do that.

The reason I compare Junior to The Beatles is that I don’t like The Beatles.

I’m not a music guy per se, but I’ve got enough knowledge to avoid looking like a jerk in most social settings.

I’m obsessed with sports. I like listening to music.

That stated, I don’t like arguing about music for the simple fact that in almost all cases, I’m in over my head. The same way many of my friends’ brains spin when I reel off a handful of acquirable prospects the Mariners could receive in a Cliff Lee trade, my brain scrambles when they name obscure B-sides from indy bands I’ve never heard of.

But I’ve developed an escape hatch for uncomfortable music-related conversations, specifically, Beatles-related conversations.

“I don’t care for their music personally, but I respect what they did for music”

What the hell does that even mean?

I don’t know enough about music to make that statement. I didn’t grow up in the 1960s or 70s, I’ve never seen The Beatles live. In fact, the only Beatles album I’ve ever purchased was “One,” an album of chart-toppers that I bought for my dad.

Not only can I barely remember the names of any songs on the album, I’ve never listened to it, unless it was the music I ignored while I rode in his truck.

But you see, I’m not a bad person for not liking The Beatles (some of my friends may argue this). I just didn’t live The Beatles. I think that “I Want to Hold Your Hand” sucks and I don’t understand why it inspired so much enthusiasm and passion from men and women alike in that timeframe.

Even in retrospect, I’m confident that I could listen to that song a million times, and I’d never understand the passion.

Passion isn’t cultivated overnight. While the seed of passion may have an anniversary date for its planting, its growth and the final product take years to mature.

So when we realize that fans come in waves, there is often posturing, and a veritable display of resumes somehow displayed and quantified by years as a suffering fan.

1995. 1997. 2000. 2001. 2009.

The former four years respresent Mariners playoff appearances, while the latter represents the first year of Jack Zduriencik’s tenure in Seattle, which may eventually lead to years before Zduriencik became the team’s general manager being referred to as B.Z. (Before Zduriencik), provided he can weather the present Mariners struggles.

The truth is that while I aspire to quantify all of my sentiments towards a player and team using logical means, my love for Junior knows no logic.

For all intents and purposes, I’m no different than the 1960s teenage girl with a Paul McCartney poster on her bedroom wall who convinced her parents to let her stay up late to watch The Beatles’ United States debut on “The Ed Sullivan Show.”

I was nearly three years old when Junior made his MLB debut. As far as my memory dates back, Junior may as well be named Abner Doubleday, because I know no baseball without him.

It’s awful to watch a star slowly stop shining. But in many ways it is worse to be involuntarily stuck remembering when the star shined at its brightest.

I don’t know when Dave Cameron became a Mariners fan. I don’t know when much of the fan base became Mariners fans.

I do know that there was a large portion of the fan base that didn’t support Junior in the waning days of his career. At this point, there is no point in arguing the validity of such contrition.

If you didn’t catch the fever, you never will. There aren’t adequate words to describe the impact Junior had on the lives of people around my age.

For those that don’t understand the blind devotion of myself or others like me, you never will. But I understand that you don’t understand. Passion is hard to convey on replay.

Most of all though, Junior did it the right way. Call it fear of abandonment, but I hitched my wagon to perhaps the lone remaining clean cowboy.

While seemingly everyone else’s favorite baseball player was being named in the Mitchell Report, or by Jose Canseco, the only ink that Griffey received was on his ever-growing medical chart.

And while it’s become common place to think of “what could have been” when it comes to Junior’s career and injury history, the truth is, that while it may have lasted longer than many, Junior’s career is more aptly described as “what should have been.”

Players become injury prone and less productive as they grow old. And we want our athletes to believe, no matter what permanent hurdles, or inevitable obstacles they face, that they are one solid contact away from finding their groove and returning to form.

So in the ultimate modern day baseball story, it was Don Wakamatsu, a man who has managed baseball more than ten times less years than Griffey has played at the highest level, who may have told Junior his time was over.

It was an imperfect ending to an amazing career. But if 40 is the new 30, and 30 is the new 20, then in the age of steroids and scandal, imperfect but clean is the new perfect.

Hell of a career Junior, I’d have been there if it lasted another 22 years. 

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Ken Griffey, Jr. Will Be Missed

When Ken Griffey, Jr. retired earlier this week I realized I was officially old. 

I remember a night in 1988 when we took my niece up to Everett, WA to see the then Everett Giants play the Bellingham Mariners featuring an 18-year-old phenom by the name of Ken Griffey, Jr. From that point on I referred to my niece as a Griffey baby. 

She turned 24 earlier this year and works as manager of a sports club. So yeah, I’m getting old.

It’s hard to explain what Griffey, Jr. meant to Seattle sports back in the late 80’s. The Mariners aren’t exactly the best team in baseball these days, but back then they were one of the worst teams in professional sports. 

The Mariners were a replacement team given to the city in 1977 after a successful law suit against Major League Baseball for allowing Milwaukee to steal our original team, the Pilots, after one season in 1970. That law suit was to be the only big win for the team until Griffey, Jr. came on the scene.

From 1977 to 1991 the Mariners never breached the .500 mark for an entire season.

Adding to the fact that the team was dreadful was the stadium where they played. The Kingdome was a large concrete cylinder with all the charm of a roadside culvert with seats.

One of the worst nights of my life was a Mariners-Yankees game in the mid-80’s. Myself, my brother-in-law, and mutual friend went to bat night with five kids in town.

Back then they used to give the kids real bats and sometime during a late rally the kids discovered that if all 30,000 of them pounded the floor with their bats at the same time the Kingdome would echo so hard that the entire building shook from the noise.

The Mariners came back from a 6-1 deficit that night and won the game on a Tom Paciorek three-run homer in the ninth. That blast set off the kids in a bat pounding frenzy that caused most of the adults in attendance to miss work for an entire week. 

I later told someone that what we went through that night was akin to jumping into a trash dumpster and having a crowd of people whack it on the side with large logs.

And that was a good night at the Kingdome.

But when Griffey came to the team everything changed. It was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever witnessed as a sports’ fan.

It took two years before the team had it’s first winning season, and several more before the city built a new stadium. But almost immediately things got noticeably better for the Seattle baseball club.

Griffey was one of those rare athletes that matched the hype of his arrival. He was that good.

And when his Dad came to the Mariners in 1990 marking the first time a father and son had played on a major league team, the city fell in love. 

When the team started winning shortly after, the romance was in full bloom.

If you are a true baseball fan and you never got to see Griffey play in his prime you missed something special—because you really had to see him in person to realize just how good he was.

Whether it is the time during his sophomore season when he ignored the cut off man to throw out a runner trying to score from second on a deep single or when he tomahawked a ball several feet out of the strike zone for a home run that kept his record setting home run streak alive in 1993, Griffey was incredible to watch in person.

That doesn’t mean there weren’t controversies. But they were so minor and so “Griffey” that they seem quaint in this day and age.

One of those controversies was his refusal to sign autographs for adults. 

This was during the sports memorabilia hey day. It’s hard to believe now but there was a time in the late 80’s and early 90’s when people were investing in baseball card sets like Glenn Beck invests in gold now. 

Griffey got upset when he found out that many of the autographs he was giving out were for memorabilia sellers rather than real fans. That was when he went to his “kids only” policy. 

He would sign all day long for children when they flocked to him, but adults were ignored or waved off. Some people were bugged by that but most of us understood his reasoning.

The team won games and division championships with Griffey in 1995 and 1997, but they were never able to get over the hump and win the World Series.

In 1998, the team traded star pitcher Randy Johnson in order to avoid losing him in free agency. The team went 76-85 that year and 79-83 the next despite monster numbers from Griffey, Jr.

That’s probably why when he asked to be traded to his hometown after the 1999 season the fans of Seattle accepted it and wished him well. He always did his best for the city of Seattle and the city wanted to return the favor.

They welcomed him back with open arms last year despite diminished skills. He played decently in 2009 but this year he hasn’t been able to capture the old magic. 

I don’t think anyone was surprised that Griffey retired in the middle of the season considering his performance this year. He’s been less than a shadow of his former self— he has been, quite frankly, terrible.  

It’s always hard to see your heroes when they come back down to earth. I remember seeing Nolan Ryan in his last game. It was supposed to be his second to last outing but two batters into the game there was a loud pop that resounded throughout the stadium.

He faced two more batters after that and walked them both. I don’t think he came within a foot of the plate on eight straight pitches.

The old cowboy tipped his hat to the crowd as he left. It was then that I realized that Nolan was a very bald, middle aged man with a broken gate. 

I also knew he would never pitch again and it made me sad.

That’s how I felt when I heard Griffey, Jr. was retiring last week. He was a class act in an era when we seem to have fewer and fewer of them.

 

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All In The Cards: A Remembrance Of Ken Griffey, Jr.

The card still sits back at my parents’ home, buried amidst a rubble of teals and navy blues.

The card has not been taken out in a long while, covered in a hard plastic sleeve and enclosed in a notebook buried somewhere in my old room. There are pages and pages filled mostly with the card’s look-a-likes in that notebook, most of which bear that same cross-stitching of a compass and a baseball.

‘Seattle Mariners’ is branded in the bottom-right corner.

The card was my most prized possession for an extended period in my life (before I discovered that balloons could be filled with water), and still remains one of my few links to a career filled with home runs, Gold Gloves, smiles, and an unexplainable importance to a game I grew to love.

The card presently runs for nearly $50 on the market. I can remember breaking the bank on it when I was five years old and my neighbors took me to my first (and last) card show, spending two hard-earned dollars  of my own money—foraging through couches for dimes and nickles is no walk in the park.

But the card is not for sale—it might never be.

There is so much tied to that card, to the player on it, that giving it up would essentially be giving up a small piece of what has molded sports into such a passion.

To recall the card’s description is to recall my first impression of Julia Roberts—easy:

The bat resting coolly on his shoulders. Sitting, relaxed, on top of the dugout bench in the Kingdome. The ultra-cool, David Duval-type sunglasses. A hat turned backwards. That ‘I-Can-Do-Anything’ smile. That swing.

Ken Griffey Jr. was baseball in the early 1990s, especially for a kid living in North Carolina with no distinctive ties to any team around. The Atlanta Braves were the closest major league club around, my two grandfathers created a split-decision between the Los Angeles Dodgers and Cincinatti Reds, and the nearest professional team was the Triple-A Charlotte Knights.

The Mariners were never playing on TV back then – which still inherently holds true – so the only way to see Griffey play was to tune in and hope Charley Steiner would narrate his feats on a 45-second clip of SportsCenter.

No all-access Major League Baseball packages. No Internet capabilities. No YouTube.

Forty-five seconds at a time, The Kid became the most iconic and memorable athlete throughout my life not named Jordan. And no, not Jordan Palmer.

Every quality about Griffey fit with all that is good in sports. He was the perfect poster boy for Major League Baseball: an easily-marketable image following the 1994 lockout, the good-looking and ultra-athletic black athlete baseball needed, and a man who unfailingly went about his Hall of Fame business with dignity and class.

Forty-five seconds at a time, Junior joined Jordan to create all the sports entertainment needed for every one of my childhood summers. So when it came time to head to that baseball card show with my neighbors, there were zero doubts as to who would be the beneficiary of my $2 bank account: any vendor selling a Griffey card.

For an athlete over two thousand miles away to have such a lasting effect on a young person, there must be something exceptional about them. Put it this way: Rick Mirer and Detlef Shrempf were not sparking any idolization, nor even thoughts of support, from me during their time in Seattle.

Griffey did.

Ken Griffey, Jr. was exceptional.

Yet, despite becoming the most important figure in baseball for an entire generation, he also became one of the most forgotten in sports history.
Somehow, in the circus of sports media and an ever-changing fan environment, one of the 10 greatest players to play the game became irrelevant. Injuries and “what-if” scenarios were a prime factor, but the shift into a new era left Griffey in a cold state of indifference.

As the Steroid Era came to a head, the apple of the baseball world’s eye for an entire generation faded in the mediocrity of Cincinnati baseball. The sports media’s gaze shifted to St. Louis, Chicago and San Francisco—as, admittedly, did my own.

Maybe if I had not kept that card buried in a notebook in my room during the time, I would not have lost sight of what baseball was really all about.

Junior was playing great baseball still, even spectacular at times – hitting .282 with 166 home runs between the McGwire and Sosa home run race in 1998 to Barry Bonds’ asterisk-laden, unbelievable 73 home runs in 2001. But the height of the Steroid Era belonged to the steroid users, and every other player just fell into a undeserved shadow.

Estimations and reevaluations will incessantly follow Griffey from his retirement yesterday to his sure-to-come Hall of Fame induction and beyond.

But this is not how I will remember him. My memories of George Kenneth Griffey, Jr. will not be a collection of “what if” scenarios, but rather a belief that I grew up watching a player that has solidified his place as one of the greatest in history.

My memories will be held in a different light.

…The bat resting coolly on his shoulders. Sitting, relaxed, on top of the dugout bench in the Kingdome. The ultra-cool, David Duval-type sunglasses. A hat turned backwards. That ‘I-Can-Do-Anything’ smile. That swing…

I’ll choose to remember 10 Gold Gloves and a three-time Home Run Derby champion that made every kid in every neighborhood get their aluminum bats and tennis balls out of the garage to see who could hit one farthest over the backyard fence.

I’ll choose to remember a Most Valuable Player.

I’ll choose to remember a father and son who made history.

I’ll choose to remember, “Here is Junior to third base, they’re going to wave him in. The throw to the plate will be late, the Mariners are going to play for the American League Championship! I don’t believe it! It just continues! My, oh my!”

And now he is retiring – “I don’t believe it”.

The other day, Griffey took the field for the last time, retiring at the age of 40. The sport will miss The Kid…I will miss The Kid, obviously.

While there are certain recollections that will still continue to lay hidden beneath pages in a dusty notebook for years to come, the memories tied to that first baseball card and what that player meant towards shaping an obsession with sports will be a part of me forever.

Thanks for the past 20 years.

Here’s hoping I never forget again.
(This article can also be found on my sports blog, Walking Into The Kicker)

 

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Ken Griffey Junior Phoned-In Retirement to Mariners on Drive To Orlando

There are a lot of ways to retire. Ken Griffey Jr. seems to have found a new one. A mobile retirement.

According to Seattle Mariner President Chuck Armstrong, talking on Seattle sports radio station KJR, Griffey’s agent, Brian Goldberg, called Armstrong Wednesday afternoon with some news. Junior was retiring, effective immediately.

A few minutes later, according to Armstrong, Griffey himself called to confirm it.

You imagine it went something like this:

‘So would you like to do a press conference Junior?’

‘Well, I can’t, exactly.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’m driving to Orlando.’

This was about four hours before game time Wednesday night. The Mariners were home for game three of a four game set with Minnesota.

Griffey, apparently, told no one. Not a teammate. Not his manager Don Wakamatsu. Not even the sleep coordinator in the Mariner’s clubhouse.

Just got in his car and started to drive.

‘Man, I just don’t feel like going to work today. Think I’ll go for a little drive. De-stress in the car. Turn on some music. Relax. Where should I go?’

For Griffey, apparently the answer was Orlando.

At some point in the drive he realized he might be missed at work. So he gave his agent a call. Instead of calling in sick, Junior decided to call in sick of it all.

Of course, I’m picking on one of the classiest guys to ever don a baseball uniform, so for that I apologize. But the way this whole retirement went down was just a little un-Junior-like.

Of course, the last year-and-a-third of his career has been very un-Junior-like. His return to Seattle has been one filled with few home runs, a low batting average, and tons of runners left on base. He has, in all fairness, smiled through it all. But something has been missing.

The retirement came, in the end, about eight months late. He should have hung it up after the disappointing season of 2009.

An unnamed source quoted in the Seattle Times on Friday said Griffey had been upset recently with the lack of playing time that he had been getting lately. Manager Wakamatsu confirmed in the paper that he had had discussions recently with Junior about his decreased playing time.

On KJR Armstrong said that he and Griffey had had talks in the offseason about a reduced role this season, and Junior was OK with that. Armstong said Griffey would do whatever they needed him to, even if that was just pinch hit.

Somewhere along the line Griffey changed his tune and became unhappy with the reduced role. So much so apparently that he got into his car and never turned back.

The Mariners complained that the hasty retirement decision didn’t even allow them to call someone up from the minors in time for the game that night. Kind of reminds one of a few weeks back when someone was sleeping in the clubhouse and left the team hanging when they needed a pinch hitter.

Again, I don’t mean to come down too harshly on a baseball great and a legend, but, something about the way this was handled by Junior was somewhat classless and a little childish.

The Mariner fans wanted a press conference. No such luck. They wanted to say goodbye and thanks at the game that night. No such luck.

Will Griffey be back this year to Safeco Field for a proper sendoff? His longtime agent Brian Goldberg, in a separate interview on KJR on Friday, said he wasn’t certain Griffey would be back this year for a tribute, but he hoped so.

Part of me can see Griffey’s side to this too. Maybe he isn’t a big one for goodbyes. Maybe he didn’t know he was quitting until he got in the car that day. Maybe he would have been too broken up at a news conference.

Maybe.

Or, maybe he was just really enjoying the drive.

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Ken Griffey Jr. Retires: Saying Goodbye To My First Sports Hero

I’d always assumed the first time I’d feel old as a sports fan would be when LeBron James retired.

Made sense, right? After all, The King and I were born just six months apart, and graduated high school the same year. We attended our senior proms just two weeks apart (although, as hard as this might be to believe, mine wasn’t a national news story).

And right as LeBron was getting his first taste of the NBA lifestyle after being drafted in 2003, I was getting my first taste of independence as a college freshman.

I always pictured the day, in 2019 or 2020 or 2021, when a graying, balding LeBron would step in front of the cameras and say that he couldn’t do it anymore, that he was retiring from basketball. Somewhere, a graying, balding me would be watching, holding back a tear, and realizing, “Man, I’m getting old.”

When LeBron James, the greatest contemporary athlete of my generation, couldn’t do it anymore, I’d always assumed that a little piece of me as a sports fan would retire with him.

Then Wednesday night happened.

While the nation was transfixed on Armando Galarraga-gate, another, smaller baseball headline scrolled across the bottom of our television screens. Ken Griffey Jr., my first sports hero, announced his retirement.

And man do I feel old.

For anyone under the age of 20 this might be hard to believe, but there was a time in the early and mid-1990s when there wasn’t a bigger superstar than Ken Griffey Jr.

I’m not talking about in baseball. I’m talking about in sports. Period.

(This is just PART of Aaron’s article on his boyhood hero, Ken Griffey Jr. To read the remainder, please click here or visit him at www.aarontorres-sports.com )

Sure basketball had Michael Jordan, but when he went from NBA superstar, to minor league baseball afterthought, back to NBA superstar in the blink of an eye, it rubbed a lot of people (including everyone in my household) the wrong way.

The NFL was in the midst of a semi-identity crisis, caught between the John Elway/Dan Marino era and the Peyton Manning era, with its best team—the Dallas Cowboys—having players who made more headlines for doing drugs and hanging with strippers than for anything they did on the field.

Tennis had Pete Sampras, but believe me when I say that he was about as fun to watch as a Matlock marathon on A&E. And remember too, this was pre-Tiger Woods, so I really couldn’t tell you who the best golfer in the world was. If only because nobody cared about golf.

But Griffey had a 100 percent approval rating. It didn’t matter if you were a Mariners fan, a Red Sox fan, a Yankees fan, whatever.

If you were between the ages of 6 and 13 in 1993, Griffey was your favorite player. End of story.

(Random side note: I remember a time, maybe in kindergarten or first grade, some friends and I were talking baseball at recess. Everyone was saying who his favorite player was. The conversation went like this: Griffey…Griffey…Griffey, Griffey…Griffey…until our last friend defiantly said “Frank Thomas.” We all reacted like he’d told us he was going in for a sex change operation. Seriously.)

Everyone wanted to be like “The Kid.” Everyone in Little League, fought over who got to wear No. 24. Everyone wanted to play center field.

I dressed like him one Halloween. I even coaxed my parents into buying me an $80 Griffey jersey at Sports Authority one day (why I remember the price, I have no idea). I wore the jersey on the first day of school, and pretty much every day after that too, until someone made fun of me for wearing the same shirt everyday.

Looking back, it probably was a bit unhygienic, but you know what? I think that little prick was probably just jealous he didn’t have a Griffey jersey of his own.

At his peak Griffey was bigger than any baseball player is now, and it wasn’t even close. He was on Wheaties boxes. He was one of the first athletes to have his own video game (this seems minor now, but believe me in 1994 this was a big deal). I even remember re-arranging my schedule on a Monday night so that I could catch an episode of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air that he made a minor cameo on. In the episode Hilary went ga-ga over him.

No more so than every little kid in America did at the same time.

On the field, Griffey was that transcendent athlete who endeared himself to young and old, black and white, male and female. He always wore his trademark backwards hat, accompanied by a huge smile, and carried himself confidently without ever being cocky. For us young folks he hit enough home runs to keep us coming back to our TVs every time he came to bat, and for the baseball purists he played about as flawless a center field as you’ll ever see…

(To read the REMAINDER of this article, and read the rest of Aaron’s thoughts on his boyhood hero, please click HERE or visit Aaron at www.aarontorres-sports.com

Also, for Aaron’s thoughts on all things sports, be sure to follow him on Twitter @Aaron_Torres and Facebook.com/AaronTorresSports )

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Ken Griffey Jr. vs. Albert Pujols? Griffey Gets the Nod

Ken Griffey Jr. has called it quits after 22 years. One of the best players of all time, “The Kid” has endured one too many injuries, aged one too many years, and sat on the bench one too many games. After a stellar career, he has decided to hang up his cleats.

Griffey was the Player-of-the-Decade in the 90’s: Voted to the All-Century Team when he wasn’t even 30 years old; 10 gold gloves; 40+ homers in 7 seasons; 56 HRs in 1997 and 1998; .300 batting average.

Griffey averaged 52 HR, 142 RBI, 19 SB, and had a .294 batting average from ’96-‘99! Yes, those were his average totals.   Nothing “average” about them.

In comparison, the current most feared hitter in baseball and Player-of-the-Decade for the 2000s, Albert Pujols has career highs of 49 HRs (2006), 137 RBI (2006), 16 SB (2009,2005), and .358 batting average. (2003).

That means for a four year period, Griffey averaged more homers, RBI, and stolen bases than Pujols has ever had in any given season. Pujols has won three MVP awards and Griffey won just once. After nine full seasons, Pujols is still almost 300 homers behind Griffey.

Pujols is a great, great player and that shows just how ultra-great Griffey was in his prime.

That’s why it was so hard to watch the 40 year old “Kid” struggle this year. He should have gone out last year as the catalyst for an over-achieving team while smacking 19 HR’s in just 117 games. Instead, he goes out after “Nap-Gate” and a .184 average with zero long balls for an under-achieving team about ready to dismantle players at the trading deadline.

If the Mariners could have turned it around prior to Griffey retiring it would have been unlikely. Without their veteran team leader, Hall of Fame voice in the dugout, fun-loving, practical joke playing mentor, the M’s success this season seems impossible.

Griffey hit 630 homers over 22 seasons, an average of one long ball every four games of his career.

He had four seasons where he played in 83 games or less, missing 370 games in the prime of his career due to various injuries. Had he played those games he would have likely hit 100 or more home runs.

Regardless of the injuries, his statistics place him among the best players in the history of the game; however, his achievements are much more impressive than his “numbers”.

“The Catch”, “The Double”, the smile, the leadership, the chemistry, the enthusiasm, and the savior of baseball in Seattle (and possibly for MLB after the 1994 strike season put many fans out of favor with baseball), all point to Griffey being much more than just a great baseball player.

He was arguably the greatest of the last 50 years: offensively, defensively, leadership.

Ken Griffey, Jr. will be missed in Seattle and in Baseball. He is the last chapter in the book of the Mariner’s teams of the ‘90s: Jay Buhner, Edgar Martinez, and Randy Johnson have a new teammate in retirement.

Thank you, Griffey, for all you gave to us. Good night and good luck.

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A Yankees Fan’s View: Ken Griffey Jr. Will Be in Cooperstown in Five Years

On Wednesday afternoon, Ken Griffey Jr. took the next step in his baseball career, and that was to end it.

The Mariners outfielder and designated hitter was not having his best season and decided it was time to call it quits. Next stop for Griffey…Cooperstown.

How can a player not make it when he is listed as No. 6 overall on the all-time home run list and made the All-Star team 13 times in 22 years? Griffey is beyond qualified for a spot in baseball eternity.

Sure, Tom Seaver earned his spot with the highest percentage ever to be inducted, but that may soon be in jeopardy with Griffey. Ken Griffey is a sure bet and unanimous pick for a spot in Cooperstown.

He has 630 home runs in his career. Many, including myself, believe that Griffey would be atop the all-time home run list had he not been injured several times throughout his career.

Barry Bonds had—and has—nothing on Ken Griffey Jr.

One important thing to note about Griffey is that there is not one steroid accusation against him. He was one of the cleanest players in the game. The belief that he may have taken something while he was injured to get back on the field more quickly is quite absurd.

The baseball world would come crashing down if either of its two ambassadors, Derek Jeter or Ken Griffey Jr., were caught on performance-enhancing drugs.

Some people love to watch Michael Jordan highlights in their spare time, but I wouldn’t mind spending a day watching Griffey’s finest. Whether it was crashing through a wall or diving for a catch, this guy put his body on the line at all times.

10 Gold Gloves cannot compare to the memories he created for fans in the stands when he went all out on the field or fans watching some of the greatest plays ever and seeing the Mariners or Reds star.

Griffey will always be that baby-faced kid with the backwards hat and the white tape on the bat. He has swagger and will always have swagger.

The only difficult thing is how will that be translated onto a gold plaque at Cooperstown with Ken Griffey Jr.’s face and a Mariners hat.

 

This article was featured on Bomber’s Banter and on the newly launched sports website, Sports Leak, the site to express your love of sports. 

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Growing Up With the Kid: How Ken Griffey Jr Has Affected My Life.

Like any kid who grew up in Pacific Northwest in the 1990’s, I idolized Ken Griffey JR.

He was everything that was right about the game of baseball. He had more fun than anybody on the field, always smiling with his signature backwards ball cap. His non-chalant swing seemed to launch homeruns that, to this day, still have yet to come down.

We felt like we grew up with him, like he was one of us. Just a big kid who loved to play a game. Our game. Baseball.

Where would we be without him? Would I be the die-hard fan that I am today?

Would I be on this website writing about the Seattle Mariners?

Would I still consider Opening Day better than Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and my birthday all rolled into one?

Doubtful.

Without Griffey, my baseball experience may be much different.

Without Griffey, perhaps I wouldn’t have been able to hold on to my love of the game after the Strike in 1994.

Without Griffey, would I still be able to love the game the way I do after the steroid era came to light, and I had to watch one after another of my heroes fall from grace?

Without Griffey, Would The Seattle Mariners even exist as a franchise today?

All questions I ask myself today as I write this article. All questions that I firmly believe have the same awnser.

No.

Thank you Ken Griffey JR. for you have made the game of baseball a joy for me, and many others.

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