Had it been a movie, it would have been billed as the awkward return of a wayward son. Ken Griffey Jr.'s return to Seattle nearly eight years after being traded provided a sense of drama, certainly, but also a sense of closure. What might have been a hostile occasion marked by an endless chorus of boos a la Alex Rodriguez instead evolved into an unrelenting love fest.
There's little need to recount the way he rode himself out of town following the 1999 season. We all remember. The Mariners' best ever player, the face of the franchise, left town in an immature snitty fit, demanding a trade in response to a litany of perceived slights. In contrast to the poise he displayed in 1989 as a 19-year-old rookie, he had evolved into a poster child for the spoiled, petulant athlete.
DECLINE
Since then, his time with the Cincinnati Reds has been plagued by a series of injuries. He's missed 435 games over seven seasons, saw his numbers decline, saw something resembling age catch up with him. But when the Reds arrived in town to play the Mariners last weekend, it was clear that enough time had passed to heal most wounds. His appearance was singed in melancholy. The ovations amid a smattering of boos were long and genuine. For a moment - three games, actually - we could forget the negativity surrounding his departure.
The enjoyment of professional sports is based, in part, on maintaining the illusion that pro sports are somehow actually important. Enjoyment is related to the art of forgetting that there are actually more important things going on. What could be more important than sports? A partial list might include, hmm, let's see, the war in Iraq, genocide in Darfur, global warming, the widening gap between rich and poor. The list includes what color to paint the laundry room, the price of bananas and the new return policy at Costco. Virtually everything is more important than professional sports.
Given how absurd the world of professional sports has become, the art of forgetting is much harder indeed. It's difficult to forget the ridiculous salaries athletes are paid. Difficult to square the stadium extortion tactics employed by team owners (see Bennett, Clay, for an example close to home).
THE NATURAL
But between the lines, during the games, one can block out the noise of reality. Magnificent athletes are poetry in motion. Griffey was poetry in motion. No one was better at helping us forget than Ken Griffey Jr. Has anyone ever seen a more natural swing? Name a better center fielder in his prime. Griffey positively floated on the Kingdome carpet, exuding a youthful joy that made it easy to, well, forget. When he played you saw someone playing for the love of the game he simply made look easier than just about anyone else.
There are many things worth remembering about him, especially the effortlessness of his play. And the joy he projected - still projects - while on the field. That joy might be best summed up by the image of him captured seconds after crossing home plate to beat the Yankees in '95. The many teammates piled on top of him weren't just climbing on their team's best player, they were riding on his indelible smile. It's one of the purest and yes, most joyous, sports photos ever. (How it didn't win the Pulitzer that year remains a minor mystery.)
His moodiness was legendary when he played in Seattle. The chips on his shoulder reached the Kingdome's ceiling. But it's also easy to forget his lengthy list of good deeds, because he did not seek attention for his considerable charitable work in Seattle. You never once heard him connected to a bar fight, a drug arrest, a domestic dispute. Considering the attention paid to sports superstars in general, and Griffey in particular, odds are pretty good we'd know about any chemical or personal indiscretions. When did anyone ever hear about him being in any kind of trouble? Never. Not once.
And no one has ever so much as hinted at the possibility that he's taken steroids, a fact made particularly notable given that various steroids might well have sped up his body's healing process during his many injuries.
There remain the What Ifs. If he hadn't been injured so much during his time in Cincinnati, he'd easily be closing on 700 homeruns, not 600, possibly dueling Barry Bonds for baseball's most sacred record.
To his credit, he says that records don't mean much to him. When asked over the weekend about his legacy, what he'd like to be remembered for, he said he was always playing for fun. He said that as a 19-year-old rookie, too. And despite a well-established record of Griffey double-speak, you believe him. He gets a lot of What If questions. When he says he doesn't really care about all that stuff, you get the sense he may actually mean it.
During Sunday's game, the man formerly known as The Kid hit two home runs and made a spectacular diving catch. Joy is an elusive quality in sports. Respect, sure. Appreciation, certainly. But joy is harder to quantify. It speaks of innocence and simplicity. In spite of all the baggage Ken Griffey Jr. brought with him to Seattle, his return to the city proved a joyous occasion.
Doug Schwartz is the editor of the Capitol Hill Times. He can be reached at editor@capitolhilltimes.com.
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