The Kid

Yesterday was a sad day for me, but today is a little more bittersweet. Yesterday Ken Griffey Jr. announced his retirement from Major League Baseball, and with it came the end of era in my life.

Baseball was and always has been a huge part of my life. One of my toddler pictures shows me swinging at a ball on a tee, already clearly a left-handed hitter. When my family drove across the country to move from Maryland to Washington in the summer of 1987 we had a Fisher Price t-ball set, with a plastic plate and tee combo, and three flexible rubber/plastic bases. I don't remember where we were exactly on that trip, but at one stop for lunch we played a game in a park. I DO remember that I hit a home run off this ball that I just crushed. Since I was 6, and the bases were probably about 30 feet apart, I bet the hit went no more than 100 feet, if that. But in my mind it went forever because it flew in the air to this tree that was SO FAR AWAY.

When we got to Washington we moved in with my aunt and uncle in Woodinville while we shopped for a house. Telling the story of how far I hit the ball was the first thing I had to tell them. I can't remember a time when I wasn't going to be a baseball player, because that's just all I was ever going to be. It's probably been years since I told the story of just how far away that tree was, but I must have told every family member about it for months after.

Over the next few years pretty much all my memories are of watching or playing baseball. I have an odd memory of getting eye drops in my eyes (maybe allergies?) while a game with the Texas Rangers was on TV. I couldn't watch through the drops, so I just kept my eyes closed and listened to the game. We took a vacation to the Bay Area to visit another aunt and while there visited Oakland Alameda County Coliseum (always it's real name, to me) to watch an Athletics game. It wasn't my first game in person, but it's the first one I remember clearly. I fell in love with the Athletics and was crushed that fall when Kirk Gibson hit his home run off Dennis Eckersley to win game one of the 1988 World Series.

I was kind of a dual Mariners/Athletics fan for the next few years because the Mariners were home town, and the Athletics were good. I started playing on my own, moving from t-ball to regular little league. I have normal kid memories of how historic I was, like when I made an unassisted triple play. Granted, it was a pop up and none of the kids knew they had to tag up, and the first baseman wasn't paying attention so after catching the popup at short, I tagged second, and ran all the way over to first to complete the play. But again I told every family member that I made a triple play.

Of those family members, the most important to me was my mother. I'd get up early on Sundays to watch the game of the week with her. She was there for every single one of my games, even carting the whole family two hours up to Port Angeles for tournament games when I could have just carpooled with another teammate.

She'd get advice from other adults and pass it along to me. She loved telling the story of one game where she was sitting next to the mother of a kid who had been called in to relieve the starter because of a bases loaded jam in late innings. This kid's mother went on and on about her son, and how fast he threw, and how many strikeouts he had recorded. Mom said this went on during the entire 8 warm up pitches he had. Then I stepped to the plate and roped a bases-clearing double, leading my mother to say (or so she said) simply "That was my son." I like that story not because I was successful, but because my mother was clearly so proud of me.

She'd get complimented by the umpires because of how much fun they had watching me play. In all these comments she noted how they enjoyed my smile, my energy, the obvious fun I had playing the game. I'll never ever claim to be anywhere near as good as the Say Hey Kid, but my mother, who grew up a Giants fan, always said that watching me have fun was like watching Willie Mays have fun playing baseball. I'll never forget that.

Over the early 90's we got to share a love for a similar player, as it was clear that Ken Griffey, Jr. played pretty much the same way. We'd listen to the M's on the radio before they were good enough to have all their games on local cable. In those days we'd get about 2 or 3 games a month on KSTW 11, and we'd always watch them together. He was left handed, he played all out, and he always had a smile on his face. With the exception of not being 6'2", amazing talented, or an outfielder, I was just like him, and definitely tried to be. And we loved him, together.

1995 was, and always will be I imagine, my greatest season as a baseball fan. I think we were watching the game when Junior broke his wrist making an amazing catch against the wall, while Randy Johnson rolled off the mound in agonized disbelief. Throughout the summer we watched as the M's struggled to stay close in the pennant race, Alex Diaz filling in as ably as he could. I played in a fall league that year, and with each passing game the parents were paying less and less attention to the game on the field, and more attention to the game on their radios. One game in particular a player, I think it was Tino Martinez, hit a home run right as a ball got by the catcher and back to the screen while I was hitting. An amazing cheer went up from the crowd, while the catcher and I looked back at the stands, confused. Once we found out what happened it was definitely a few seconds before our game could continue.

The unfortunate main story to this baseball back-story is that Mom had been diagnosed with cancer in the summer of 1992. She had already had 3 surgeries by that point, along with one round of chemotherapy and two rounds of radiation. As September built towards October Mom was again not feeling well, but we spent three hours together at least six night a week watching or listening to the Mariners as they staged their epic comeback to win the AL West. We were there when Lois Sojo cleared the bases in the 8th to give the M's the win in the one game playoff. We were crushed when Tim Belcher gave up the extra inning home run to Jim Leyritz for the Mariners to come home down 0-2 in their Division series against the Yankees. We were pretty low when Chris Bosio fell behind 5-0 early in game 4, thinking it was all over.

But then the M's came back in that game. Edgar hit a grand slam, and Bone followed with a solo shot, to take it to a deciding 5th game. When Griffey came to the plate in the 12th inning with a chance to win it, he had already hit five home runs in five games, and we certain he'd come through again. But in an even more exciting turn of events he singled Joey Cora over to 3rd, and then there was The Double. To this day, I can't watch it or hear Dave Niehaus' call (Right now, the Mariners looking for the tie. They would take a fly ball, they would love a base hit into the gap and they could win it with Junior's speed. The stretch... and the 0-1 pitch on the way to Edgar Martinez swung on and LINED DOWN THE LEFT FIELD LINE FOR A BASE HIT! HERE COMES JOEY, 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!) without getting chills. It doesn't matter to me that the M's finally ran out of gas in game 6 of the ALCS against Cleveland and didn't even make the World Series. My mother and I followed every game of that season, and my enduring memory will always be that wonderful photograph where Griffey's smile from the bottom of the pile lit up all of Washington. And remember that my mother loved watching me play because I'd play with that same smile.

That was the last season my mother and I got to watch together, because it turned out the reason she wasn't feeling well was another recurrence of the cancer. Faced with another surgery that she didn't have the energy to handle, my Mother passed away on February 23rd, 1996. Baseball is still my link to her, and I was so fortunate with how much time it gave us together. Over the last few years as players have retired it struck me again and again how few were left that we had watched together. With Griffey retiring, the last one is gone. Today, I'm feeling better, finding catharsis in listening to sports radio and hearing everyone share their memories of Junior. I look at Baseball Reference and see that some of the most similar players statistically to Griffey are Frank Robinson, Reggie Jackson, Mickey Mantle, and yes, Willie Mays. I'll be taking a trip to Cooperstown in 5 years to watch the last, and greatest, player of my childhood head into the Hall of Fame. I'll thank him, I'll say hello to my mother, and I'll say goodbye to a part of young Scott.

So long, Kid.