As many of you may know, a colossus of baseball has retired recently. It was a first for me. It was the first time in my life that I had witnessed the retirement of not only my all-time favorite baseball player, but my boyhood idol. Griffey did more for me than most fans. He not only seduced me with his effortless swing, like he did millions of others, he taught me how to play baseball. He was a perfect combination of natural born talent, charisma, effort (I’m talking to you Hanley), and youthful vigor, all rolled into the one and only live action Roy Hobbs action figure. His game had the grace of an antelope fused with the spirit of a 10 year old kid. If Michelangelo were to paint the roof in the House That Ruth Built, Ken Griffey Jr. highlight reel catches and home runs would fill it from corner to corner.
If Bo knew, The Kid did. Anybody out there remember how sad they were when Griffey’s season was ruined by having to receive a plate and multiple screws to repair a broken wrist after making a diving/jumping combo catch into the wall? Complete disregard for his body, all in the name of wanting to make the coolest play a 14 year old could think of. As a young, fellow south-paw, and eerily similar named kid who loved baseball, I used to mimic his every move between on the diamond. Shit, at one point I actually learned how to do the Griffey homer hand shake during the ’93 season. I rocked the backwards hat. Left-handed swing? check. And you can bet the barn that I smiled as much, if not more than he did too. Oh, and that smile. That infectious smile. Anytime you saw a Griffey highlight you saw that picture perfect smile that was a leftover from his devilish deeds of thievery in the outfield. This smile is how you knew he was still just a little kid leaving a dream. He was fortunate enough to have gifts, so gifts are what he gave back.
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