Wow! My Hollywood spin on Ken Griffey, Jr.'s long career turned out to be a prediction of the future. Apparently, I was controlled by other-worldly forces because just 14 hours after my post, Junior announced his retirement after 22 years and 630 home runs in the big leagues.
Not only that, he does it on my mom's birthday and 23 years to the day after he was drafted by the Seattle Mariners as the No. 1 pick. As George Costanza would say, worlds are colliding!
It's clear I possess some supernatural ability, so I will now don a purple cape with gold lining, a pair of 3D glasses, grow out my fro and highlight it with white streaks. I will make appearances at baseball stadiums and sporting goods stores across the country and derive visions of the future with my magical baseball, unearthed from the rubble of the old Yankee Stadium.
Who will win the 2010 World Series? When will the Pittsburgh Pirates finish above .500? Will Jose Canseco sign a deal to appear as himself in his own documentary entitled "Steroids & Me: A Love Story?" These questions and many more will be answered!
Or it was all just crazy coincidence.
Either way, my so-called psychic instincts were clearly out to lunch earlier this evening when I was laying out the front page of the sports section. I managed to fill it completely before 8 p.m. Griffey then decides to announce his retirement, and then a pitcher no one ever heard of was cheated on what would have been the final out of a perfect game, baseball's third in less than a month.
Making just his third start of the season for the Detroit Tigers after initially failing to land the No. 5 spot in the rotation in Spring Training, Armondo Galarraga seemed destined to nail down the first perfect game in franchise history after rookie centerfielder Austin Jackson made a Willie Mays-type catch over his shoulder for the first out of the ninth inning. Two batters later, a ground ball to first base set up what I have to believe would have been the first perfect game in which the pitcher made the 27th putout himself. Miguel Cabrera's throw to Galarraga at the bag beat Jason Donald by at least a half-step, but veteran umpire Jim Joyce called him safe.
Galarraga was the only one who didn't argue the call and remained composed enough to settle for a one-hit shutout. He threw just 88 pitches, 67 of them for strikes. That's perfection in anybody's book.
Joyce confessed to making the wrong call to the media after viewing the replay. The remorse he must have feel is unimaginable. Baseball players, managers and broadcasters all quickly came to Joyce's defense for his human error.
Despite what the replay showed, I do believe that as an umpire, it's your responsibility to keep emotion out of your decision-making on the field. If Joyce felt in that moment that Donald was safe, then he had to call him safe, regardless of what it meant for Galarraga and the Tigers.
However, the tidal wave of media and fan speculation and accusation may force Major League Baseball to finally loosen its grip on the old traditions, join the 21st century with every other sport and implement a full instant replay system.
My only question is can baseball afford to go down that road? I never hear people complain about the tempo of any other sport, and you know managers are going to toss their red flags out onto the field at least five times per game. Baseball may have recovered from the financial crisis it faced 15 years ago, but does it really want to move for something that may turn people away from the ballpark? The die-hard fans it has will stay no matter what, but all the others may not be willing to sit through more delays.
MLB should proceed cautiously through this pressing consideration. Then again, I suppose that's easy for me to say. The umpires got all the calls right in Roy Halladay's perfect game.
Showing posts with label Griffey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Griffey. Show all posts
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
"Because of the kids!"
I would like to share a fond personal memory:
I was a senior in high school as the new millennium approached (at least what the general public considered the new millennium, which as we all know, actually didn’t begin until 2001), and AOL was asking its users what they felt the Song of the Century should be. The classic rock lovers, I among them, weighed in the heaviest on this question. I cast my vote for Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven,” which was running neck-and-neck with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Freebird.” However, as I kept scrolling down through the votes, I noticed that another song had beaten both by long shot. It was John Lennon’s impassioned, secular call for world peace, “Imagine” and this realization brought an understanding grin to my face.
“Imagine all the people living for today. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one…”
The turn of the millennium brought the dawning of a new era for Major League Baseball. New legends were emerging before our eyes, breaking ancient records at an alarming rate.
None of us wanted to believe at the time that the era we were actually witnessing was created by performance-enhancing drugs. Ten years later, the lie and the disease of steroids are still with us.
It’s gotten to the point when the system of innocent until proven guilty no longer applies. Guilty by association has never been a more damning accusation.
And now over the past year, names have been slowly leaking off a supposedly sealed list of positive tests. Every name that’s revealed is followed by varied reactions on a spectrum with shocking at one end complete lack of surprise on the other.
With all the scandal unfolding, it’s natural for us to keep hanging on to some sense of purity and decency in the game.
There’s not much left to grasp, but the media and fans alike believe with deep conviction that one name still represents innocence and natural ability: Ken Griffey, Jr.
Steroids don’t cause people to fall unconscious, and that’s about the only controversy Griffey has stirred during his 21 years in the big leagues. Given the time during which he played and the astronomical numbers he put up as a member of the Seattle Mariners, he should be thankful that the only pressing questions from reporters are about his snoozing activities in the clubhouse during the late innings.
Fifteen years ago, Griffey, along with Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, helped wake baseball back up from its nap with his explosive blend of power, speed and defense. He also struck endorsement deals with nearly every sports corporation imaginable. If you ate Wheaties or played Super Nintendo, you saw Junior’s face.
And when people finally started asking questions about these hammering heroes, Griffey was the only one whose physical frame still resembled the one from his rookie card.
The heat was on for the beefed up stars by the time Congress got involved in the steroids investigation in 2005. At the now-infamous hearing on steroids in March of that year, no seat was set aside for Griffey, because everyone knew one wasn’t necessary.
Since 2001, Junior has been crippled by countless injuries that have kept him from the production that made him a star in all but one season. One short-term benefit of steroids is that they help the body heal quickly from injuries. As anyone in Cincinnati can tell you, Griffey was hurt more often than he was healthy.
Junior’s descent from prominence reminds me of the movie “Unbreakable.” Griffey almost seemed like Bruce Willis’ superhero character in the 1990s, but his constant trips to the DL over the past decade have transformed him into Samuel L. Jackson’s character, Elijah, a.k.a. Mr. Glass.
Junior exhibits an interesting duality of those opposing forces in the film. He remains a beacon of light through baseball’s dark times, while he physically resembles a figure worn down by a body which can’t function any longer through the demands of his sport.
And what makes Junior so innocent, anyway? We have recently learned that certain kinds of performance-enhancing drugs or infrequent usage of others won’t drastically affect the physical appearance of the athlete taking them. Just ask A-Rod or Manny Ramirez.
The simple fact is Ken Griffey, Jr., just seems to be too much of an upstanding guy to sink to such a level. To our knowledge, he’s never cheated on his wife or made enemies of teammates or the press. He grew up around the game thanks to his father, who didn’t struggle with the personal demons that Bobby Bonds, Barry’s dad, did.
All Junior has to do is look into the camera and flash that smile that continues to remind us of his squeaky clean image, and he’s maintained that image while dealing with both the positives and drawbacks of being a star for more than half his life.
Regardless of whether or not Griffey was napping in the clubhouse during a game a few weeks ago, the veteran certainly sleeps easy at night knowing that he has given the game everything his body would allow, and nothing more.
And as long as his star shines above us baseball fans, we can all rest easy as well.
I was a senior in high school as the new millennium approached (at least what the general public considered the new millennium, which as we all know, actually didn’t begin until 2001), and AOL was asking its users what they felt the Song of the Century should be. The classic rock lovers, I among them, weighed in the heaviest on this question. I cast my vote for Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven,” which was running neck-and-neck with Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Freebird.” However, as I kept scrolling down through the votes, I noticed that another song had beaten both by long shot. It was John Lennon’s impassioned, secular call for world peace, “Imagine” and this realization brought an understanding grin to my face.
“Imagine all the people living for today. You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one…”
The turn of the millennium brought the dawning of a new era for Major League Baseball. New legends were emerging before our eyes, breaking ancient records at an alarming rate.
None of us wanted to believe at the time that the era we were actually witnessing was created by performance-enhancing drugs. Ten years later, the lie and the disease of steroids are still with us.
It’s gotten to the point when the system of innocent until proven guilty no longer applies. Guilty by association has never been a more damning accusation.
And now over the past year, names have been slowly leaking off a supposedly sealed list of positive tests. Every name that’s revealed is followed by varied reactions on a spectrum with shocking at one end complete lack of surprise on the other.
With all the scandal unfolding, it’s natural for us to keep hanging on to some sense of purity and decency in the game.
There’s not much left to grasp, but the media and fans alike believe with deep conviction that one name still represents innocence and natural ability: Ken Griffey, Jr.
Steroids don’t cause people to fall unconscious, and that’s about the only controversy Griffey has stirred during his 21 years in the big leagues. Given the time during which he played and the astronomical numbers he put up as a member of the Seattle Mariners, he should be thankful that the only pressing questions from reporters are about his snoozing activities in the clubhouse during the late innings.
Fifteen years ago, Griffey, along with Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, helped wake baseball back up from its nap with his explosive blend of power, speed and defense. He also struck endorsement deals with nearly every sports corporation imaginable. If you ate Wheaties or played Super Nintendo, you saw Junior’s face.
And when people finally started asking questions about these hammering heroes, Griffey was the only one whose physical frame still resembled the one from his rookie card.
The heat was on for the beefed up stars by the time Congress got involved in the steroids investigation in 2005. At the now-infamous hearing on steroids in March of that year, no seat was set aside for Griffey, because everyone knew one wasn’t necessary.
Since 2001, Junior has been crippled by countless injuries that have kept him from the production that made him a star in all but one season. One short-term benefit of steroids is that they help the body heal quickly from injuries. As anyone in Cincinnati can tell you, Griffey was hurt more often than he was healthy.
Junior’s descent from prominence reminds me of the movie “Unbreakable.” Griffey almost seemed like Bruce Willis’ superhero character in the 1990s, but his constant trips to the DL over the past decade have transformed him into Samuel L. Jackson’s character, Elijah, a.k.a. Mr. Glass.
Junior exhibits an interesting duality of those opposing forces in the film. He remains a beacon of light through baseball’s dark times, while he physically resembles a figure worn down by a body which can’t function any longer through the demands of his sport.
And what makes Junior so innocent, anyway? We have recently learned that certain kinds of performance-enhancing drugs or infrequent usage of others won’t drastically affect the physical appearance of the athlete taking them. Just ask A-Rod or Manny Ramirez.
The simple fact is Ken Griffey, Jr., just seems to be too much of an upstanding guy to sink to such a level. To our knowledge, he’s never cheated on his wife or made enemies of teammates or the press. He grew up around the game thanks to his father, who didn’t struggle with the personal demons that Bobby Bonds, Barry’s dad, did.
All Junior has to do is look into the camera and flash that smile that continues to remind us of his squeaky clean image, and he’s maintained that image while dealing with both the positives and drawbacks of being a star for more than half his life.
Regardless of whether or not Griffey was napping in the clubhouse during a game a few weeks ago, the veteran certainly sleeps easy at night knowing that he has given the game everything his body would allow, and nothing more.
And as long as his star shines above us baseball fans, we can all rest easy as well.
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