--Columbus Dispatch
In 2000, it seemed like a dream come true, the best player in baseball coming home to Cincinnati to restore the luster to a once-proud franchise.
Ken Griffey Jr.'s introductory news conference was such a fairy tale that it could have been choreographed by the Brothers Grimm. There was powerful karma at work. The smiles alone produced enough light for the TV cameras. The air bore the sweet smell of success. His father recalled how a rambunctious Junior romped around a Riverfront Stadium clubhouse populated by future Hall of Famers in the halcyon days of the Big Red Machine.
One need only look back a year to when the Boston Celtics acquired Kevin Garnett to understand and appreciate the expectations that came with the trade for Junior. Boston, however, translated the blockbuster deal into a championship, while the Reds title hopes have remained just a dream.
This was a dream, all right. The championship-starved Reds were getting a native son whom some compared with Willie Mays, a backward hat-wearing icon with a sunny smile and maybe even more talent than his former Cincinnati idols. No doubt about it, the former Seattle superman would take his hometown team back to the World Series.
Only it never happened. Through no fault of his own, the supernova the Reds acquired never made it to Cincinnati. Injuries robbed him of some of his talent. There were flashes -- he had a strong, if less-than-stellar, 40-home run season in 2000 -- but he never lived up to his reputation in nine years.
When the Reds traded for Griffey, it said here that it was like "hitting the lottery." What none of us knew was that it was more like hitting five of six numbers, that instead of winning a prize capable of fulfilling all our wildest dreams, the payoff was akin to winning a gas grill and a nice set of patio furniture.
General manager Jim Bowden called Griffey the "Michael Jordan of baseball," but there were no Chicago Bulls-style championships. He was on the disabled list eight times in nine years. During three seasons (2002-2004), he played in just 206 games. He became an easy target for boo-birds who saw that Griffey had not produced enough to justify $112.5 million.
Like any athlete who doesn't get the treatment he expects, he never really seemed comfortable there, never was able to bask in the widespread adulation that greeted him when he arrived. He was never good enough for the Cincinnati fans and he knew it, and he always felt aggrieved. It was his hometown, but he didn't fit there. As good as he was -- and at times he was very, very good -- he knew that it would never be enough.
For that reason, the trade that sent Griffey to the Chicago White Sox yesterday was the disappointing conclusion to a sad story. It seemed too ho-hum, especially for a guy with more than 600 home runs. It brings closure, but no joy.
But as another substandard Reds season unfolded, it became clear that there could never be a truly happy ending to this story. Although Griffey has been on a 12-game hitting streak that included three home runs, it has been obvious for a while that only a time machine can bring back the old Junior. Griffey is 38. He has 15 home runs. He can't play the outfield the way he once did. He is hitting .245.
The White Sox didn't trade for a superstar, but for a veteran who can take the lineup spot of a slumping Paul Konerko. The Sox were trading for a puzzle piece; the franchise savior the Reds first brought to Cincinnati lived in another century.
Although a Griffey trade has been rumored for years, it's difficult not to feel at least a tinge of sadness now that the day is finally here. It's the final, definitive acknowledgement that that huge splash was more of a ripple, that the dream Griffey once inspired would never be fulfilled.
Griffey is a member of the Chicago White Sox. The fourth-place Reds he left were 51-58, 13 1/2 games out.
A sledgehammer to the skull is about as subtle.
In 2000, it seemed like a dream come true, the best player in baseball coming home to Cincinnati to restore the luster to a once-proud franchise.
Ken Griffey Jr.'s introductory news conference was such a fairy tale that it could have been choreographed by the Brothers Grimm. There was powerful karma at work. The smiles alone produced enough light for the TV cameras. The air bore the sweet smell of success. His father recalled how a rambunctious Junior romped around a Riverfront Stadium clubhouse populated by future Hall of Famers in the halcyon days of the Big Red Machine.
One need only look back a year to when the Boston Celtics acquired Kevin Garnett to understand and appreciate the expectations that came with the trade for Junior. Boston, however, translated the blockbuster deal into a championship, while the Reds title hopes have remained just a dream.
This was a dream, all right. The championship-starved Reds were getting a native son whom some compared with Willie Mays, a backward hat-wearing icon with a sunny smile and maybe even more talent than his former Cincinnati idols. No doubt about it, the former Seattle superman would take his hometown team back to the World Series.
Only it never happened. Through no fault of his own, the supernova the Reds acquired never made it to Cincinnati. Injuries robbed him of some of his talent. There were flashes -- he had a strong, if less-than-stellar, 40-home run season in 2000 -- but he never lived up to his reputation in nine years.
When the Reds traded for Griffey, it said here that it was like "hitting the lottery." What none of us knew was that it was more like hitting five of six numbers, that instead of winning a prize capable of fulfilling all our wildest dreams, the payoff was akin to winning a gas grill and a nice set of patio furniture.
General manager Jim Bowden called Griffey the "Michael Jordan of baseball," but there were no Chicago Bulls-style championships. He was on the disabled list eight times in nine years. During three seasons (2002-2004), he played in just 206 games. He became an easy target for boo-birds who saw that Griffey had not produced enough to justify $112.5 million.
Like any athlete who doesn't get the treatment he expects, he never really seemed comfortable there, never was able to bask in the widespread adulation that greeted him when he arrived. He was never good enough for the Cincinnati fans and he knew it, and he always felt aggrieved. It was his hometown, but he didn't fit there. As good as he was -- and at times he was very, very good -- he knew that it would never be enough.
For that reason, the trade that sent Griffey to the Chicago White Sox yesterday was the disappointing conclusion to a sad story. It seemed too ho-hum, especially for a guy with more than 600 home runs. It brings closure, but no joy.
But as another substandard Reds season unfolded, it became clear that there could never be a truly happy ending to this story. Although Griffey has been on a 12-game hitting streak that included three home runs, it has been obvious for a while that only a time machine can bring back the old Junior. Griffey is 38. He has 15 home runs. He can't play the outfield the way he once did. He is hitting .245.
The White Sox didn't trade for a superstar, but for a veteran who can take the lineup spot of a slumping Paul Konerko. The Sox were trading for a puzzle piece; the franchise savior the Reds first brought to Cincinnati lived in another century.
Although a Griffey trade has been rumored for years, it's difficult not to feel at least a tinge of sadness now that the day is finally here. It's the final, definitive acknowledgement that that huge splash was more of a ripple, that the dream Griffey once inspired would never be fulfilled.
Griffey is a member of the Chicago White Sox. The fourth-place Reds he left were 51-58, 13 1/2 games out.
A sledgehammer to the skull is about as subtle.
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