As a kid, I absolutely hated Ken Griffey Junior. HATED him. The impish grin, the wiggly batting stance, the fact that he ALWAYS somehow wound up getting on base versus my beloved Indians...the man just grated on me.
It was nothing personal against Junior, of course. He seemed like a perfectly nice guy. But I spent most of my time trying to convince myself and anyone else who would listen that Kenny Lofton was the best centerfielder in baseball, and pesky Junior just kept ruining my theory.
I'm pretty sure I had at least myself fooled for a while, but deep down, the reason I hated Griffey is because I knew my theory about Lofton just wasn't true. Not only was Junior the best center fielder in baseball at the time, he was the best player in the entire game at any position.
Still, I viewed Griffey with a "respectful" sort of hatred. He was, in my mind, my (and Lofton's) great and worthy opponent. He was the Hook to my Pan, the Vader to my Skywalker. I wanted Lofton to best him because I knew exactly how good he was.
As I got older and learned to think about baseball objectively and lost my Tribe tunnel vision, I grew to appreciate Griffey for what he was: the greatest talent to step on the field in the 1990s, the greatest clean power hitter in the game, and a guy who was good for baseball based on the example he set both on and off the field.
My "respectful hatred" for Griffey, my great and worthy opponent, gradually blossomed into the same sort of hero worship bestowed upon him by kids in Seattle, Cincinnati, and across the country. Unlike most of my sports heroes, who ultimately proved to be flawed either in character or skill, Griffey proved himself over and over as being worthy of the distinction.
While other players cheated, lollygagged in the field or running to first, and mistreated fans, Junior showed that his only fatal flaw was being injury-prone. The fact of the matter is, if Griffey hadn't gotten hurt, I personally feel that HE would have been the one to break the single-season as well as the all-time home run record.
Just imagine it: home run records untarnished by steroid allegations and prima donna behavior. In an era where baseball was fraught with villains, the one true hero in existence faded from the spotlight not due to rules infractions or bad behavior, but merely due to bad luck.
Still, Griffey managed to amass some very impressive totals even in spite of a severe loss of playing time due to injury, and with nary a steroid allegation following him around.
Baseball lost a lot of players who were good for the game in the last year to retirement: Aaron Boone, John Smoltz, and Sean Casey, just to name a few. But none were so endearing in their on-field talent and effort or their off-field comportment and worthiness of role model status as Junior.
Griffey was good for the game and for the fans, and for that baseball and all its followers are infinitely indebted to him. I feel privileged to have watched him play, and will always think fondly of the times when he was just so, so good that I felt compelled to hate him.
Farewell, my great and worthy opponent. You will truly, truly be missed.
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