‘The Kid’ has left the stadium: So long, Griffey

Last week Ken Griffey Jr. did the courageous and probably hardest thing to do in his career. He packed up his locker and walked out the door of Safeco Field and retired.

I will miss watching the greatest center fielder of our generation play. He had a sweet swing, played center field with reckless abandon, and had a million mega-watt smile. He was “The Kid” even after 40 years old. And he will be missed.

I got the chance to meet him once. I was working for an auto dealer delivering parts to shops all over Seattle and I pulled my parts truck into a body shop in downtown. I delivered my parts, gave them the invoice and while I was getting ready to leave, saw a guy talking to the owner. It took me a minute to recognize the guy behind the sunglasses. It was Ken Griffey Jr.

My mind went to Jell-O right about then. I needed to be on my way, but couldn’t drive off without at least getting a handshake. After all, he was Griffey. This was the man who along with Edgar and Randy Johnson, saved baseball in Seattle. After clearing my throat 10 or 15 times I mustered up the courage to ask him, “Uhh, I hate to bother you Mr. Griffey, but would you mind signing an autograph?”

This is exactly the wrong thing to say. He replied, “You guys always say that. If you hate to bother me, then why are you bothering me?”

This was not what I wanted to hear. I stammered around a long minute and I said, “I’m sorry, but you’re Ken Griffey.”

This seemed to calm him down a little. He then relented and started to sign for me. Then of course the pen didn’t work. Then the paper on which he was writing wouldn’t stop smearing the ink. He signed twice.

Right about then it was starting to become very awkward for us both. It was about as comfortable as a root canal with no novocaine. He finally finished and I shook his hand and left.

For a while I didn’t care for his attitude. He made the act of merely signing his name awkward, and childish. But then I grew up a little. How many times does this happen to him per day? A thousand? How many times does someone interrupt his meal for a signed piece of paper that will forever be in someone’s sock drawer? That was the last time I ever asked for a celebrity’s autograph. From then on I simply offered a handshake and told them I liked their work. This seemed to mean more to them than an illegible autograph.

So I forgave Griffey for his attitude that sunny Friday long ago. And I will miss his laughter, his childlike love for the game of baseball, and his great career that never once reeked of infidelity or steroids.

We all will miss you Jr. Good luck in the celebrity Pro-Ams.

And here is hoping you don’t have to sign to many autographs.