by Kirby Arnold
On the first pitch of his first home at-bat, Griffey launched a drive off White Sox pitcher Eric King for his first major-league home run, helping the Mariners beat Chicago 6–5. The next night, he homered again off Chicago right-hander Shawn Hillegas in the Mariners’ 8–6 loss.
As Griffey’s season progressed, he was everything the Mariners wanted. He batted .325 the first month of the season and was holding up well through the grind of everyday play and cross-country travel. Then he broke the little finger on his left hand on July 24 in Chicago and was placed on the disabled list. Several media reports said he injured himself punching a wall in his hotel room.
Griffey batted just .214 in the 39 games he played after returning from the injury, but he finished the season with respectable numbers nonetheless, especially for a teenage rookie—16 home runs, 61 runs batted in, 23 doubles, 18 steals, and a .264 batting average.
“When he stepped onto the field, that was his escape and you could tell in the way he played how much he enjoyed it,” right fielder Jay Buhner said. “He’d show up every day and do something that made you say, ‘Wow!’”
Griffey’s potent swing and his ability to play center field grabbed the attention of fans like never before in the history of the franchise. Families would interrupt dinner during Griffey’s at-bats so they could watch him on TV. Nobody wanted to miss a long home run or a highlight-reel defensive play. And his teenage energy and joy for the game captivated young fans, and No. 24 “Griffey” jerseys became part of their attire.
“You could sense the level of interest rising,” said Randy Adamack, the Mariners’ director of communications. “He had marquee value, he was from our farm system, and he was good. He became a national story that brought the spotlight to the franchise for really the first time.”
On the field, even Griffey’s teammates were amazed at what they were witnessing on an almost daily basis.
“I had the best seat in the house to watch him,” catcher Dave Valle said. “I saw the ball leave the bat, and it would look like it was going to be a double, and all of a sudden he would come flying out of nowhere, climbing walls in right-center, making that spider-man catch.
“Or he would be stealing a home run off Jesse Barfield at Yankee Stadium.”
There’s no better example of Griffey’s flair for the dramatic, his athleticism, and his enthusiasm than the Barfield catch. He did it early in his second season, in 1990, on baseball’s biggest stage—Yankee Stadium.
Yankees outfielder Jesse Barfield launched a drive to deep left-center field in the bottom of the fourth inning and Griffey, with his unbridled speed and no fear of the wall, blazed a trail to the deepest part of Yankee Stadium. He timed his leap perfectly, reached high over the wall and caught the ball, robbing Barfield of a home run.
“The TV replays of that don’t do it justice,” said Yankees third baseman Mike Blowers, who became a Mariners teammate with Griffey a few years later. “Junior was shifted around to right-center and he had to run a whole football field to get to that ball. All Jesse could do was laugh.”
The lasting image of the Barfield catch wasn’t what Griffey did while he made that play, but his reaction afterward. He came down with the ball for the third out of the inning and sprinted back to the dugout holding the ball aloft, smiling all the way back.
“Junior didn’t just do things like that every once in a while,” Valle said. “He was doing something like that every night.”
This One’s For Dad
Ken Griffey Jr. not only spread his name across the Mariners’ record books, he became the standard across baseball for most of his first 11 seasons in Seattle.
He led the American League in home runs in 1994, ’97, ’98, and ’99, including 56 homers in both 1997 and 1998. He hit 40 or more home runs in six of his final seven seasons with the Mariners before they traded him to the Reds in 2000, falling short of that mark only in 1995 when he missed most of the season because of a broken wrist.
He was a 10-time All-Star as a Mariner, winning the All-Star Game MVP in 1992. He won the American League MVP award in 1997, won 10 straight Gold Gloves from 1990 to ’99 and seven Silver Slugger awards.
“He’s one of those few guys, when he wanted to do something, he could do it,” Mariners right fielder Jay Buhner said. “When he called a shot, he did it. He would say, ‘This guy has this pitch and he’s going to do this today, and I’m going to take him deep.’ And then he would. When Junior got hot, oh my God. He could carry a team for weeks.”
Ken Griffey Sr. (left) and Ken Griffey Jr. joke around before the start of the game. Photo courtesy of the Seattle Mariners
Amid all the home runs, awards, and spectacular plays Griffey made, nothing topped the last day of August in 1991.
That night in the Kingdome against the Kansas City Royals, Griffey started in his usual spot in center field and his father, Ken Griffey Sr., started in left field. It was the first time in major-league history that a father and son played for the same team in the same game. Two days earlier, the Mariners signed Ken Griffey Sr. shortly after he was released by the Cincinnati Reds.
Father batted second and son batted third in that historic game against the Kansas City Royals, and in the first inning against pitcher Storm Davis, the Griffeys hit back-to-back singles.
Two weeks later, on September 14 at Anaheim, they made history again.
Ken Griffey Sr. batted against Angels right-hander Kirk McCaskill with a runner on first base, and he smashed a two-run home run over the center-field fence. After he crossed home plate, the father trotted past his son in the on-deck circle and gave the kid some advice.
“That’s how you do it, Son,” Ken Griffey Sr. said.
Junior then dug in against McCaskill and hit a similar bolt, his 20th home run of the season, to nearly the same spot over the center-field fence. When he arrived back at the Mariners dugout, Junior told Dad one thing.
“That’s how you do it, Dad,” he said.
Then they embraced.
Junior and Jay: Best Buddies
Two young ballplayers from vastly different backgrounds—Ken Griffey Jr., the kid from Cincinnati, and Jay Buhner, the lanky Texan—didn’t seem like the obvious twosome to form an unbreakable bond.
But that’s what developed after Buhner came to the Mariners late in the 1988 season in a trade with the Yankees.
“They didn’t have anything in common,” head athletic trainer Rick Griffin said. “But in spring training they started joking around and they hit it off.”
Buhner often said, “Junior is my brother from a different mother.”
When Griffey bought a home in a suburb east of Seattle, Buhner bought the house next door.
“We shared a lot of the same interests off the baseball field, and that was a key to our friendship,” Buhner said.
They would travel to the Kingdome together, and those 30-minute drives offered a chance to talk about things other than baseball. Griffey badly needed that, Buhner said.
“There was such a tug and pull on Junior whenever he went to the ballpark,” Buhner said. “I was able to take his mind away from that part of it. Our relationship got to the point where he could talk about things. He couldn’t let his guard down around too many people because he always had to be careful about what he said and what he did.
“Plus,” Buhner added, “I gave him a lot of crap.”
Buhner was the Mariners’ all-time great jokester/intimidator/motivator, and just because Griffey was one of the biggest stars in all of sports didn’t make him immune from Buhner’s abuse.
“I didn’t let him get away with a bunch of crap, and I wasn’t afraid to jump his ass,” Buhner said. “But it was vice versa, too.”
Ken Griffey Jr., Jay Buhner and teammates share a laugh before a workout at Safeco Field. The Mariners tested the new ballpark before it opened to the public in July 1999. Photo by Dan Bates/The Herald of Everett, Washington
During one game in Yankee Stadium, for example, the blea
cher creatures were up to their usual verbal abuse, giving Griffey a hard time.
“F—you, Junior! F—you, Junior!” they chanted.
Griffey looked back to the crowd and smiled, then pointed to right field where Buhner stood.
Within seconds, the bleacher crowd shifted to a new target. “F—you, Buhner! F—you, Buhner!” they chanted.
Buhner and Griffey also pushed each other to become better ballplayers.
They would play their own personal game within the game, tallying points for such accomplishments as base hits, doubles, triples, home runs, and RBIs. At the end of the night, the one with the most points bought the other dinner.
To Stretch, Or Not to Stretch
Ken Griffey Jr. bragged that he never lifted a weight, and he said he didn’t believe in stretching.
“Does a cheetah stretch before it chases its prey?” he once asked.
When Griffey suffered strains, pulls and tears after the Mariners traded him to the Reds, critics pointed to his disdain for weightlifting and stretching as the reasons his body was breaking down.
The trainers who worked with Griffey during his years with the Mariners strongly dispute that theory.
“People say he didn’t work hard, but he did. He worked very hard,” said Rick Griffin, the Mariners’ head athletic trainer. “The work he did was functional and related to baseball. He didn’t go into the weight room and do a lot of stuff, but he did things that were related to him being a better player.”
As for stretching, when Griffey said he didn’t believe in it, that mostly was a bluff to the media, Griffin said.
“He is the most flexible player I’ve ever had,” Griffin said. “He stretched all the time.”
Griffin often would have Griffey stand in the dugout with his back to the wall, then he’d take a leg and pull it above his head and touch his toe on the dugout wall.
“That’s how flexible his legs were,” Griffin said. “He always stretched, he always did things for his wrists, knees, and legs. People just didn’t see it.”
So Long, Seattle
Ken Griffey Jr. clearly wasn’t a happy player by 1999, when the Mariners played half the season in the Kingdome and half at Safeco Field, their new retractable-roof ballpark.
He rarely took pregame batting practice, especially in the second half of the year, because of sore legs. That, and questions about where he would play after his contract expired, wore on him. He also wasn’t enamored with the new stadium.
“Four-hundred million dollars and no heat!” he said often.
He could have said, “Four-hundred million and no power alley!”
Safeco Field, built across the street from the Kingdome, couldn’t have been more different than the Mariners’ original climate-controlled, hitter-friendly ballpark. It featured natural grass and outfield dimensions so vast that balls with home-run distance in the Kingdome would die on the warning track at Safeco Field. The marine air and a breeze off nearby Puget Sound further contributed to the new ballpark’s reputation as a palace for pitchers, not hitters.
“Junior saw the park being built, and he thought it was too big,” said Roger Jongewaard, the Mariners’ scouting director.
There was a growing sense that Griffey wanted to play for a team closer to his offseason home near Orlando, and that his preference was a team that held its spring training camp in Florida.
As a 10-and-5 player (10 years in the major leagues, five with the same team) he had veto power over any trade. Essentially, Griffey could name his next team, and he did, giving the Mariners a list of four teams he would accept as trade partners—the Reds, Mets, Braves, and Astros.
Deals with the Mets, Braves, and Astros were discussed, with no progress. Griffey finally put his foot down and said the Reds, who he’d grown up around with his father, were the only team he’d approve.
On February 9, 2000, the Mariners and Reds worked out a tentative agreement to trade Griffey to his hometown team. The Reds had 72 hours to put together a contract extension with Griffey, who said he would accept less than market value to play in Cincinnati. During the 1999 season, he had turned down an eight-year, $l48-million contract extension from the Mariners.
Griffey and the Reds agreed to a nine-year contract for $117 million, and the trade went down. Griffey went to Cincinnati, which sent four players to the Mariners—center fielder Mike Cameron and pitcher Brett Tomko, plus minor-league pitcher Jake Meyer and infielder Antonio Perez.
Return, Retirement, and the Hall of Fame
Griffey may have left Seattle, but he was never forgotten. For years, fans clung to every rumor that the club might swing a deal to bring him back. The rumors had no substance and seasons passed with the reality of a Mariners-Griffey reunion seeming unlikely.
Even when he became a free agent after the 2008 season, it looked more likely he would sign with the Braves. Instead, he signed with the Mariners in mid-February, setting up a 2009 season that seemed like the perfect homecoming/retirement party.
Griffey inspired a team that was a mix of veterans and young players under first-year manager Don Wakamatsu, who welcomed not only what the future Hall of Famer could bring on the field, but how he could inspire in the clubhouse.
The 2009 Mariners won 85 games, 24 more than the previous season, and finished with victories in their last six games. Griffey batted just .214, but he hit 19 home runs and drove in 57 runs, and the season ended on such a positive note that teammates carried him off the field after the final game at Safeco Field.
Considering what the Mariners—and Griffey—had endured in recent seasons, it seemed a glorious way to send him into retirement.
Except, he didn’t retire.
Griffey had joked with reporters in 2009 that when he finally did leave the game, there wouldn’t be a tearful announcement or ceremony.
“Y’all will come in here and know I’m done when you look at my locker and there’s a note saying, ‘He Gone!’” Griffey said.
He came back in 2010, but the joy from the previous year was a distant memory. Sore legs restricted his time on the field at spring training and affected his play when the season began. His swing had lost its power, and as the season progressed deep into May, he still hadn’t hit a home run.
Amid that struggle came a stunning story by the Tacoma News Tribune, reporting that Griffey had been seen sleeping in the clubhouse during a game. It shocked the fan base and left an uneasiness around the team. On June 3, Griffey retired.
No announcement, no ceremony. There wasn’t a “He Gone!” note on his locker, either, but Griffey essentially went out the way he said he would, without fanfare. He told team president Chuck Armstrong of his decision in a phone call, then released a statement to the media:
“While I feel I am still able to make a contribution on the field and nobody in the Mariners front office has asked me to retire, I told the Mariners when I met with them prior to the 2009 season and was invited back that I will never allow myself to become a distraction. I feel without enough occasional starts to be sharper coming off the bench, my continued presence as a player would be an unfair distraction to my teammates and their success as a team is what the ultimate goal should be.”
He ended with a .184 average, no homers, and seven RBIs in 108 plate appearances.
Inglorious as the end was for such a superstar, that memory didn’t last.
Griffey forever is known for his unrivaled ability to play center field, plus a sweet swing that produced 630 home runs, 2,781 hits, and 1,836 RBIs. And, of course, the joy the game gave him that, in turn, he gave back to the game over a 22-year big-league career.
Griffey received 437 votes from 440 members of the Baseball Writers Association of America who submitted Hall of Fame ballots, and in 2016 he was inducted with a record of 99.32 percent of the vote.
“Out of my 22 years, I learned that only one team will treat you the best, and that’s your first team,” Griffey said in his induction speech. “I’m damn proud to be a S
eattle Mariner.”
CHAPTER TEN
Turning Losers Into Winners
THE MARINERS BEGAN THE 1991 SEASON believing they finally would put together a winning record. Of course, the M’s and their fans had been thinking that for years, and they’d never won more than 78 games.
The talented young Mariners had experienced big-league growing pains in previous seasons, but there was little doubt that this core group of players was capable of winning.
Harold Reynolds was a young second baseman whose speed gave the Mariners a quality leadoff hitter.
Third baseman Edgar Martinez had batted .302 in 1990, his first full major-league season, and was showing qualities of a great right-handed hitter.
Ken Griffey Jr. had batted .300 with 22 home runs and 80 RBIs the previous season and, barring injury, his production could only go up.
DH Alvin Davis was nearing the end of his career, but in the hitter-friendly Kingdome, he remained capable of 15 to 20 home runs and 60 to 70 RBIs.
Jay Buhner, a power-hitting outfielder who played 51 games in 1990, became the Opening Day starter in right field.
Dave Valle, a quality defensive player behind the plate, returned as the starting catcher.
Journeyman outfielder Tracy Jones started in left field as the Mariners sought stability in a position that had seen four different players there in the previous five years.
The anchor to the defense was Omar Vizquel, the young Venezuelan shortstop who already had displayed his amazing hands in two major-league seasons.
“When Omar started playing every day, it was like, ‘Wow!’” pitcher Bill Krueger said. “The kid couldn’t hit his way out of a brown paper bag, but oh he could play the field.”
On the mound, the Mariners were stout, returning three pitchers from the 1990 rotation who offered unlimited promise—Randy Johnson, Brian Holman, and Erik Hanson.
Johnson had a wild streak—he led the league in walks in 1990—but his dominance became clearly evident. He went 14–11 in 1990, the first winning record of his short career, and finished with five complete games, a 3.65 ERA and 194 strikeouts.
