"He's gone. Good riddance."
That's the sentiment I get when talking to others about Ken Griffey Jr.'s recent trade from the Cincinnati Reds to the Chicago White Sox.
"He never did anything for the Reds," they say.
Hmmmm.
What about loyalty? Didn't Griffey accept a below-market-value contract just to put on the same uniform his father had once worn? Shouldn't we Reds fans have felt appreciative that we had a future hall-of-famer roaming the Great American Ballpark outfield?
Obviously not.
Junior's trade to the Reds in 1999 was, to me, the baseball version of the day John F. Kennedy Jr. was shot. I still remember exactly where I was when I heard the news. The only time I've ever been that numbly excited was when my first child was born. To say the least, it was a special day.
His tenure as a Red didn't come close to mirroring the success he had in Seattle, but "The Kid" still fared well in the Queen City. Most of us, with expectations throttling miles into the atmosphere, never noticed or appreciated their most famous native son's achievements. We didn't take up for him when he got injured diving for a ball in right-center or sliding hard into third, stretching a double into a triple.
We booed him out of town.
In his first at-bat for the White Sox, Griffey received extended applause from the fans. He hasn't felt that welcomed by his own fan base in years. He responded with two key runs batted in, leading to a narrow victory that helped his Chicago club keep their American League Central playoff hopes alive.
Here's hoping he gets a chance he would never get in Cincinnati -- to play for a championship ring.
I love the Reds and have for four decades. The Big Red Machine and Sparky Anderson were staples in the development of my love of baseball as a child. But, Curt Flood and free agency destroyed the loyalty and cohesiveness of the word "team." In the late '70s, baseball became more of a "me for the money" sport than a team effort. That greed continues to this day.
Griffey, in his prime, could have garnered many more millions from, say, the Yankees, if he had chosen to do so. But he chose to take a smaller amount to come home.
When he didn't hit three game-winning homers per week, we Reds fans wondered if there might be a few holes in his cape. When he got hurt hustling to gather in a fly ball on the warning track, we questioned his durability.
Now, we have gotten our wish. No more Griffey in Cincinnati.
This Reds fan is rooting for the White Sox to win it all this year. I, for one, want to see Ken Griffey Jr. win a championship ring.
Billy Bruce is a freelance writer who lives and writes in Lawrence County, Ohio. He can be reached at hollandkat3@aol.com.
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