A Look Back on the Brilliant Career of Ken Griffey, Jr.

The last 15 years have been a strange period in baseball history.

The sport was wildly popular until the 1994 players strike canceled the World Series. In 1998, the McGwire and Sosa circus helped rebuild the game. That is, of course, until four years later when it was revealed that perhaps the home run binge of the '98 wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

Yes, over that time, we've witnessed baseball's popularity rise and plummet like a roller coaster. The wounds that have hurt baseball have, of course, been largely self-inflicted. Greed, pride, stubbornness. Work stoppages, steroids, talk of contraction. As the sport's popularity has waxed and waned, so too has the star power of its most famous players.

We've seen the meteoric rise of Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa and then Barry Bonds. And we witnessed their shameful falls. We witnessed the decline of Roger Clemens, followed by a phoenix-like rise from the ashes. Followed, naturally, by yet another fall from grace. Such is the plight of turn-of-the-century Major League Baseball.

Through it all, one man's legendary career has been lost in the shuffle. Ken Griffey, Jr.

The Kid. The Natural. Junior.

After all that's plagued baseball, the peak of Griffey's brilliance seems more like 20 years ago than 10. It's easy to forget that in 1998, Junior was the king of the sports world. He was Lebron and Brady and Tiger all wrapped into one. Despite playing one of America's slowest sports.

Griffey was, perhaps, the purest five-tool player of his era. He could hit for average and for power. He could run. He had a powerful arm. And his defense in center field was nothing short of breathtaking.

And that swing--oh that swing! It may have ruined the swings of an entire generation of Little Leaguers ("Don't try to "golf" the ball !" coaches desperately, but vainly pleaded), but that swing was almost certainly the sweetest in baseball history. The precision. The speed. The sheer grace of Griffey's swing was a thing of inexplicable beauty.

On top of that, the guy was cool. His trademark backward hat and earring made him hip and relevant--remember, this was 90s. His batting stance emanated "cool." The way he'd strut toward first base after smacking a sure home run was mimicked in thousands of backyards across the country.

Yet his confidence--while bordering on cocky--was never arrogant. He was a fan favorite. He was a family man. He was an all-around nice guy. Even the most hardened cynic had to admit there was something undeniably genuine about him.

In 1996, I had the opportunity to see Griffey participate in a home run derby as part of a promotion with the Mariners' local minor league affiliate. Griffey only managed to go yard once. But during his time at the plate he remained captivatingly interactive with the fans.

People who attended The Doors shows in the late 60s have been known to say that Jim Morrison made every concert-goer feel a personal connection with the enigmatic front man. Griffey produced the same effect on the ball field. When he whiffed on an easy toss from the batting practice pitcher, the crowd gasped in astonishment. Without missing a beat, he turned, put his finger up to his lips and shushed the crowd as to urge us to keep his feeble attempt a secret between him and the 4,500 spectators in attendance. He mingled with the fans like a local, small-town bartender. After he was done hitting, he tossed his batting gloves and other apparel into the crowd.

More than a ball player, Griffey was a video game pioneer. Ken Griffey, Jr. Presents Major League Baseball paved the way for numerous sports video games. Its realistic portrayal of many baseball aspects--including the depiction of actual MLB stadiums--was groundbreaking. But the game also included more than its share of absurdity, which would later appear in games like NBA Jam and NFL Blitz.

While the feats of almost every baseball star of the last 20 years have been accompanied by the dark cloud of steroid suspicion, Griffey alone stands relatively free from skepticism. Candid interviews, the statistical arch of his career, and the fact that his power stroke came from finesse rather than bulky muscle lead most to believe Griffey was clean during baseball's ugliest decade.

Both Griffey's statistics and the beauty of his play make him one of the greatest--if not the greatest--players of the 90s. Even a decade later, Griffey remains a feared--if no longer dominant--hitter. But his career looks even more spectacular when you remember that most of his fellow power hitters were on performance enhancing drugs. And surely many of the pitchers he faced had a needle or two up their sleeves.

Sports builds bridges between generations. It is fascinating to sit and listen to folks who saw Willie Mays's famous basket catch, Bart Starr's Ice Bowl touchdown, Wilt Chamberlain's 100 point game, or the Miracle on Ice. Likewise, we'll tell our children's children how we saw John Elway's gutsy play in Super Bowl XXXII and witnessed Michael Jordan sink the Utah Jazz while battling the flu.

Sadly, this generation of baseball fans, seems to lack authentic heroes. I saw McGwire, Sosa and Bonds play, but it's nothing I'll rave about to my son.

Thankfully, I will get to tell him about a sweet-swinging, always smiling center fielder named Junior.