I’ve covered a lot of teams, players, jockeys, gymnasts, race drivers, rodeo cowboys and diving mules in my 39-year career, and I’ve never seen anyone coming off a dreadful season act absolutely giddy.
Until today.
It’s been 24 hours since the Seattle Mariners landed Ken Griffey Jr. and, around their Peoria spring training complex, you’d never know this is a team trying to recover from a 101-loss season.
While nobody is flaunting a “mission accomplished” attitude, the Mariners are an enthused bunch from the front office down to everyone in the clubhouse. Well, not everyone; Tug Hulett packed his bags and left the Mariners after the Kansas City Royals claimed him.
But back to the man of the hour and the story of the day. Griffey has created a different feel, and he hasn’t even arrived yet.
Almost every question today was about Junior. When will he be here (Saturday)? What position will he play (let’s just get him into camp and see how he feels)? How much DH, how much left field will he play (see above answer)? How many tickets did the Mariners sell (more than 16,000 today, all part of the package plans now availabl)? Will he get here in time to be in those Mariners commercials (no, but something tells me the Mariners will work something out)?
It seems like it’s all Griffey, all the time right now, and don’t expect that to change for a few days. Griffey will be here Saturday for a 12:30 (Seattle time) news conference, then work out with the team for the first time Sunday morning. I’m sure we’ll all record the exact time and location of the first ball he hits out in batting practice, and I fully expect to see it on ebay.
Now, about that frightened young pitcher.
This afternoon, I walked into a fairly empty clubhouse while most of the team remained outside finishing up drills. Two good buddies on the beat, Jim Street of MLB.com and Larry LaRue of the Tacoma News Tribune, were there and, twisted guys that they are, they tried to pull one over on me.
“Players haven’t come in yet?” I asked.
“They’re all in the multipurpose room in a team meeting,” LaRue answered. Street nodded his head in agreement.
Just as I was giving my “yeah, right” look to a couple of guys who’ve got to do better to pull one on me, a young guy working on a crossword puzzle at a nearby table looked up.
It was Stephen Kahn, a promising young pitcher in the organization who’s an invited player in this camp. For a brief moment, Kahn looked panicked, thinking he’d somehow missed an important team meeting.
LaRue immediately saw it. “No, no. We’re just messing with him,” he said, pointing at me. “There’s no meeting. I’m sorry.”
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