For my reintroduction to this here blog, I thought it would be appropriate to return to my roots.

Even though I have always been a New York Mets fan, throughout my childhood there was always one baseball player that I gravitated to above all others, Ken Griffey Jr.

Now Griffey stands on the precipice of one of the most important numbers in baseball history: 600 home runs. Only five players have done it in the history of the game, and two of those players can’t say they did it clean. But Griffey can.

As the legacies of some of the best players of this era have become shrouded in controversy, Griffey remains clean as a whistle, a real role model for American youth.

Through the ’90s, Griffey was always the picture of perfection: the glowing smile that got him the nickname “the kid,” the backwards hat, the effortless plays he made in center field and the smoothest swing I have ever seen.

Griffey was my idol. He epitomized everything I loved about baseball. It was fun, and he made it look so easy. I remember mimicking his swing for hours and pretending to climb the fence in my front yard to take away home runs like he did.

I always had to have the special Griffey signed glove even though I played the infield. His plaques, pictures, posters, plates, figurines, autographed balls and hats adorned the walls in my room. I even collected more of his baseball cards than he has home runs.

I followed Junior’s every move, even if my New Jersey home was thousands of miles away from his home stadium in Seattle. Every time he and the Mariners came to New York, I spent a day at Yankee Stadium just so I could see Griffey play. Even at 10 years old, my Griffey 24 jersey was the target of Yankee Stadium hecklers. But it was worth it to see the man they called Junior.

Yet somewhere between home run 400, hit in 2000, and home run 500, hit in 2004, Griffey lost me, just like he lost everyone else.

It wasn’t his trade to the Reds that ended my adoration, even though he did spurn a trade offer to my beloved Mets in the process (I imagine I’d still be the world’s biggest Junior fan to this day if that had gone through). I followed him to Cincinnati and even wore a Griffey jersey to Shea Stadium on a few occasions when he first became a Red.

However, it was around then that Griffey’s career went into a tailspin. Injuries started to plague him on a yearly basis. For a player that took about 10 years to reach 400 home runs, a baseball record. It took four more to reach 500 and has taken another four to finally get to 600. His dream trade home to Cincinnati became the nightmare of a last-place team. It became almost painful to watch, and then suddenly, Barry Bonds, Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, the faces of the steroid era, passed him.

It’s almost as if Griffey’s downfall was his decision to stay clean. Had Griffey taken steroids, there’s no telling how it would have changed his career. We all know they’re supposed to make you heal quicker. Could that have been the difference? Would Griffey have been the one hitting an unbelievable 73 home runs in 2001 and passing Hank Aaron for most home runs all-time last year? I guess we will never know.

What I do know is I miss the old Junior. The carefree player that made me love baseball a little more every time I saw him play. That’s the type of player that every kid deserves to watch.

To me, Griffey will always be the best. He played the game the right away and filled my childhood with memories I will never forget.

So here’s to Ken Griffey Jr., the best player of my generation. I can’t wait to see No. 600.

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