My first baseball game that I attended with my dad, who is not a sports guy, was to see Ken Griffey Jr. during his rookie season. The event was special for me, since it took me three seasons to finally get him to take me to a game. During batting practice, my dad whipped out a pen and told me to go and try to get Griffey’s autograph. I thought he was crazy. I went with some trepidation because I knew the chances were slim. I also figured I knew more than my dad, since I had all the Mariners’ names memorized and he didn’t know who was the starting pitcher. But I got his signature and it is one of my best memories as a kid. Not that it was Griffey’s autograph, but that my dad and I had a baseball memory to keep between us.
So when I heard that Griffey was coming back, I made every effort to get tickets to the Mariners’ opening day game last week. I was able to take my son, who will be three in June, to see Griffey for his first game. He loved every minute, especially meeting the Moose and when the roof opened.
Those kinds of memories are what baseball is all about.
