THERE IS one thing The Bronx and Ken Griffey agree on: Neither has any use for the other.
But there is a difference, and significant one, between Griffey’s antipathy for the Yankees and the Yankee fans’ distaste for him.
Griffey has a good reason.
“If your boss said you couldn’t take your kid to work with you, how would you feel?” Griffey asked a small group of reporters in the tunnel outside the visitors’ clubhouse following the Yankees’ 2-1 victory over the Mariners yesterday at Yankee Stadium.
Griffey didn’t have to tell anyone how he felt the day George Steinbrenner threw him out of the Yankees’ dugout as a 12-year-old kid who had just flown across the country to spend the day with his dad.
His face told the tale. It is not a new story but the hurt is as fresh as the day it happened, the wound every bit as raw, the grudge still smoldering.
It is the best reason why, when Griffey becomes the most sought-after bauble on the free-agent market a year from now, the one team for which he will not be playing baseball is the New York Yankees.
And it is a good reason why, when Griffey goes shopping for a new uniform, he might find he likes the way he looks in the colors of the New York Mets.
“I know [going to the Mets] would really [tick] Steinbrenner off,” Griffey said. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it.”
Perhaps it is a moot point, since the Yankees won’t have an opening in center field until, oh, 2006. The Mets, on the other hand, have a hole in center that could easily be plugged with wads of Wilpon/Doubleday cash.
“I have nothing against playing in New York,” Griffey said.
One part of New York, anyway.
Yesterday, the sellout crowd booed Griffey from the moment he stuck his head out of the visitors’ dugout.
They booed him before all four of his at-bats. The booed him when he tracked down Tino Martinez’ drive to deep center with an over-the-shoulder basket catch, and they booed him when he snagged Jorge Posada’s laser in the ninth, two batters before Scott Brosius knocked in the winning run.
In one sense, the booing is a sign of respect, a vocal admission that out of all the bats in the Mariners’ lineup – Alex Rodriguez, Jay Buhner, Edgar Martinez – only Griffey truly scares the heck out of the Yankee faithful.
And he should, since his numbers – 41 homers, 112 RBIs, .308 batting average – are better than anything a Yankee can offer, and since even Hank Aaron acknowledges Griffey as his most logical successor.
“It used to bother me, especially in my rookie season,” Griffey said. “When I was 19, I asked my father why they booed me. He said, ‘Aah, they boo anyone who’s not in a Yankee uniform.'”
Or in Griffey’s case, anyone who never will be.
The booing is also the crowd’s acknowledgement that not even all the Boss’ money could ever lure the best ballplayer player of our era into Yankee pinstripes.
“They remember I said I would never play for this [bleeping] team,” Griffey said. “Not for all the money in the world. I don’t play ball for the money, anway. You should know that.”
At least, not for Steinbrenner’s money. And not even with an apology.
“What does he have to apologize for?,” Griffey shrugged. “That was the way he felt. And besides, an apology wouldn’t change what happened that day.”
Certainly, it wouldn’t change the fact that Steinbrenner was a jerk that day, or that he might even act like a jerk on some day in the future.
And certainly, it wouldn’t erase the disappointment and sadness Griffey Jr. felt to be barred from the dugout while Graig Nettles’ kid cavorted on the field in a miniature Yankees uniform, nor could it mollify the shame Griffey Sr. must have felt having to break the news to his son.
“My dad told me that was the hardest thing he ever had to do, to look into my eyes and tell me I couldn’t stay in the dugout,” Griffey said, and for a moment you could see that kid fighting back the tears.
“I’m stilll mad about it,” he admitted. “I’m definitely madder about it than my father is.”
Mad enough that although for the 2001 season, Griffey’s business address most likely will not be Seattle, it definitely will not be The Bronx.
After a 14-year holdout, Yogi Berra may have given in to the Boss, but Griffey’s streak is now at 17 years and climbing.
“The first time I ever set foot on this field, I was 19 years old and a member of the Seattle Mariners,” Griffey said. “Can you believe that? I don’t forget things like that.”
A player like Griffey, of course, has the luxury to carry a grudge for 17 years and to spurn Steinbrenner’s money, since no matter where he ultimately winds up, his paycheck will have the same numbers on it. He is likely to command the richest free agent contract in baseball history, and have owners tripping over each other to pay for it.
But it would be just as easy for him to brush off his anger, to explain it all away as an adolescent’s overreaction to an adult’s scolding, and to grab at the money and prestige that comes with playing for the New York Yankees.
To Ken Griffey Jr.’s credit, he is not going to do that.
Steinbrenner hurt him once, a long time ago, and he’s not about to forget it.
In fact, he can even hurt him back, in a place where The Boss is not likely to forget.
In center field, in Flushing, in a Mets uniform.
Then, the Yankee fans will finally have as good a reason to dislike Ken Griffey Jr. as he has for disliking the Yankees.