Honorable Mention

I haven't given up hope.

I know.

Deep down in my soul, I can feel Ken Griffey, Junior's tormented mind as I write this.

He too, knows.

He's long envisioned his epic return to the Emerald City. The hero-like welcome. The old friends. Announcer Tom Hutler booming out his name for all to cheer. Naughty by Nature. The media swirl. The House that Griffey Built.

The sphere of his youth beckons. His heart is pulling him back to the Northwest.

Griffey's visions, however, also include wondering how his family members would be impacted if he moved to the other side of the country. He wonders what it would be like to fail in Seattle while his supporting cast is missing theirs.

With Griffey, it's always been family first. Always. He and father Ken, Sr. and brother Craig defined the baseball family.

Family first. Whether it was winter workouts or contract negotiations, family always came first for Junior.

His departure to Cincinnati?

For family.

All the homers on Mother's Day and Father's Day and family birthdays?

For family.

His heart tugs him to Atlanta.

The man is choosing his fate. Indeed, it is not a life-or-death choice, but his decision has the power to make his wife's day. It could also disappoint thousands of Mariners fans and even more baseball fans across the country.

Junior, your wife will forgive you, she has to.

I don't know if the fair-weather bunch that populates the peanut galleries and Internet forums of the Seattle sports scene would.

We've been abandoned by the Sonics. The Seahawks missed the playoffs. The Husky football squad? Skunked.

We need that storybook ending to be the beginning of a new era of Seattle sports. We need our boy-king to return a man wanting no more than to get a chance to play for his people.

We need that smile.

A friend of mine said to me one time while we were golfing, "Shoot arrows into the clouds and they'll go away."

It worked.

I'm doing everything I can with no clouds to actually see. I'm mentally pulling back the bow and launching off arrows to Griffey's thoughts of playing in Atlanta.

The Mariners aren't the Braves, they are much more. Baseball is about the ring. Of course it's about winning, but it's also about nostalgia.

In Seattle, it's about a teenager that came to the show, joined his father and went on to blast the Mariners out of the Kingdome and onto the baseball map. Way back when, The Kid was the best in the game. He had his feisty, standoffish side and his inviting smile.

In my eyes, the story will end. It will be OK no matter what Junior chooses, but for my own personal sake, my own personal greed, I hope he chooses Seattle.

Cheated on, on Valentine's Day

I won't lie to you, I follow my heart.

I've got a mind that gets me into all kinds of trouble sure, but the real trouble, that comes from the heart. The issues are too many to list. Let's just say that in all areas of my life, I am a romantic. Most of the time, at the cost of common sense.

On this holiday loathed by men everywhere and loved by all women, my heart is again aching. The pain is agonizing. It's out of my control.

It has nothing to do with relationships.

The Atlanta Braves are in the mix to sign Ken Griffey, Junior.

Say it ain't so, Kid!

As a lifelong, mostly obsessive fan of Junior's and an equally lifelong hater of the Braves, I would like nothing more than for Bobby Cox's squad to fall off the face of the earth while Griff signs on with the Mariners and magically puts up 35 and 100 en route to World Series MVP.

It'll be just like the Kingdome days. Hip Hop Hoo RAYYYYY! HOOOOOOOO! HAYYYYYY! HOOOO! We'll all party like it's 1995 and Naughty by Nature will release a new album.

In reality, my heart will dictate that no matter where Griffey goes, I will have to love it. I will root for the Braves if I have to. It hurts to even think about it.

Since I can remember I was forced by Ted Turner to watch the Braves and nothing but the Braves. I could strangle the announcers. Dale Murphy, Tom Glavine, Greg Maddux, Dave Justice, Salty, Andrew and Chipper Jones and the Tomahawk Chop all make me violently ill. I am not and never was Fonda Jane.

Even though Turner doesn't own the Braves and they aren't force fed to the nation any longer, it just hurts. But the Braves do have a shot at the postseason, so that would take the sting away somewhat. Man, love stinks. Trading pain for gain?

Just yesterday I was loving the press coverage Griffey was getting here under the needle (both front page banners!). The reunion was on. I was planning a spring training stop in Peoria and envisioning the naysayers choking on Griffey's Louisville Slugger after another sweet swing, and here I am today floored by the news he might sleep with Atlanta.

Cheater!

Jesus, it is like a relationship! How many of us have had that crush on someone that considers us firmly and forever in the friend zone? You know, the one that has no idea you even have feelings for them and they act independent of you and totally irk you just by being?

Please hear me Ken. Please. Please, please, please don't go to the Braves.

My heart would heal, but the scars would never leave.

Speaking of leaving, I left the blog world for a year. It's been stressful out here. There have been many events since I last wrote that just took over my life. No longer. I've got some catching up to do.

Since I seem to be the only one reading these posts, I'll be catching up with myself for the next few weeks with blogs concerning the year prior and the future of man. I hope I don't bore myself.

Go buy your mom some flowers, take a trip to the old folks home and dance with some ladies and have a great Valentine's Day people!