If you've ever watched the Little League World Series on ESPN, part of how they introduce the players, and probably self-validate their coverage of 12-year olds, is by having every kid say who his favorite Major Leaguer is. Not only does it add a touch of nostalgia and innocence to a broadcast in which youth are being exploited for ad dollars, but often times it tells you more about the kids than whether or not they cry if they lose. (They all do.)
An example from a few years back: I was convinced that the Massachusetts team was just one kid who pitched, caught, fielded and batted 1-through-9, because every kid's intro was identical. Hi, my name is Jimmy Little Leaguer, I play third base, and my favorite player is Jacoby Ellsbury. And my favorite player is Jacoby Ellsbury. Favorite player Jacoby Ellsbury. Jacoby Ellsbury. Jacoby Ellsbury. JACOBY ELLSBURY!!!!! FAVORITE PLAYER!!!!!!!!
And I get it, I do. I'm from the Griffey generation, where you could pick out the stud on every T-Ball, Pinto and Little League team, from the Marlins to the Yanks, by finding the kid wearing No. 24. And the kid wearing 24 on the Mariners? Best player in the whole league, if not the whole galaxy. We all idolized Griffey because he was young, awesome AND cool, which, combined, spawned "sweet." Ken Griffey Jr. made "sweet" the quintessential superlative through much of elementary and middle school, and we all yearned to be pure sugar. For today's young Red Sox fans, Ellsbury, to some extent, I guess, is their Griffey. And that's fine. It just doesn't say much for their individuality. Not that you have any at 12.
The point is, they have a Griffey -- a sweet player with a statement number, now that Ellsbury wears No. 2. Really, with Dustin Pedroia (15), they have two Griffeys, which is unfair. Griffeys were meant to be shared, not hoarded. But the odds that another baseball player inspires kids across the nation like Griffey did are slimmer than a rookie-year Barry Bonds. Individual numbers races just don't captivate us anymore. Steroids blew that up, much like they did to Barry's melon.
So now, like the Little League team from Massachusetts, kids settle for regional heroes. And now, I'm weary for kids like me.
There's a reason the Little League World Series is televised in America and the Bantam AAA Tier 3 club hockey championship is not. The Chevy commercial didn't go, "Hockey, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet." Field of Dreams was not Rink of Dreams, and Roy Hobbs didn't explode a light tower with a slapshot. America's Pastime is baseball, and more kids here play it growing up than any other sport. I have little factual evidence to support this other than my own experiences, but I'm going to assume (or at least hope) that things haven't changed all that much since the mid to late 90s. (Kids still play pogs, right? Pretty sure they do.)
Problem is, Pittsburgh has one Griffey, and he's a hockey player. Sidney Crosby is the only professional athlete Pittsburgh sports fans can be head-over-heels in love with and feel good about it. He's the only one kids can idolize. But he plays a sport that's not the most accessible or accommodating for a young kid. I know this. I signed up to play youth hockey. Had the forms all filled out. Then my mom told me practices start at 5 a.m., and those forms were magically lost.
And I'll admit, hockey is a lot more popular here now than it ever was, and the Penguins should be commended for that. But let's not get this confused: we do not live in Canada. Playing hockey is not a rite of passage here. If you're a kid and you don't like getting up at 5 a.m. to work (Tell me that is not every kid), you're probably not playing hockey on ice. Street hockey after school, maybe. But that's no more than a hobby. Plus, if your mom and dad don't have $300 to blow on a Wednesday night, then you're not going to see Crosby in person. Crosby is every bit of an idol, but one many can really only watch on TV.
The problem, then, is this: Kids can idolize Crosby all they want, and they should. He's a shining beacon of perfection. But can a kid growing up in Pittsburgh really relate to Sidney Crosby like kids in Nova Scotia can, especially when only about 20 percent of the players in the NHL are American? See, I don't think so. Crosby, no doubt, is huge in Pittsburgh. But in Canada, he might as well be Jesus Christ. Pittsburgh kids might love to watch Sid, but I'm betting a much greater number of Canadian kids (poor things) actually aspire to be Sid. And their odds of doing it, or at least getting close, are a lot better than that of their American counterparts.
When I was 6 or 7, before we became aware of Griffey, I wanted to be Andy Van Slyke. My T-Ball team was the Reds, but you bet your ass I was wearing No. 18. I took that No. 18 off my back only to shower, and even that was probably only at my mother's insisting. Sure, I had a Mario Lemieux jersey, too, and I wore it so much that my parents eventually enforced a rule that I could wear it only once a week. (Often, I would appeal that Saturday and Sunday were, indeed, part of separate calendar weeks, therefore allowing me to wear the 66 two straight days. I was a clever little piece of work.) Still, I never remember wanting to BE Mario. I was convinced that Van Slyke was me in 20 years.
Ask a kid in Pittsburgh tomorrow who his favorite baseball player is, and what do you think you would hear? Andrew McCutchen, maybe? Well, how can you idolize a guy when the joke of a team he's on loses games by 20 runs? Roberto Clemente? Perhaps, but our generation learned about Roberto growing up because our parents actually saw Roberto play. They saw greatness with their own eyes and told us all about him. But they're now becoming grandparents. And, as unfortunate as it was, Roberto died almost 40 years ago.
Kids don't idolize losers. I watched the 20-0 debacle, partly because of the whole 'horrific train-wreck' effect, but also because I wanted to see how everyone reacted -- the players, the coaches, the fans -- on the Pittsburgh side. The players or coaches didn't give me much, but the kids in the stands did. At the end of the game, they began to cheer the Brewers. When the guys you come to see are so comically bad that you start to cheer the OTHER team, then you can't have any respect for those guys you came to see. It's not overt, but respect is essential for aspiration. Tell me this generation of kids respects the Pirates. Tell me anyone respects the Pirates. (Cue Bill Simmons) ... You can't.
Those who get the respect are the ones who get the glory. And it would be OK if the winners were all good guys, but, haha, we all know that's not true. Trouble is, the winners can get away with being not-so-good-guys because they make people money. What that says to the little kid wearing the No. 7 jersey is the same message that got Playmakers canceled. When you're a playmaker, the rules don't apply.
The rules apply, I guess, but not as swift or as strictly as they should. The hammer hit Roethlisberger, but it double-clutched and held up a little. And before all this? He was football's Crosby, at least in this city, where football rules like the O'Doyle family.
So, in Pittsburgh, where the baseball team is a laughingstock and where hockey will never unseat football in popularity, who do you think the kids have wanted to be?
Quick, somebody check the 5th-grade playground for Devil shirts and roped-off, VIP areas and bodyguards! Break up the pee-wee quarterback's entourage!
It's not too late. I know it's not too late. I pray for Neal Huntington to get it right. If not for me, than for the kids.
For the kids.
- Let's get back to the Little League World Series. I've watched it. You probably have seen it, too, which makes us both horrible, wretched people.
Think about when you've clicked it on, and why. I can give you three reasons why:
1. The Danny Almonte Factor - Whether the kid is 12 or 18, watching one player dominate the rest of the world's best Little Leaguers is wildly entertaining, partly because we love a good phenom, but also because there's bound to be controversy over the kid's birth certificate. And that he's 6-foot-2 and throwing the Major League equivalent of 108 mph with a biting curve won't help his argument.
2. The Foreign Team Factor - Maybe they're from Japan, maybe Taiwan, maybe the Dominican. You imagine the foreign team coming in undefeated, being as dominant as Team Iceland (the heavy favorite), and you want to see just how good they really are by measuring them against their American equivalent, because that's what we do with everything else in the world.
3. The Meltdown Factor - It's a shame, but it's inevitable. The Little League World Series ends in just one team's triumph. For the rest, it ends in the heartbreak of uncontrollably emotional 11- and 12-year olds. Whether the pitcher hung a curve that got blasted over the fence, the right-fielder air-mailed the throw home, the shortstop muffed the double-play exchange or the first-baseman threw home with 2 outs, these mistakes will haunt these kids for the rest of their lives. I know this, again, from my own experiences. And my blunders weren't on TV for the planet's viewing pleasure.
Wow. I feel awful.
- A few more things about Griffey ...
Had he stayed healthy for his whole career, Ken Griffey Jr. may have been the best baseball player of all time.
Sound crazy? Here are his career statistics. Look at those numbers! And that includes four seasons in which he played fewer than 84 games.
Do the math: On average, for every 162 games he played, which is a full season, Griffey hit 38 home runs. He's been playing for 22 years. Had he played every game of every season of his career, he'd now have 836 home runs. Even eliminating one full season from that total, he would still have 36 more dingers than Barry Bonds.
And I'm convinced Griffey never juiced. Many are convinced Griffey never juiced, partly because he didn't have to. And if you look at Griffey today (because he's still playing), he doesn't look blown up like McGwire, Bonds, Sosa, or any of the other sluggers who shamed themselves during the Roids Era. Griffey looks a little fat in that classic "Dad who put on 40 pounds over the years" kind of way, but not in the "Looney Tunes, stick a finger in your mouth and blow" kind of way.
Don't buy it? Here's a photo of Griffey on an SI cover. Note the date: October 1995.
Here's Griffey last August. And read the story with that photo when you have the time.
Conversely, here's a Barry Bonds 'before and after,' photo. And there are several of these.
Bonds, of course, will be remembered as much for the steroid allegations as for being a prolific home run hitter. In a similar way, Griffey will be remember for being hurt as much as being great.
If that's not convincing enough, consider the cultural impact he had while playing IN SEATTLE.
What was the big worry of the NBA two years ago, when Oden and Durant were coming out 1 and 2 to Portland and Seattle? That they would get buried out on the West coast, right? That no one back East would ever get to see them play. Remember that?
People not only saw Griffey in Seattle, but Griffey, eventually with some help from A-Rod and Randy Johnson, made the Mariners cool.
Sweet.
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