Nostalgia = Acumen

Jerry Brewer of The Seattle Times outlines the sentimental maneuvering that brought legend Ken Griffey, Jr. back to the Mariners.

Of all the touching, misty, joyful tales of this Junior Reprise, the most underrated comes from a man you've been hoping would be thrown overboard wearing a concrete life vest.

[I'm not really sure what A-Rod could have possibly had to do with this....]

For years, Mariners fans have blamed team president Chuck Armstrong, along with CEO Howard Lincoln, for their team's woes.

[Oh. Right. Sorry. I am just so accustomed to reading.... Nevermind.]

How did it happen? Go back several months, to the start of free agency. General manager Jack Zduriencik had just been hired, and after he got comfortable and started mulling plans to improve the roster, Armstrong mentioned his familial relationship with Griffey and his agent, Brian Goldberg.

[Hint, hint....]

Maybe it was his love for Griffey. Maybe he just knew him better than most. So the team president offered his assistance to Zduriencik. "Let me take the Griffey thing," Armstrong told his new GM. "Obviously, you have autonomy to do what you want here, but I'll look into this, and if you think acquiring Junior is the best baseball decision, then I will do everything I can to make it happen."

[HINT, HINT!!!]

After examining their options, Zduriencik and manager Don Wakamatsu agreed the Mariners could use Griffey's left-handed bat.

[Zduriencik's "options": (1) Keep job; (2) Lose job.]

Armstrong flew to California, where Griffey was playing in a Pebble Beach pro-am golf tournament. Griffey, his agent and Armstrong had dinner together at the Lodge at Pebble Beach that night. People kept coming over to say hello to Griffey, and Armstrong became nervous he would be spotted.

[Do you think he put on a fake Groucho Marx mustache? I bet he put on a fake Groucho Marx mustache.]

But no one recognized Armstrong as a representative of the Mariners.

[Huh? Is this guy one of the Jonas Brothers or something?]

After dinner, the three men went to Junior's hotel room to talk some more. Armstrong wiggled past an ironing board in the middle of the room.

[Umm, ok?]

"You ironed your shirt?" he said. "Yeah, I wanted to look good," Griffey replied.

[Cue over-the-top wah pedal riffs.]

It spurred conversation of how much Junior had grown in the 22 years since the Mariners drafted him.

[Crank up over-the-top wah pedal riffs. All the way to 11.]

They drifted back in time, to the first contract Griffey signed. What a long night that was.

[It's already at 11!!]

Then Atlanta started bidding against Seattle, and it seemed like the Braves would sign him.... At least the experience was cathartic for Armstrong. Griffey made him feel inspired again...

[I could keep going with this all day.]

Shortly after Armstrong's flight landed, he turned on his cellphone and received the call from Goldberg. He sounded very serious and put Griffey on the phone. "It's hard for me to tell you, but ... " Griffey said softly, pausing for effect, "I'm coming back!" When the call concluded, Mariners team physician Mitch Storey, who was on that same flight, looked at Armstrong and noticed some wetness around his eyes.

[Serious question here: Would you want *this* guy running your favorite team?]

After all the lows, Armstrong finally felt the ultimate high — pure joy.

[Can't say enough about how much I loved this article. Just amazing.]

Justice. Sweet, arbitrary justice.

Nils and I have been waiting for this yawner A-Rod story to disappear before cranking it back up here at The Theorem. But, my goodness, people just WON'T stop pontificating about this. I feel compelled to mock *one* story, if only to avoid accumulating too much rust. (Deep breath) Here goes.

Rick Reilly (ugh, am I really going to do this?) wants to take the recent MVP awards and give them to their "rightful" recipients.

It's been tougher than a $4.99 steak. Got chased by Dobermans eight times. Had to hire five different sticky-fingered third-graders. Broke into the wrong house twice. But it's finally done. I've been able to retrieve every single MVP award that was wrongfully won by every single suspected 'roid ranger over the last 20 years.

[Hey, did you know that Reilly reportedly makes $3.4 MILLION per year to write stuff like this?]

[H]ere's yours from 2001, Luis Gonzalez, after you finished behind The Barry Bonds Pharmacy. We won't even mention the home run title you would've won that year.

[Well at least Reilly isn't accusing guys who saw random statistical spikes (in this case, Luis Gonzalez) but have never admitted using PEDs or been linked to usage. Maybe I was wrong about Reilly. He deserves credit for that much.]

You already have two MVPs, Albert [Pujols], and you're about to get three more, since Barry Bonds ripped you off worse than Bernie Madoff to win the award from 2002 to 2004. You hit .335 and averaged 41 bombs those years and yet you finished second behind the clearly creaming Bonds in '02 and '03 and third behind Bonds and Adrian Beltre in '04. We're throwing out Beltre since, while he denies ever using PEDs, he fell off the face of the planet once baseball put in stricter steroid suspensions in 2005. If he wasn't cheating, I'm the Queen Mother.

[Honestly, it's my own fault for even bothering to read a Reilly article. It really is.]