You can never go home again...or can you?

The signing of Ken Griffey Jr.  to Seattle has inspired me to write this blog entry with the giddiness of an overexuberant schoolgirl.  Ok, I must confess that it took me approximately two and a half seconds to get over the disappointment of not seeing him play in Hotlanta.  But back to the point at hand...

It got me to thinking about homecomings and perhaps I will use these musings to derrive some sort of greater meaning from the idea.  I think we've all been at some place at some point of time that's magical or at least we look back at some point of nostalgia with rose colored glasses.   It was a time when all was well with the World, everything had P-U-R-P-O-S-E (See Avenue Q for this somewhat forced and out of place reference), etc., etc., etc...

And that's exactly what this was -- not just for the Kid, but for an entire city.  I have read article after article from Seattlites of what watching him play meant; I have seen how one double can reshape the entire identity of a place.  Here's the thing...I didn't grow up in Seattle and I've never seen Griffey play as a Mariner.  I arrived to my adopted city in time to witness the Mariners win more games than any team in History.  Seattle has had it's share of great moments like the Sonices in 79 or the Dawgs in 91.  Sacred icons like Largent, Edgar, and the Dawgfather are ever looming.

And yet this somehow feels different.  Griffey was not only great -- perhaps the greatest talent to wield a bat -- but he was everything that was right with the game.  He played with such joy and effortless effort that you just couldn't help but like him.  He was warmly embraced and he never turned his back on the city even when he wore another uniform.

But now what...he's coming back.  Can he tarnish his legacy and ruin the indelible memories?  One of the few things I've learned in life is that those special moments are reserved for that time and place.  You can never go back because the atmosphere is never the same -- no matter how much you want it to be.  However, I think this is different.  New magic and new circumstances can always be created; it just can't be done in the same way.

A perfect storm is brewing.  Expectations have been set to where nobody expects the player that left.  The city has been ripped asunder and a hero has emmerged from the ashes to strap the remains to his back.  And that is what so special about sports -- the impossible is possible.  When the conditions are ripe, a hobbled vetern can limp around the bases leaving onlockers to gasp..."I don't believe what I just saw!"