A few years ago, Ken Griffey Jr. suggested to his friend and neighbor Tiger Woods that Woods should consult with Michael Jordan on how to be famous. Tiger was just entering the I'm-a-celebrity-so-I-have-no-privacy phase of his career; Junior was already there. He recommended the two play golf while Tiger took some fame lessons from the undisputed heavyweight champion of fame.

        It's time Junior took his own advice. If Junior played baseball the way he handles his notoriety, he'd still be riding buses to Bellingham. It's amazing, at age 30, 10 years a superstar, how little peace Junior has made with his own fame.

        About the Griffey-Marty Brennaman tiff:

        Personally, I would never suggest a player was dogging it, as Brennaman did on the air Sunday. Until someone invents a Pain-o-meter, I'm reluctant to question a player's health. Given Griffey's track record — he missed just his second game of the year Thursday — the tendency is to give him the benefit of the doubt. If he says his hamstring's hurt, it is.

        But here's a question: Why would any player, let alone your best player, your superstar, leave himself open to such charges?

        To be called out by an employee of your own club: Why put yourself in that spot?
       

Seeing both sides
               Barry Larkin has played 14 years on the Cinergy Field turf. Occasionally, his knees clank like a bike chain off its sprocket. No one has ever questioned Larkin's hustle. He wouldn't allow it.

        Even if you don't buy Brennaman's critique, you have to give it some thought. A man doesn't spend 26 years in one spot, doing his his job well enough to be elected to the Hall of Fame, by making off-the-wall observations.

        Brennaman's comments were nothing new. They'd been suggested for months. Occasionally, Griffey runs to first base like a starting pitcher in the 8th inning. He also, until Thursday, had missed one game all year.

        This is still a team with relatively young, impressionable players. You could argue that if the team's best player is perceived as not hustling, it could rub off. You could also suggest it'd be good if the Reds had more guys with 35 homers.
       

In Junior's world ...
               Griffey was brought here to hit home runs and put people in the seats. He has done both. But the Reds also believed his presence would make them better. It hasn't, obviously.

        But Griffey's problem isn't that he doesn't hustle. It isn't that the team's broadcaster questioned his effort across 50,000 watts. It's that Griffey lets it bug him.

        I spent 30 minutes with him Thursday morning, repeating a discussion we've had a few times. It boiled down to this:

        Me: Why can't you let things like this slide?

        Him: It's not the way things should be.

        In Griffey's world, he is a regular guy, no different from anyone else. If he could, he'd live in a vacuum. He'd play baseball and go home. We'd pay him no more mind than Chris Sexton. That's how it should be, in Griffey's world.

        That will happen when rocks sweat.

        Griffey knows that, intellectually. Emotionally, he rejects it completely. Until he gets over himself, he'll always be battling someone, or something.

        Sometimes, you don't have to explain yourself. Fifty homers do a lot of talking.

        Paul Daugherty welcomes your comments at 768-8454.

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