The Junior-to-Seattle rumors have begun again, as faithful as yellow leaves in October. In the past, they made us sneeze. Last winter, we couldn't get our minds around the notion of a homegrown All Century Teamer, shipped to San Diego for Phil Nevin. Who wouldn't make that deal now?

Junior Griffey, bless him, doesn't fit here. It doesn't work.

Unless the Reds boost their payroll by $30 million, it will never work.

Times have changed. Expectations have dimmed. The Reds that traded for Griffey were revving up for a debut year in a new ballpark. The Reds of today have chosen to be a financially strapped member of Baseball's Third World.

If you're eating TV dinners, you're probably not watching a plasma TV. Junior Griffey is a luxury the Reds can't afford.

This is a deal that hasn't worked for anyone. The Reds should wish Junior well and find him a new home. Even if it means the team has to eat some of his contract. We applauded Junior's homecoming because it was an impossibly sweet story. And because we figured the money taps would remain open.

If we'd known otherwise, the applause would have been polite, barely audible.

It's no one's fault Griffey has been wounded more than Sgt. York. And it certainly isn't his fault that the sentimental overpaying of Barry Larkin has been the team's only major money play since.

It is, though, the best example of the Reds' lack of a plan. The intention was to build a team around Griffey. At least that's what we were told. And what he was told. The Reds did nothing of the sort.

Instead, Griffey is resented for his injuries and the salary space he occupies in the Reds' bargain basement, even as he defers a large portion of it. Griffey will make $12.5 million in 2004, $6.5 million of which will be deferred. Griffey believed his deferred money would go to baseball players, not mutual funds. He was wrong.

Denials aside, the Reds' payroll is expected to be between $40 million and $42 million next season. Some $33 million, barring trades, will be doled out to seven players. That leaves about $8 million for the other 18 guys, many of whom will be named Meat. That's not the "flexibility" acting general manager Brad Kullman talked about after the Great Salary Dump of July and August.

Griffey has no place here anymore. He's the BMW in the parts lot, Charlize Theron on Ultimate Makeover. The Reds are downtown. Griffey is uptown. The Reds can't get to his neighborhood. The cab fare's too much.

The Reds want to go young and cheap. Junior is neither.

There are only "three or four places" Griffey would go, his agent Brian Goldberg said Friday. Goldberg declined to name those places. A more likely scenario is that Griffey plays well early next year, stays healthy and is traded to the First World sometime during the summer.

A difference between the Yankees and the Reds is the Yankees' money allows them to make mistakes. If the Yankees whiff with Raul Mondesi or Rondell White, they sign Hideki Matsui. The Reds have whiffed with Griffey, sadly. They won't spend the money to make up for it.

Junior needs to go, for everyone's sake. All that's left is one question:

What made the Reds think they could afford him in the first place?

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E-mail pdaugherty@enquirer.com

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