Despite his best efforts, Mister 500 is stuck on 498. A week ago, Junior Griffey was summoning home runs. Nine in 13 games. They bowed before him and apologized for taking so long. Now, they've gone fishing.

(His batting average has risen from .249 last Sunday to .262 before last night's game. Maybe Junior wants to break Pete Rose's singles record instead.)

"Please get to 500 soon," I said to Griffey. "I'm running out of your relatives to talk to."

PHOTO GALLERY

Photos of Saturday's game

On Friday night, he hit a ball to left field against Cleveland's best pitcher, C.C. Sabathia, that had 499 written all over it. It hit high off the wall, a foot beneath the yellow home run stripe. On Saturday, Griffey decided the only other park that would have held that ball was Yellowstone.

Saturday night was the night. Had to be. Elarton spent April and May distinguishing himself in Colorado by testing the effect of mountain air on meat balls. He went 0-6 with a 9.80 ERA in eight starts for the Rockies, who eventually released him before he hurt himself. Cleveland signed him and sent him to Triple-A Buffalo for three starts.

Elarton made his first Indians start Saturday night. For Griffey, it should have been like pulling wings off a fly. Elarton got him to foul out leading off the second, struck him out in the third and walked him on purpose in the fifth. Then, someone named Cliff Bartosh whiffed Griffey in the sixth. Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is what is expected.

Griffey never could hit when his father was watching. After age 12, the first hit he got with Senior's eye on him was in the Instructional League, when Junior was 17. "Now," he recalls Senior asking, "was that so hard?"

Griffey says he's not trying too hard now, even if he did leave 34 tickets for family and friends at Jacobs Field Saturday. Even if Dad has been squirming in his seat since Monday in Oakland.

Even if fans seem to relish the Watch by harping on what they think Griffey isn't doing. To those who complain the heathen media have been too kind to Junior recently, a few things:

Griffey doesn't always sprint after balls in the gaps because his legs are one enthusiastic burst from the disabled list. When you are 34 years old and for three years have had wheels fit for Captain Ahab, allowances must be made. Do Frisco fans care that Barry Bonds runs out routine grounders like he's running to a tax audit?

At least twice on the road trip, once in Oakland and Friday night here, Griffey loitered near the batter's box to admire long fly balls. Both balls stayed in the park. Each time Griffey had to hold up at first base. You could see his dad's frown all the way from the press box.

Waiting for a guy to hit a home run isn't like waiting for an eclipse or a birthday or gas prices to rise. Those are scheduled occurrences. Home runs come when the mood strikes or the curve hangs. Between Monday and Friday, Griffey saw three of the AL's best lefties: Sabathia and Oakland's Mark Mulder and Barry Zito.

The only right-hander in that four-game stretch, Oakland's Rich Harden, challenged him with 97 mph fastballs.

"A young Curt Schilling" said his catcher, Damian Miller, who caught Schilling at Arizona.

Saturday was the night. Until it wasn't. Mister 500 will come back today, seeking something greater than singles. Meantime, he has some advice for his dad on how to entertain his grandchildren, the oldest of whom is 10. "Xbox," Junior said, "iPod."

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E-mail pdaugherty@enquirer.com

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