Larkin

I was listening to Sports Talk Radio today and the voice from my car speakers was debating who should be the next inductee into the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame. He offered a variety of candidates, including some pitchers from the 40s that I have never heard of and familiar names like Vada Pinson. The name with the strongest credentials was Barry Larkin. When his name was raised, I grunted in apathy.

This is significant because there was a time when Larkin was my favorite sports player in the world. I have in a bag somewhere every single baseball card printed with his visage from his rookie season up to 1995 – even the generic ones that were at the bottom of cereal boxes. His number 11 was on my back in every sport I played. I copied his swing. Larkin was my hero of sport.

And he was a great player. He is an automatic Cincinnati Hall of Famer that should get his number retired. He grew up in Cincinnati. He ripped the 'best shortstop in the game' title from Ozzie Smith and proved shortstops could hit for power. He hit 30/30, won the NL MVP and a World Series ring. He's an icon and a classic Red who never wore another uniform.

But a few things happened towards the end. Larkin's leadership was questionable and Reds nation furrowed its brow when he removed his captain 'C' patch after the Reds traded closer Jeff Shaw. He also crippled the Reds financially when he signed a 3 year, 27 million dollar contract at the downside of his career. This was in 2001, when 9 million a year meant something and was a massive strain on a mid-market budget. But these were minor blips. And then Ken Griffey Jr. joined the team.

When you were in grade school, most of your friends either lived in your neighborhood or were in your class. But everyone had that friend that had a buddy who lived another town. Maybe he met the kid in summer camp or they were on a traveling soccer team together. Either way, he told you how cool this kid was all the time. He had the best stuff, he won fights after school and he even cussed out his mother and got away with it. So one day, you actually meet this kid at a birthday party or something. And your buddy is gushing over him. He over-laughs at all his jokes. Demands to be on his team during games. Treats everyone else with disdain because he is arm in arm with the prince. By the end of the day, you want to kill them both.

Same thing happened when Griffey descended like a plague upon the Reds. Larkin practically drooled on him in spring training. He shadowed Griffey, assigning himself as Junior's personal tour guide. I remember seeing disgusting pictures of Larkin in the throws of laughter while attached to Griffey's side. And for the record, Griffey is not funny. During the season, Larkin would hustle to grab the seat by Griffey on the bench. He beamed like Griffey's mother when he hit a home run. It was despicable. And this was not the worst of it. Over time, Larkin acquired Griffey's laziness and sense of entitlement. In the last season of the 2004 season, Griffey left the clubhouse and his teammates in the second inning to catch an early flight home to Florida. Larkin followed him out of the stadium. Number 11 would have NEVER done this without Griffey's influence. Ever.

Bary Larkin was one of the top-20 shortstops of all-time. He had class, he was clutch, he played smart and hard and he was the face of the Cincinnati Reds baseball club throughout the 1990s. And that was something every Reds fan could be proud of.

But my last memory of Larkin was watching him play Ken Griffey Jr.'s lap dog.