Griffin Says His Job Is Fun, Not Work

Observe the Dodger shortstop, Alfredo Griffin.

Watch him at work on his little piece of property, the bare earth between second and third bases at Dodger Stadium. Notice his pride of ownership in this micro-acreage, which Griffin roams with the fussy alertness of a suburbanite on crabgrass patrol.

Notice that he is always there, needs no caddie, and that although he does not back-flip his way onto the field like the Great Oz, there’s no mistaking the feeling that Alfredo likes his work.

“This game, I love it,” Griffin says, sitting at his clubhouse locker after batting practice. “I play this game when I was a kid, for fun. I enjoyed it then. Now I’m making a living, I’ve got a better reason to enjoy it.”

So Alfredo is happy to be here, but what is that worth?

Given a choice between a chipper, upbeat .240 hitter and a brooding .320 guy, any manager would go for the grouch. Babe Ruth could complain up a storm. So could Ty Cobb. I’m told Hank Aaron and Bob Gibson and Mickey Mantle didn’t always warm a room simply by entering.

Who really cares if a ballplayer enjoys his job?

I do. I think Dodger fans do. I think the Dodgers do.

Fans load upon sports heroes a unique set of expectations. We see baseball as being the most wonderful job in the world. We grow up--at least the males do--dreaming of being a baseball player. Absolutely the greatest job in the world.

Baseball players set us straight. They tell us the facts of life, that professional baseball is an ultra-high-stress, ultra-low-security job. The mistakes you make are in print before you change out of your uniform, your screw-ups are on film at 11. It’s a long season and a short career. You get bored, battered, scared, frazzled, disgusted.

We understand all that but still we expect the ballplayer to approach his job with something resembling joy, or at least enthusiasm. We can endure a surly waitress, or a snippy bank teller. We can’t countenance a grumpy, whiny shortstop.

Alfredo, he plays baseball all summer, and then he goes back home to the Dominican Republic and plays baseball all winter. He takes a day off when it rains or when they padlock the ballpark. Four of the last six big league seasons, he has played every game.

“I am not afraid to play,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t get tired. When you got a job that you love, there’s no reason to get tired. I would like to play baseball forever. It’s the most important thing in my life, next to my family.”

He says this not in a bubbly, Ernie Banks-type way, but quietly, matter-of-factly.

I don’t know if one player can jack up a team’s attitude, improve its performance with his positive vibes, but the Dodgers are in first place a month into the season, and Alfredo hasn’t hurt.

His few hits have been run producers, his fielding has been steady with flashes of brilliance. He lends an aura of professionalism and confidence to the middle of the infield. If such an award were awarded, Alfredo and Steve Sax would be named baseball’s most upbeat keystone combo.

“Alfredo takes away some of the anxiety,” says Dodger pitcher Orel Hershiser, who is 5-0. “Someone hits a ground ball his way, you put your head down and know you’ve got an out.

“He is a working man. He doesn’t moan and groan. He is in the game. When your shortstop is out there running the show, it’s going to rub off on the other guys.”

Griffin would agree.

“I learned from Reggie about the attitude you got to have when you play,” Griffin says, referring to Reggie Jackson. They were teammates last season in Oakland. “He force me to play more. I see him play, he’s 40 years old, he’s giving 100%. No way can I stay behind Reggie. That guy make me work harder.

“When he was with the Yankees, he always talked to me. I’d get in a slump, maybe not run hard enough, he’d tell me, ‘Don’t let your hitting bother your defense.’ I don’t realize I’m doing something, and he reminds me.”

From Reggie, Alfredo learned to teach.

“Young kids ask me, ‘How do you play so much?’ ” Griffin says. “I tell them, ‘It’s in your mind.’ ”

What about your body? What about pulled muscles?

“There are no muscles in my body,” Griffin says, finally smiling.

His home run totals bear that out. Alfredo has his limitations. He doesn’t walk enough, his baserunning judgment has been questioned, and some experts say he makes the spectacular plays and boots the easy ones. He is 31 and not headed for the Hall of Fame.

But teams generally don’t win pennants without a solid presence at shortstop, and Griffin accepts that role.

“I take charge,” he says. “I hope (opponents) hit me a hundred ground balls every day. I like to let (the media, fans) blame everything on me. I don’t feel no pressure.”

We can watch Alfredo Griffin and let our childish notions linger. It really is a game, and it can be played not only with grace and skill, but with the enthusiasm with which we would play, if we could play.

“I’m just a happy man to be a baseball player,” Griffin says.