Little Brothers Have It Tough Craig Griffey, Chris Gwynn Often Don’t Measure Up

Balladeers may poignantly tell you “he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.” Can the same be said of a famous brother’s baseball legend?

The game has been home to a fair number of young men who have had to bear the accomplishments of their siblings. Dom and Vince DiMaggio’s 1,202 career runs batted in could not equal brother Joe’s 1,507.

While Henry Aaron ruled baseball home-run hitters by hitting 755, Tommie only hit 13, a number that earns an asterisk only because it helped give the Aarons the career home-run record for brothers.

Joe Niekro won more than 200 games, but Phil Niekro won almost 100 more, leaving a little brother with only one bragging right: that he homered off Phil, not vice versa.

To this day, players such as Billy Ripken and Mike Maddux are destined to stand in the tremendously long shadows cast by the likes of Cal Ripken Jr. and Greg Maddux.

Many such siblings don’t deal in rivalry, however, but rather revel in their brothers’ successes all the while trying to carve their own niches.

Take 24-year-old Craig Griffey, the first player in his family not named Ken and not instantly a major leaguer of great impact. A non-roster player with the Seattle Mariners, Craig practices alongside his 26-year-old brother, Ken Griffey Jr., the game’s highest-paid player and most incandescent star, loving every minute of it.

“It’s wild with him in the clubhouse,” says Craig in a voice that perfectly mimics his brother’s laugh-filled patter. “He never stops talking; he never stops joking. That’s why he’s successful, I guess, because he’s just so relaxed, so confident about what he does. And just being with him, it’s special, the way he looks out for me. He always had, since he was little.”

“Ah, we fought all the time when we were little,” laughed Ken Jr., the older of the two ball-playing sons of Birdie and Ken Sr., the former All-Star outfielder. “Not now, though. He lifted weights and got a little big on me.”

Indeed, Craig, a chiseled 5-feet-11, 175 pounds, has the look of a major league player. Still, where the confidence oozes from the 6-3, 205-pound Ken, the uncertainty of a player still young and unproven is evident in Craig.

So Ken Jr. dotes and protects, funneling equipment and advice, filtering interview requests and other distractions. He has given Craig a cellular telephone, to assure constant access to him as well as their father, the former Seattle hitting coach who is now with the Colorado Rockies.

“He needs someone around him who knows him, who he can talk to, who he feels comfortable with,” Ken said. “He knows he can call me any time, page me, I don’t care.”

The one thing Ken Griffey Jr. can’t do for his brother is to lift the weight of lineage.

“The name has been more of a burden for him than it was for me,” Ken said. “My dad always said to me we were two different people. But for Craig, he hears, ‘You’re not like your dad or your brother.’ Well, he’s not. He’s Craig. But he’s understood that and he’s dealt with it well.”

So, too, has Chris Gwynn, an eight-year major league veteran whose uncanny resemblance to his brother, Tony, stops short when it comes to replicating the feats of baseball’s most prolific hitter.

The Gwynns, like the Griffeys, are training at a complex here that the Mariners share with the San Diego Padres.

“We’ve talked about playing together for years,” said a beaming Tony Gwynn. “I don’t know how long this is going to last, but I’m going to see to it that he has fun this year.”

Both Tony, 35, and Chris, 31, know that the pairing will inevitably bring comparisons. That is OK with Chris, who is blessed with his brother’s quick smile and sense of humor who learned to deal with his brother’s fame when he followed Tony as a star athlete at San Diego State.

“I just do my thing; you’ve got to,” said Chris, who played six seasons for Los Angeles, including the last two, as well as two years in Kansas City. “Besides,” he added, laughing heartily, “no matter who’s your brother, your uncle, your cousin, your mama or your papa, it’s not going to help you. He can’t hit for you.”

Still, said Tony: “I can only imagine what it’s like, everywhere he goes, with me having the kind of success that I’ve had. But he’s handled it all better than I have.

“I’ve always thought that he could be just as successful as I am if he only had the opportunity, but Tommy Lasorda was throwing everybody out there, even Mike Marshall, before he would send Chris out there. I would get upset about it, but Chris always handled it really good. He’s not bitter; he’s not mad.”

Tony Gwynn paused, then reversed field, saying quietly: “Well, he is mad and he is bitter, but he does a real good job of hiding it. He’s always kept his mouth shut, he’s handled himself with dignity, like a professional.”

Tony, a lifetime .336 hitter, cannot cede any batting average points to Chris, a .269 hitter, any more than Ken Griffey Jr. can will Craig to the majors.

“But him coming here is great because I can throw stuff at him that I always wanted to throw at him about hitting,” said Tony. “I’m going to play big brother to the hilt. He’s going to get more perks here than he’s ever gotten in his life, the equipment, the help that he needs. I’m going to see to it.”

Even with all that, Chris could end up a part-timer again. “I know that’s probably what’s going to happen,” Tony said softly. “The thing about here is that if something should happen to one of us, he can step in. He strengthens our club as far as character and professionalism. We need more guys like that.”

Back on the other side of the Peoria complex sat Craig Griffey, looking at a future filled with even more uncertainty than Chris Gwynn’s.

“If I could give him one gift, it would be the ability to just go out and play, to have some fun,” Ken said wistfully. “Then I would tell him when you get in there, show off, like my father used to say, just to let them know that you’re there.”

So far, Craig has risen only as high as Class AA in five years. He hit only .219 at that level last season, an indication that Craig’s road to the majors is destined neither to be short nor easy.

“The fans have expectations because they hear the name, they want me to do the same thing Ken does or the same things my father did,” said Craig. “But I’m a totally different ballplayer. My job is to cause a lot of havoc on the base paths, score runs. Ken and my father were more geared to driving runs in. I can’t be them. All I can do is try to do what I can do.”

Craig is unpolished partly because he played football and track, not baseball, in high school, and continued on in football at Ohio State.

Craig even dreamed of playing in the National Football League. But he quit football after suffering a stress fracture in his back in the spring of 1991. The Mariners, who not only had Ken Jr. but Ken Sr. that year, quickly signed Craig to a minor-league contract.

Craig knows people speculate he was signed as a way of keeping Ken Jr. happy.

“I know Ken is going to be an influence, no matter what else goes on around me,” Craig said. “But I prefer to think they wanted me for the athletic ability, that they thought that it’s in the genes, that it runs in the family and runs pretty well.”