In the end, Ken Griffey, Jr. was wise enough to take the hints that not even a boundless love for the game was enough to make him the Kid once again. The toothy, hat-backward imp with the lyrical swing, the hunger for roaming center field like it was his personal playground, and the ownership of baseball's 1990s had become the memory nobody wanted to lose even as the man looked time in the face and attempted the closest Griffey could ever get to defiance. The team that raised him, the team he is still believed to have rescued, brought him...