Ken Griffey Jr.’s Master Mission is much bigger than photography

Augusta, Georgia – Ken Griffey Jr.

He reached this position – 15 steps to the left of the flag – just a few seconds ago, with a pair of giant blunt weapons and a tenacious focus of the bomb technician. Below him, Justin Thomas tipped into a bright green bunker, disappearing under his lips.

Then, suddenly, a series of movements erupted in front of him, and Griffy reached forward-hold his breath, trained his eyes, and then took the trigger.

If you want to know what forces 630 home run owners to do sports photography, you only need those 15 seconds in Saturday’s Masters. Action at the intersection of expectations and focus? Game between people and themes? Opportunities to make art from violence? It turns out that Ken Griffey Jr. is still good at these things. The venue may have changed, but he never stopped beating meatballs.

The journey from 13 All-Star games to the Masters’ Photo Room is surprisingly simple. Griffey rose early in the hotel room and drove to the game venue, gathered a mission from his editor Bob Martin, and started the golf course of the day. He carries a Sony Alpha 1 camera body with two large lenses, one with 400mm and 600mm. He doesn’t eat it.

He tried to keep a low profile on the golf course, although it was sometimes difficult due to his reputation. Griff’s 6-foot-3 rope felt particularly horrible as his muscles stretched from his shoulders to his wrist, but he was light and keen wit.

On Saturday, he wore a black polo, black pants and a white hat in a sleeveless black jacket. He travels with Master Content staff, who himself holds a backpack filled with batteries, memory cards and monopods. Griffie was quiet and serious when he wasn’t disturbed by the customers – at least with a little daunting.

“I’m actually a low guy on the totem pole,” he said. “I’m still picking it up. If you don’t want to learn, then your photos won’t get better.”

Griffey, 55, stepped on the camera for the first time and entered his career in front of the camera. He started taking pictures shortly after his 35th birthday, largely due to the violent attacks of the blessingers who began to disperse their children’s sports events. His children Trey and Tevin (two boys) were never a problem, but his daughter Taryn was different.

“The boys are looking for mom,” he said. “But the girls are looking for dad. They want to make sure dad is paying attention.”

Griffi knew this feeling. His father, Ken Sr., is now a famous player himself – seeing the cycle continue.

“It’s my fault,” he said. “I know how important it is to get my father’s recognition because I want it. I want my father to see me, sometimes it happens, but most of the time, not as a kid.”

He tried photography for his family, but he soon found himself enjoying its cautious waltz. He loves shooting cars and learns action photography from participating in competitions. When a friend in Orlando who was in contact with the Masters learned that Griffey also received golf, he got in touch with Augusta National, which quickly expanded the kid’s job opportunities. It was Griffey’s most attractive job opportunity in post-life, but he paused before accepting.

“When you hear you’re going to shoot for the Masters, you want to say yes quickly,” he said. “But you think, oh, I need to do something.”

He arrived nervously. Griffey stipulated that he did not want to be different from other photographers in the photo pen, and Augusta National agreed. The problem is that the photo pen is the murderer of the greatest sports photographer. Griffey is a glorious amateur – he feels.

“If you’re not professional and everyone here is a professional life, then it doesn’t matter what your life is, and you’re still nervously walking into the room,” Griffey said. “How would I feel if we were all stuck in a batting cage and I was criticizing them? It’s the same thing.”

The other day was a challenge. At Griffey’s urging, Martin treated him no differently than any other master photographer. He was assigned a stall at the news center and gave photos to all other match shooters. Martin gives birth to the real task every day and is not afraid of unwavering criticism or total rejection of Griffe’s photos.

“One thing I learned is the background,” Griffey said. “Your background is crucial. If your background is great and your theme is there, then your photos are great. If you have a nice photo in the foreground, but your background is blown out, you don’t have a good photo.”

From any objective measure, Griffiy is of no help no Ordinary photographer. He was filled with fans, wherever they went, whether it was a sports writer in the news building or a patron at Amen Corner. He handles every interaction in an elegant way, but it’s not hard to see the challenges received from 30,000 handsome guys in 30,000 green hats, while still managing to deliver world-class photos.

However, as the week progressed, Griffey Jr.’s confidence grew. He grabbed the wonderful shot of Bernhard Langer from the side of the 18th Green on Friday – he was in the “perfect position” – quickly uploaded to the Masters website. From the side of the second hole on Saturday morning, his goal is no longer to get a good shot, but a Great one.

“I’m going to get straight to the bunker,” he said. “Bob wants green, he wants white, on the sand that comes out of the bunker.”

He stopped.

“That’s what we’re going to get.”

I was shocked by Griffey’s humility as we spoke on Saturday morning. He won’t be the best photographer in Augusta National. In fact, he is probably the worst, but that’s no shame. He studied here and became better, try.

It helped Griffie’s self to be, he made more money than God and participated in the year I walked the planet, half of the All-Star game, but that was exactly the point in some ways. Even if you give anonymous grace, it is hard to be vulnerable and hard to be hurt – it is getting harder when you are not anonymous grace.

When I asked Griffie, he seemed confused.

“I mean, I’ve been like this since I was a kid,” he said. “I learned how to fly a plane. I got a pilot license at 36. I learned to dive at 30.

Suddenly, I thought that Griffi’s master promise might be deeper than photography. The reason why he wanted to throw himself into the Augusta National Islands was not to take photos, but to scratch the deeper itch.

“I try not to let my children beat me Anything,” he said with a smile. “Yes, I’m still competitive. ”

I asked, what is competition.

“Golf, tennis, pickles – any,” he said. “It has nothing to do with the greatness of the movement. Competitiveness is the fun part. ”

At that time, I smiled seriously at Griffi’s comments, and three hours later, when I found him rushing into Amen Corner after Hideki Matsuyama.

As Matsuyama walked on a t-shirt with 3 12, I watched Griffey busy with action – sliding over the trees on the right ropeline, dozens of ogling fans of the past, into the photographer’s pen. He looked calm and comfortable,…is this a hint of determination?

He bent his knees as he constructed the shot, his white Nike hat waving slightly above the crowd until everything became quiet and still.

Then, in the most famous hole in golf, Ken Griffey Jr. squeezed the trigger and tried again.