Griffey increases 500 club to 20 with solo home run

He reached the milestone on Father's Day in front of his father, Ken Griffey Sr.
KNIGHT RIDDER NEWSPAPERS
ST. LOUIS -- In the afterglow of his 500th home run, Ken Griffey Jr. found some time to himself in the corner of the Reds' clubhouse.
All these things running through his head. Only 19 others have hit 500.
And he did it on Father's Day in front of his dad, Ken Sr.
And the Busch Stadium crowd fully embraced him.
And his mother, Birdie, predicted he would hit it Sunday. And ...
"Hey, Griff," Reds shortstop Barry Larkin interrupted. "How you feeling, man?"
"I'm all right," Griffey said, laughing and sighing simultaneously.
The wait -- and the weight -- were gone.
For one week Griffey carried the burden of 499 home runs. Fans wasted rolls of film hoping to capture that one swing. Teammates hoped Griffey would hit 500 so they instead could focus on the National League Central race. A renaissance of Griffey appreciation bloomed.
When the moment came, Griffey struck mightily. Timing never was a problem for The Kid. His first major-league home run came on the first pitch he saw in the Kingdome.
Happy Griffey
This one was a fat 2-2 fastball from Matt Morris that made for a happy Griffey.
Cardinals right fielder Reggie Sanders didn't move. He knew.
Griffey Sr. might have been the only fan among the 45,620 who didn't stand up. He knew.
Junior knew, too.
"By the way he reacted," Reds closer Danny Graves said. "It was his normal home-run swing. And it was his normal home-run walk."
Normal Griffey means three slow, shoulder-swinging steps -- what's a star without a strut, no? -- and then a deliberate trot. It was typical Junior. A big, majestic, gaudy shot. The ball landed in the right-field stands 393 feet later and helped the Reds to a 6-0 victory.
Griffey met his teammates at home plate. Outfielder Adam Dunn greeted him with a hug.
"About time," Dunn said.
Then came the rest of them. Jason LaRue, the other hero of the afternoon with a three-run home run. Larkin, one of Griffey's best friends. And all of the other teammates and coaches whom Griffey, at 34, continues to awe.
Hugs
Once he emerged from the pig pile, Griffey jogged toward the third-base dugout. His father, a fixture on Cincinnati's Big Red Machine teams of the 1970s, leaned over a rail and hugged his son. His kids did the same.
Griffey stepped back, the crowd still saturating him with cheers. He took off his cap. Another roar.
This was Griffey's time to bask, to forget about three injury-vexed seasons with the Reds and remember what it felt like to be the youngest player to hit home run Nos. 350, 400 and 450.
"All the aches and pains I had this year were gone for like two minutes while I rounded the bases," Griffey said.