In Seattle, Mike Cameron has found a home; mariners center fielder has become a fan favorite with his effusive personality and stellar all-around play - American Baseball League - Statistical Data Included

Baseball Digest, July, 2002 by Les Carpenter

THEY WERE TELLING OUTFIELDER Mike Cameron he was going to be traded to his third team in two years, and when he heard where it was he shook his head and his breath left his mouth in a very long whoosh.

"Seattle? Uuugghhhh," he said.

Seattle was rain. Seattle was cold. Seattle was as far from his Georgia home as baseball could possibly send him. How could he know he would find the most elusive of joys, a place that was home, a place that loved him simply because of who he was--a player without pretension? Because every minute he is on the field, he acts like he loves the game.

But this is the way his father, Jimmy Thornton, always told him he should be. "Whatever it is, make sure you enjoy what you do," he used to say. So Cameron treats every day like he's 12 years old and running around the backyard. He crashes into outfield walls and scrambles onto the dugout roof to sign autographs even as security guards around the league get filled with fear.

The first time was in Sarasota, Florida. It was rookie ball and he and current Mariners pitcher James Baldwin were signing autographs near the dugout when one of them spontaneously climbed onto the roof to sign a few more. The other players looked at them strangely, as if they had crossed some invisible line of baseball etiquette. They shrugged. They didn't care.

"It's very cool because he's one of the guys who appreciates everything," Baldwin said.

Cameron laughs.

"You know I think it's a chance to show them that I'm just as normal as they are," he said. "People rarely get a chance to get close to a major league player. For me to do that a few days a week, it's a chance for them to not see Mike Cameron the baseball player. We're already protected enough as it is. It's just the opportunity to just say `hello' and pat a kid on the head."

In a game run amok, he's the one who gets it, who understands there are people dropping 845 a ticket, not to mention another 819 on soggy burritos, overcooked burgers and garlic fries, and they aren't in the mood to watch a millionaire ballplayer slug through the day.

They don't want to hear he has a headache. They don't want to hear him complain he doesn't have his own bobble-head doll, and they certainly don't want to hear about his contract. That's why it's so easy to admire Mike Cameron, because all you have to do is watch him play and you can see there is genuine joy.

"Oh it's real," said John Moses, the Mariners' outfield coach. "It's not a facade. That's why everybody appreciates him so much. With Mike, what you see is what you get."

This is what Ken Griffey Jr. was supposed to be--the kid, always the kid. In the beginning, Griffey was free and fun and spontaneous, with his cap turned backward, scampering across the outfield. But somewhere along the way, everything stopped being free and fun and spontaneous for Junior. He demanded love. He wondered why there were Buhner banners and Edgar banners and A-Rod banners and nothing that said Junior. Why wasn't there a Ken Griffey Jr. Day?

Eventually the kid became a child and the love turned conditional. He controlled everything. Being a Mariners fan became an ordeal, and when Junior demanded a trade to his father's team and helped orchestrate the plunder of Seattle, everyone figured a nuclear winter had descended on Mariners baseball. Except nobody considered the new center fielder who came in the trade. Nobody knew Cameron would be everything they thought Griffey was, minus about half the home runs and a whole lot of the attitude.

"We all have bad days in the baseball field," Cameron said. "To be able to run out there and chase down the ball and being able to compete, you've got to be happy. Some say the grind of the season will break you down mentally. But the way I look at it is I get a chance to run around for three hours and play baseball. I get a chance to go in my little kid's world and have fun. The challenge of it makes it fun, and by me getting better every year that makes it more fun."

When Cameron runs, he shoots like a torpedo. His shoulders slope down, his arms go by his side and he leans slightly forward as if he is lunging for the finish line. He wears this tube of lip balm around his neck, tying it to a white cord, and as he runs and the lip balm necklace bobs, it looks like he's wearing a whistle.

Everywhere he goes, he's the life of the room. Last March during spring training, Muhammad Ali visited the Mariners complex. While on the tour he stopped by the clubhouse to use the restroom, and Cameron leaped to his feet to show the Champ the doorway to the toilets and showers.

When Ali disappeared behind the wall, Cameron kept shouting, "Ali! Ali!" at the doorway. As Ali re-emerged, still zipping up his pants, he was confronted with the sight of Cameron jumping up and down in place, pumping his arms in the air and shouting, "Boma ye' Ali! Boma ye' Ali!" as they once did in Zaire.

Even Ali looked perplexed, slowly raising his right arm and making a spinning motion with his finger next to his ear as if to say, who is this crazy man?