Ken Griffey Jr. is much larger than the picture

Augusta, ga. – Ken Griffey Jr. He stayed himself while staying just over 2 Green in Augusta National.

It would arrive at this place – fifteen steps to the left of the flag – just seconds ago, holding a pair of large uncertain instruments and the obnoxious focus of a bomb technique. Beneath it Justin Thomas TipToed in a strict white greeny bunker and disappeared down the edge.

Then, suddenly, a number of action exploded before him, and Griffey plunged forward – holding his breath, training his eye, and then, finally, pulling the trigger.

If you want to understand what forced him Owner of 630 Home Runs In sports photography, you only needed these 15 seconds at Master on Saturday. Action at the intersection of forecasting and concentration? Inside-game game between man and subject? The opportunity to make art out of violence? As it turns out, Ken Griffey Jr. It’s still good in those things. The country may have changed, but it never stopped hitting it.

Traveling from 13 All-Star Games to Masters Photography House was surprisingly simple Saturday morning. Griffey got up early in a hotel room, led to the tournament of the tournament, gathered a task from his editor, Bob Martin and headed to the Golf Course for the day. He wore a Sony Alpha 1 camera body with two large lenses, a 400 mm and 600 mm. He did not eat.

He tries to maintain a low profile in the Golf Course, though this is occasionally difficult because of his fame. Thanks to the thick muscle cords that lie from his shoulders to his ankles, the 6-foot-3 griff version is particularly terrible, but he speaks with a gentle underestimation and sharp ingenuity.

On Saturday, he wore a sleeveless black jacket over a black polo, with black pants and a white hat. He traveled with a master’s content employee, who himself was armed with a battery -filled backpack, memory cards and a monopod. When he is not interrupted by a defender, Griffey was calm and serious – and kept himself at least a little intentionally.

“Realistically, I’m the low man on the totem pole,” he said Saturday morning. “I’m still taking it. If you are not willing to learn, then your pictures will not get better.”

Griffey, now 55, was fine in his career in front of the camera when he retired after him for the first time. He began shooting photos shortly after his 35th birthday, and mainly because of the attack of the blessings that began to be distracted by the sporting events of his children. His children Trey and Tevin – both boys – were never a matter, but his daughter Taryn was different.

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

Griffey knew the feeling. His father, Ken Sr., had spent most of his son’s childhood Bayball player of the main leagueJust participating in 10 of Ken Jr. games. During his formative years. Now the child was a famous player himself – and seeing the cycle continue.

“It was my fault,” he said. “I realized how to get that father’s approval was important because I loved him. I wanted my father to see me, and sometimes it happened, but most of the time as a child did not do it.”

He tried the picture for his family, but he quickly discovered that he liked his careful Waltz. He liked to photograph the cars and learned the photograph of the action from tracking the races. When a friend in Orlando with a relationship with masters learned that Griffey had also received Golf, he reached Augusta National, who quickly extended the child a job offer. It was the most attractive job opportunity for Griffey’s post-game life, but he stopped before accepting it.

“When you hear that you will shoot at the masters, you want to say yes really quickly,” he said. “But then you are like, ohhh, I will have to work for some things.”

He arrived with nervousness. Griffey had determined that he did not want to be treated differently from the rest of the photographers in the photo pen, and Augusta National agreed. The problem was that the photo pen was a line of a killer of the biggest living sports photographers. Griffey was a glorified amateur – and he felt it.

“It doesn’t matter to your status in life, if it’s something you don’t do professionally and everyone here is professionals, you are still nervous to walk the room,” Griffey said. “How would these people feel if we all got into a coercion cage and I was sitting there criticizing them? It is the same thing.”

The first few days were a challenge. At the encouragement of Griffey, Martin treated him not different from any other masters photographer. He was assigned a stall at the center of the press, and given the same photographic restrictions on each other tourist shooter. Martin held real assignments every day, and was not afraid to give unclear criticism – or complete rejection – in Griffey’s photos.

“The only thing I learned about is the origin,” Griffey said. “Your backgrounds are essential. If you have a great background and your subject is there, you will have a great look. If you have a great picture in the foreground, but your background is blown up, you don’t have a great look.”

Did not help that Griffey was, with any objective measure, NO a normal photographer. He was gathered by fans wherever he went, whether they are sports writers in the press building or customers at Amen Corner. He dealt with every interaction with Grace, but it was not difficult to see the challenge of getting the back of 30,000 dudes in green hats while still giving world -class photos.

While the week wearing, however, Griffey Jr.’s confidence. grew up. He caught a great kick of Bernhard Langer’s hug with his wife by Green on Friday – he was in “perfect position” – that was quickly loaded on the masters’ website. By the 2nd hole on Saturday morning, its purpose was no longer to get a good blow but a large A

“I will be at the top of the bunker, straight over it,” he said. “Bob wants green, and he wants white, from the sand coming out of the bunker.”

He stopped.

“So that’s what we’ll get.”

As we talked on Saturday morning, I was hit by Griffey’s humility. He would not be the best photographer in Augusta National. In fact, he may be very good, but he was not ashamed of this. He was here to learn, to become better, to PROBE

Helped Griffey’s ego for him to make more money than God and follow half of the All-Star Games, how many years I would walk on the planet, but in some ways this was exactly the matter. It is difficult and mostly terrible to be vulnerable even when you are donated by the ashes of anonymity – it is much more difficult and scary when you are not.

When I asked Griffey about it, he seemed confused.

“I mean, I’ve been this way since I was a little kid,” he said. “I learned how to fly with a plane. I got my pilot’s license at the age of 36. I learned to scuba at the age of 30. You owe yourself to go out and find something you love, and you have to be willing to start somewhere.”

Suddenly, it happened to me that the engagement of Griffey’s masters can be much deeper than photography. The reason he would move himself into the masses in Augusta National was not to take pictures, but to scratch a much deeper itch.

“I try not to let my children beat me nothing“He said with a rage.” So yes, I’m still competitive. “

Competitive in what, I asked.

“Golf, tennis, pickleball – whatever“He said.” It is not about athletic greatness. Competition is the fun part. “

I laughed at Griffey’s comment zeal then, and again three hours later, when I found it charging In Amen Corner After Hideki Matsuyama.

As Matsuyama walked for the Tee box in par-3 12, I saw while Griffey lept in action-slipping around the trees below the right ropeline, past ogling fan results and in the photographer’s pen. He looked calm, comfortable and… was this a hint of determination?

He went down to a knee as he adapted his blow, his white hat Nike, bobing a little over the crowd, until everything went quiet and quiet.

And then, in the most famous hole in Golf, Ken Griffey Jr. squeeze the trigger and tried again.