The same old refrains were being played out once again; missed opportunities, bonehead plays, lack of execution and the seeming waste of a terrific pitching performance. Stop me if you’ve heard all this before!

It is said that bad and struggling teams make the same mistakes over and over and the Reds, in recent weeks, have certainly been repeat offenders. They’ve been habitual in their sins of commission and omission.

Tuesday night was merely a continuation of their misdeeds. But somehow, despite themselves and with the help of a superb and dominant pitching effort from righty Aaron Harang, the Reds managed to survive into the 12 ^th inning.

Yet, the vibe was negative for the visitors. You sensed Cincy was merely holding on and was destined to suffer another ignominious and frustrating defeat. A seventh straight road loss seemed likely if not certain primarily because the Reds were already two innings deep into their faltering bullpen.

Compounding the Reds’ dilemma was the fact that because of situational and defensive changes, their lineup (most notably without Adam Dunn) was nowhere near as threatening as the one that started the game. The longer this game played out, the Reds’ chances for victory diminished substantially.

What they so desperately needed was a quick strike, a bolt of lightening. Something that was both dramatic and inspirational. What they needed was a hero, someone of stature capable of saving the day and lifting them out of the morass that was surrounding them.

Enter Ken Griffey.

Though no longer "The Kid" and far removed from his heyday as a player, Griffey remains a special talent. He’s still a legitimate force and a bona fide threat. That sweet stroke is still intact. It hasn’t left him.

As "Griff" settled into the batter’s box to face Padre reliever Heath Bell in the top of the 12 ^th , his night had been uneventful. He’d drawn the collar in four plate appearances and had made solid contact on only one occasion.

But with Griffey, anything is possible at anytime. And the veteran outfielder was having a productive year up to that point with nifty numbers in batting average, home runs and runs batted in.

As it was years ago, it still remains that no matter what the situation, the 37-year-old Cincinnati native is one of the few players who’ll get you to inch forward in your seat in anticipation of seeing something special. He still creates a buzz and an air of genuine excitement.

So despite the negative karma encircling the Reds, a glimmer of hope could be felt as Griffey, wearing number 3 in his road grey uniform, eased into his stance.

Neither anxious nor impatient, he looked over three pitches that were all deemed balls. He then took a called strike. He hacked away at the next offering and fouled it into the screen behind home plate. The count now stood at 3 and 2.

What followed was consummate professionalism. Bell proceeded to rear back and fire three forceful deliveries, all of which came with plenty of heat.

Griffey spoiled each of them, fouling them off into the crowd down the third base line. Each of Ken’s swings was fluid and pure and you could tell "Griff" wasn’t missing by much. He was just a shade off. And you sensed that Griffey was honing in on Bell’s velocity and pace. He was ever so close.

Then, in an instant, close became gone. Griffey perfectly timed Bell’s next pitch and crushed it, sending centerfielder Mike Cameron way back in futile pursuit. It was a beam of a shot that cut through the chilly air and kept carrying like an echo reverberating in a canyon. It didn’t descend until it had cleared the right-centerfield fence and had landed some 410 feet away. A timely and clutch blast if ever there was one.

As Griffey eased around the bases with that smooth and rhythmic gait of his, suddenly all felt right in Redsland. Their current agony had been purged, at least temporarily, and a much needed 2-1 win had been secured. On this night, the Reds could finally relax somewhat and feel a bit better themselves. 

Given their sorry state, Cincy was in dire need of a savior. Someone, who could single-handedly hoist the team onto his shoulders and carry it to a better place.