"Let me ask you a question," Griffey will say.

Even after Tuesday's division-clinching win, doused with champagne, his cap turned typically backward, a towel draped over his left shoulder, Griffey had a question to ask.

He was asked if, now that the division was clinched, would he put all his effort into chasing the big one -- Roger Maris' home-run record.

"What's the big one? Griffey asked.

"I can't worry about that. Winning is what it's all about," he said, before turning Socratic.

"Let me ask you a question," he said. "Who did what for the Reds in 1975 and 1976? Who put up what numbers? Name me some numbers. Nobody remembers, right? But they won. That's what people remember. That's the important thing."

Griffey's counter questions almost define him.

Of course, Griffey cares about the record. He has a sense of baseball history. But it doesn't drive him.

"He gets ticked off when he gets a pitch that he should hit out and it doesn't go out," said his best friend, right-fielder Jay Buhner."There's no doubt about it. He got mad the other night when he just missed a ball and he just hit it too high.

"But it's not driving him. It's not the one thing that he comes to the ballpark to play for. He comes to the ballpark, like the rest of us, to win the whole thing. In a nutshell, he plays to win."

The guaranteed American League Most Valuable Player -- this season there is no question he deserves it -- isn't counting his numbers.

He learned from his father, when Senior played for Cincinnati's Big Red Machine, winning matters. Winning is remembered.

"Junior's not the kind of guy who's going to look you in the eye and lie to your face," Buhner said. "I think he's proud of what he's done, but he's not wrapped up in the big home-run deal."

The Saturday morning before the playoffs, Griffey is entertaining the clubhouse. He's answering the phone that never stops ringing. "Whaaaaaat's up!"

He's teasing Randy Johnson, Greg McCarthy and Buhner and anybody who comes into his force field.

"I'm going to take one at-bat today, then take a chopper to the Gorge to see Prince," he jokes.

This is Junior at his best, still a kid in love with the idea of being a ballplayer.

This is Junior without the enormous pressure of being Ken Griffey Jr.

Seattle never has had somebody with the incandescence of Griffey.

Lenny Wilkens is a Hall of Famer, but he was shadowed by Jerry West and Elgin Baylor; Wilt Chamberlain and Bill Russell. He was a great point guard, but he wasn't the best.

Steve Largent is a Hall of Famer. But, when he played, the NFL had Joe Montana and Jerry Rice, Terry Bradshaw and Lynn Swann. Largent was a great wide receiver, but he wasn't the best player in the game.

Griffey is.

He is national. He is the most marketable talent in baseball. He is Tiger Woods. He is a junior Jordan.

And there are times the attention is so intense, he has to escape. Times when he avoids the limelight. Times, even now, when, to avoid the heat, he'll tell you he's not a home-run hitter.

Griffey isn't a home-run hitter? Sure. And Nixon wasn't a crook. And Ray Charles can't sing the blues. And Don DeLillo can't write his way out of a paperback.

"I've got to laugh at him now when he says that," Buhner said. "He's got 56 home runs. He's hit 40 twice already and he's struck out about 120 times this year. So yeah, he's a home-run hitter. He's developed a home-run swing, because he's got a few strikeouts now.

"I think he is a home-run hitter. There's no doubt about it. He's got tremendous power. But he doesn't want to be labeled as a home-run hitter. I can't say I blame him. It's unfair. Once you get labeled, it's so hard to shed. He works so hard to be a good defensive player. This kid hits .300. He hits doubles. He's the total package."

Griffey is money. When the Mariners needed a finishing kick to beat Anaheim and give themselves a medicinal week to relax, Griffey was their anchor man.

In September, when it mattered, he had 11update after weekend games home runs and 23 RBIupdate after weekend games. The contradiction in Griffey is that as reluctant a star as he sometimes seems, he is at his best when the spotlight is the brightest.

"I don't think Junior has much choice but to try to avoid the spotlight sometimes," Buhner said. "Junior's been in the limelight and he'll be in the limelight until the day he leaves the game.

"It's going to be following him forever, so anything he can do to deflect a little bit of it, or take the heat off, or whatever, he's going to try to do it."

If it weren't for Griffey, Buhner would be playing right field for the Baltimore Orioles this week. Griffey lobbied the Mariners' owners to re-sign Buhner before the 1995 season. They were wise enough to listen.

"Hands down, he's the sole reason I'm still here," Buhner said.

Buhner and Griffey have been friends since Griffey's first days with Seattle in 1989. Buhner was Griffey's oasis. A friend who made no demands. A friend who didn't care about Griffey's rising star.

"For the first couple of years he was here, a lot of guys took advantage of him because of who he was," Buhner said. "He kind of kept to himself and was withdrawn back then. We just hung out and that was it.

"They were taking advantage of him for autographs, every little thing. Players, everybody, ownership. People from all over the league. He went through a lot of stuff in those first couple of years and he just looked at me as being nothing like that. He respected me and what I was about and we both enjoyed our privacy."

Privacy is one of Griffey's luxuries. The most public player in baseball is a bit of a contradiction.

The game's brightest star prefers the shade. But the league's MVP thrives in the light.