Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, September 7, 1995 TAG: 9509070074
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: B1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: JIM LITKE ASSOCIATED PRESS
DATELINE: BALTIMORE LENGTH: Long
Cal Ripken does not have the answer. One more game? Ten? One hundred? One thousand? Better to ask how many more numbers will fit on the B&O Warehouse beyond the right-field wall at Camden Yards, where Wednesday night the number 2,131 hung as a piece of baseball history.
Ripken doesn't ask. This thing, indisputably the best thing to happen to the game in years, is not about numbers. He didn't get into the game with one in mind. He hasn't settled on one yet.
During the day, Ripken was concentrating on getting his 5-year-old daughter, Rachel, to her first day of school. Later, Rachel and son Ryan, 2, threw out the ceremonial first balls from a first-base box where his wife, Kelly, sat.
Ripken started his big night by catching the ceremonial first-pitches from his children, then highlighted it by hitting a home run in the fourth inning. Moments later, the game between his Baltimore Orioles and California became official and he was in the record book for now and probably forever. Baltimore won 4-2 (Box score in Baseball Scoreboard. B2)
Once resentful that he might be known only for The Streak - he has won two American League MVP awards, been a 13-time All-Star, hit more home runs than any shortstop ever and set nearly a dozen fielding records - the Orioles star gracefully slipped into immortality when the game became official in the middle of the fifth inning.
Casually, almost as matter-of-factly as he showed up for work day after day, Ripken accepted the adoration of the cheering hometown fans. Patting his heart several times, he stood on the field outside the Orioles' dugout as players from both teams and all four umpires joined in the 22-minute, 15-second standing ovation.
Pushed out of the dugout, Ripken trotted a thank-you lap the entire way around the stadium, shaking hands with fans, seeking out those of the children in particular. The usually low-key Ripken even jumped above the center-field wall to slap high-fives.
When he came to the Angels' dugout, he went down the line shaking every hand while Bobby Bonilla and other Orioles captured the event on video cameras.
If he hadn't before, Cal must have considered himself afterward, one of the luckiest men in the world. That's how strong was the outpouring of affection from fans in this working man's town 25 miles down the road from where he grew up.
It began when the game became official after the top of the fifth. Ripken emerged to cheers from the Baltimore dugout, shed his No.8 jersey, and gave it to his 2-year-old son, Ryan. Soon after, he shed his reluctance as well, making eight curtain calls in all before his lap around the ballpark.
Through it all, cheers cascaded down from the stands, flashbulbs popped, fireworks exploded and the smoke from Boog Powell's barbecue stand lazily drifted higher, shrouding the numbers on the warehouse wall.
The last part hardly mattered to Ripken. This was not about numbers.
For his next game, he will show up in uniform at the appointed hour, check the lineup card, and trust that what's ahead will be the same as what was. Another at-bat, another ground ball, another night and then, on to another town. That is how all those games came to be stretched end to end across all those years in the first place: one at a time.
All ballplayers have fears. Some hitters are afraid to stand in against knee-buckling curveballs. Some fielders bail out at the base before an opponent comes barreling into their sights. Carrying home the winning run, some runners go wide rather than take on a catcher squared up in the basepath, clad in a suit of armor to boot.
Those are not Cal's fears. What scares him is that he won't recognize the day when his desire or talent or most especially his courage have been used up.
``I hope I'll know when it's time for me not to play,'' Ripken said Tuesday night, moments after tying Lou Gehrig's consecutive-game mark.
``If something happens that causes me not to play - the manager doesn't think I'm worthy, a young whippersnapper takes over my position or I'm just too tired to play - whatever the case may be, I hope I would realize that.''
Others have tried to make the decision for him. In the last few weeks, the anti-Streak crowd put up a smokescreen, arguing that by pushing too hard for the record, Ripken hurt himself and his team. Never mind that he is batting almost .380 during this home stand and has now homered in each of the past three games, the past two also being very emotional wins. What the anti-Streak crowd really objected to was Ripken wrestling it away from a man and an epoch in baseball that has come to seem more graceful the further it recedes into memory.
On the first score, there is no need to object. Ripken has proven himself every bit as elegant and mannerly as Gehrig, more durable if a bit less productive, and with as deep and abiding a love for baseball. He is as worthy a successor as the Pride of the Yankees could have chosen himself.
On the second score, there should be even less objection. Ripken and The Streak have become the closest thing to a conscience baseball has in this era of boundless arrogance and greed. Anyone who doubts it should check out the way opposing players have come first to value, and then protect, the last sacred thing left in their sport.
by CNB