Ripken Enters O's Hall of Fame

If you find it hard to believe that eight years already have passed since Cal Ripken played in his 2,131st consecutive game, becoming baseball's all-time Iron Man, you're not alone.

Ripken, the newest member of the Orioles Hall of Fame, shares your sense of amazement.

“It's alarming,” he says of the time that has elapsed seen his momentous day at Camden Yards, the most memorable day in the ballpark's history. “Wow. To me, it almost seems like it was just yesterday. So close to you, and the memory is so strong, it does seem like there's no way eight years have gone by.”

The poignant images from that day, and there were loads of them, are as familiar to many Baltimore and national baseball fans as the back of their own hand: The numbers 2,131 being unfurled from the Warehouse wall, Ripken's joyous lap around the field, the testimonials, the Ripken speech, the emotion that pervaded the ballpark.

One person who did not witness those events, though, in the same way that others did, either on television or in person, was Ripken himself. He was so caught up in the moment that it was almost like a dream to him. Only after his retirement following the 2001 season did he allow himself to go back and fully experience—and appreciate—the events of Sept. 6, 1995.

“I replay it in my mind, and I look at some of the pictures, and people give me old books and magazines that have pictures in them,” he relates. “They ask me to sign, and I kind of look through it and take a trip down memory lane. I seem to do that a little more now that I'm retired than when I was playing. It kind of gives you a good feeling inside, or a smile comes over you as you start remembering. But I've noticed that the real time change is in my kids. You see pictures of them when it happened, and then you see them every day—that's the only time it seems like a long time ago.”

It's not easy for a player to extricate himself from an event, especially such a significant one as breaking Lou Gehrig's record. It takes time and distance to dispassionately understand what has been accomplished.

“I've said that when I'm in my rocking chair, I'll have a chance to reflect on it and do all those things,” says Ripken. “When you're playing, you really can't do all that. I don't find myself reflecting on it all the time, but I do find myself reflecting on it a little bit more—especially in situuations when I go to speak and they introduce me, and that's part of my history. They play a tape, and they play a highlight of that particular night, and it kind of takes you back. So I do find myself reflecting on it a little more. It still seems magical, it still seems a little bit unreal, dreamlike, like it did not really happen. You're not sure that it happened. But when you really start to think about it and look at the pictures, I guess you know it happened. It's one of those few experiences that you do go through that is a little bit like an out-of-body experience. Like it's happening to somebody else while you're watching it.”

In a way, it's a shame Ripken forever will be known as baseball's Iron Man, because that simple sobriquet clouds over the fact that he had a marvelous baseball career, even if he hadn't broken Gehrig's record. After all, he was the American League's Most Valuable Player twice and an American League All-Star a record-breaking 19 times. He is one of only seven players in history to exceed 3,000 hits and 400 home runs. (His numbers are 3,184 and 431.) And Ripken set a new standard for shortstops, turning what was once a strictly defensive position into an offensive one as well. Even if he had not set a consecutive games mark, it's hard to imagine Ripken not making it to baseball's Hall of Fame in three years. He earned his way into the Orioles Hall of Fame by being one of the finest players ever to wear the team's uniform.

Ripken's own favorite moment in baseball was not the day of his 2131st consecutive game, nor was it that amazing day in Atlanta on June 13, 1999, when, at the age of 38, he became the first Oriole ever to pick up six hits in a single game. It also wasn't May 6, 1984, when he joined Brooks Robinson as the only Orioles to hit for the cycle.

Instead, it was when he caught a soft line drive on Sunday, October 16, 1983, to clinch the World Series for the Orioles. It was the only Series Ripken ever played in.

“With two outs in the last inning of the final game,” he recalls, “that little hump-back liner came towards me. I thought I was going to have to jump for it, but it came down a little bit where I could catch it. That, by far, was the best feeling. There was a certain sense of gratification, satisfaction. It felt a little more complete, as a player, that you—I guess it's more than just that moment, because it's the dreams that you had as a kid. Winning the world championship, winning the World Series, is in all your scenarios when you're playing as a kid in the backyard—that you're playing in the World Series, and you help win the World Series by catching the last out. So it made all those feelings flow together at once. It's a really special feeling, that you set out to do that, and then you actually do it.”

The 1983 season, his second in the big leagues, was a fabulous time for Ripken. He hit .318 with 27 home runs and 102 RBIs and won the AL MVP award for leading the Orioles, along with Eddie Murray, to the World Series.

“We started out the '83 season with good team resolve,” he says. “And we had a good team goal to get off to a good start and make sure we won it and weren't scrambling at the end. And it seemed like everybody came together and was on the same page. If memory serves, I think we got off to a good start. We played well throughout the whole season, and I think we clinched early in September, maybe September 17. Then we went on the playoffs. It was exciting for a second-year player to be playing in the playoffs and to try to capture the world championship. We ended up getting past Chicago in what was a very exciting [American League championship] series and then going on to Philadelphia.”

Although Ripken hit .400 against the White Sox in the ALCS, he didn't have a great offensive World Series in 1983, going only 3-for-18 (.167).

“I think I tried really hard,” he remembers, “and I was swinging extra hard. I was doing different things that I think that a lot of players have done [in their first World Series]. At the same time, the other team, that you hadn't played all year, they're a little bit careful with the middle of the order, and I think I walked a few more times than I ordinarily would have if it weren't the World Series.”

Ripken was always known for his high level of professionalism on the field. What he is less known for was his playful nature in the clubhouse. He loved to engage in hijinx, to wrestle in the lockerroom, to play practical jokes, to compete playfully with his teammates in games and competitions other than baseball.

“That's some of the things that you do miss the most about playing,” he says, almost two years after his last game. “You do have the moments between the white lines, and that's been on TV, and you kind of live through the successes and the failures of those moments, and you know how it feels. But when you look back, you miss traveling, being with the guys on the road, hanging out with them, and the little pranks and the joking that goes back and forth. A lot of times, it's just how you choose to spend your time, how you choose to deal with the pressures that go along with baseball. I think for a lot of us, we consider ourselves having never had to grow up—because you'rre in baseball.”