Outfielder Brady Anderson is inducted into the Orioles Hall of Fame By David L. Hill

Telling Brady Anderson he had “one really good year”...talk about 50 ways to leave your lover.

The response of the outfielder, who crafted an all-around stellar 14-year Oriole career: “I had a good decade.”

Prior to 1996, Anderson could already boast of setting the AL record of 36 consecutive stolen bases as well as becoming the first player in league history to amass 20 home runs, 50 steals and 75 RBIs in one season. It’s the statistics that surrounded his signature season, not to mention his defense, that have landed Anderson a spot in the Orioles Hall of Fame. He will be inducted on August 21.

“I know for a stretch, at least nine years, I was one of the best lead-off hitters in baseball,” reflects Anderson, speaking over a cell phone from his car between obscenity-laced tirades directed at the L.A. traffic. “Some of the things I did as a lead-off hitter were as good as anybody who ever hit lead-off. I guess when you have that one monster season, it’s good because you’re recognized. If it weren’t for that season, not as many people would know about my career. But it also kind of diminishes what I did in other years.”

Says close friend Cal Ripken Jr.: “He also had 50 stolen bases in a year. It seems like if he wanted to put his mind to it—if you challenged him to steal bases—he would actually focus his attention on stealing bases and stteal 50. If you challenged him to home runs, he’d focus attention on home runs and he would do that...it’s kind of amazing.”

While Anderson’s transcendent 1996 season personifies him to many, the conditions were less than idyllic.

“It’s so funny that people specify that year,” says Anderson, “because in a way it was the biggest battle for me health wise.”

“It was his quest to put it together,” adds Ripken, “and he certainly was in a groove in that one particular year. It was phenomenal that he was able to be in the zone and be as precise as he was for the whole year.”

After hitting his 15th homer, on May 4, earlier than anyone in history, a strained quadriceps muscle soon felled Anderson, causing him to miss several games. After starting in the All-Star Game in July, he had a bout with appendicitis, but declined surgery that would likely have ended his season. Anderson even rejected warnings from doctors that it was too dangerous for him to fly; pilots on Orioles’ charters were instructed which airports to use in case there was a mid-air emergency and Anderson required immediate attention.

“It would have been kind of easy to listen to the doctors,” Anderson says, “and put my 32-home run, .300 season in the bank. Even that would have been my best season ever. But then I would have to think, ‘What would have happened?’ I remember thinking that it just wasn’t complete, and I had to find out what I could do.”

What happened next was that Anderson went on to hit 18 more home runs, including three in the final four games, to become only the 14th major leaguer in history to hit 50 or more home runs in a season.

Ignoring the milestone, Anderson says, “If there’s anything I’m proud about from that season, it was not being deterred by appendicitis and a torn quad.”

For his part, Hall-of-Famer Jim Palmer rekindled memories of Anderson’s historic campaign this spring when he insinuated during an interview on a Baltimore morning talk radio show that Anderson was aided by performance-enhancing drugs because his home run total was such an aberration. Anderson’s highest total was 21 before ’96 and he never hit more than 24 after. Palmer later backed off his statements.

“I think sometimes he speaks without really thinking about what he’s going to say,” says Ripken. “He wants to have an answer... It had nothing to do with performance-enhancing drugs. Brady for that one year was in a zone power-wise that was a marvel to watch.”

Informed of Palmer’s comments at the time, Anderson brushed them off with characteristic sarcasm via e-mail: “Palmer makes a good point,” Anderson wrote. “I must have taken something the year I hit 50. It wasn’t all it was cracked up to be—you know, the fame and the money and the women. So I decideed, screw this, I’m not going to do that again.”

Taking a more serious tone, Anderson concluded, “I know what I did and how I accomplished it. I am proud of it and know that it was done with integrity.”

While vehemently denying any steroid use, Anderson does acknowledge experimenting with “massive” doses of creatine—the legal dietary suppleement that assists muscle cells with energy storage—in 1996, especially during spring training as hee waged his annual battle to retain weight during workouts in the intense Florida heat.

“I was taking like 25 grams at once and then running back out to the field,” he says of his use that spring. Creatine was in its infancy, originally sent to Anderson by the scientist who invented the substance. Anderson’s intake was several times over what was subsequently determined to be an adequate daily supply.

“Who knows how much my body absorbed,” wonders Anderson, who also questions whether there was a connection between his high intake and the strained muscles he sustained later in the season. “However much my body could absorb, it was absorbing. I was going through a lot.”

Anderson still takes creatine to this day, although he admits to far less paranoia about weight loss compared to the time when dining companions were treated to full meals at multiple restaurants on the same evening so he could load up on pasta and sushi.

Despite being out of baseball, Anderson has maintained his rigorous and varied workout regimen.

“I always wondered what he would bring into spring training,” says Ripken, recalling Anderson’s infatuation with doing 200-pound squats atop a physio ball. “He’s very much into working out. Even at his age now, when people are physically deteriorating, he seems to be going the other way in some ways. His body fat seems to be down. His explosiveness seems to be going up. He can dunk a basketball off of two feet. I remember having hops when I was younger, and you to try to hold on to them. But you don’t have any when you get older. But he seems to be someone that figures it out.”

Anderson points to genetics and an adult life dedicated to training as chiefly responsible for his fountain of youth, but he cites other reasons.

“There are a couple of factors going on,” he explains. “When I played, I had a natural ability to jump and run, and I just wanted to get bigger and heavier. As I got older I found I retained strength easier. People typically lose some of their quickness and flexibility. Once I stopped playing, I started varying my training a little bit so I wasn’t as concerned about weight as much. I started training less frequently and with higher quality. I found that I retained my strength and kept jumping and running as well as I ever have. But, also, I’m not pounding myself day to day.”

Anderson has used his unique training methods to assist ballplayer friends, including some of his minor league teammates from last season, in their workouts.

“They trust me,” he says. “I’m a good model for them because they can see what I can do. They know how old I am. They come out and train with me and see that I’m faster and jump better than they do. And I’m stronger and more explosive.”

On a recent trip to Baltimore and the Orioles clubhouse, Anderson found himself back in familiar surroundings.

“It was cool,” he says. “A few guys came back to the weight room. I was showing them things and they were writing them down on paper. I like that. Sidney [Ponson] did come back to the weight room, but I didn’t see him writing anything.”

Anyone that has exercised with Anderson will note that unlike personal trainers who lord over their clients and merely scream motivation, Anderson is part of the workout and teaches by example, often employing a variety of sports to break up the monotony.

“I’m actually training with them, and I don’t want to get bored,” says the 40-year-old who often arrived at Camden Yards on rollerblades. “If I want to run sprints with them, I’ll do it throwing a football. I want it to be athletic. These trainers that are training other baseball players, none of them can combine the training knowledge and baseball knowledge I have. Most of them can’t train and then talk about hitting for an hour.”

In the back of his mind, during all the sprints and weight lifting, remains a desire to play baseball once again, a sense that he still has something to contribute.

“I’d go to Orioles Triple-A or someone’s Triple-A and see how I did,” he says.

A major factor in not attempting a comeback yet is the birth of Anderson’s first child, Brianna, who celebrates her first birthday in August.

“I would say I’d definitely be playing if I didn’t have a daughter or if I was in a situation where I was married to the mother or didn’t have joint custody like I do,” Anderson says. “That’s something that weighs on my mind all the time, what the right thing to do is concerning that.”

Anderson played for Triple-A Portland last season before he was released by the Padres, an organization that needed to clear roster space for young prospects and could not afford to carry a seasoned veteran.

“I had a blast playing in Portland, and I played well,” he recalls. “I really would have liked to have seen what would have happened if I had played that whole season. As much as desire, I know there are certain things I can do. Basically I can still play defense and run very well. If I’m consistent hitting, I’m a valuable player.”

Induction into the Orioles Hall of Fame will allow Anderson to reflect ever so briefly on a storied Orioles career. He’ll find satisfaction in seeing his name among such power hitters as Frank Robinson and Boog Powell on the home run and RBI lists. But he’ll take equal joy in knowing that he is the Orioles’ all-time steal leader who also racked up 64 triples. He’ll be proud that his mark on the record book will reflect, as friend Ripken puts it, his “rare combination of power and speed.”

And Anderson will only dwell on the past long enough for his girlfriend to appreciate that his career was far more than a 50-hit wonder.

“I think at some point,” he says, “I’ll try it one more time.”