This past weekend, I drove to Cooperstown, NY to see my favorite Oriole of all-time, Cal Ripken, Jr., get inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.
It's strange: I've followed Cal's career from the start, when Orioles manager Earl Weaver switched him from third base to shortstop his rookie season (1982); I saw him play in his first World Series (against my other favorite team, the Phillies) and though I was distant most of his career, still got to see him play many times at Oriole Park at Camden Yards; I admired Cal's work ethic, his effortless skill and his willingness to learn and change as a ballplayer. As I emailed a friend the other day...
...I am tired of hearing first about THE STREAK when I hear Cal's induction talked about-written about etc. So often when Cal's detractors mention THE STREAK, they do so with a whiff of condescension: "How does just playing all those consecutive games make you a great player?" It's hard for me to believe that anyone who knows anything about baseball could actually say something like that, much less retain a position of journalistic credibility after uttering-writing it. Never mind that much of Cal's streak was also a CONSECUTIVE INNINGS streak (during the 2632 he played a string of 8243 innings in a row, which means that for approximately 915 straight games [Clarification: it was actually 904 games-mhs], he not only started, but was never pulled for a late-innings replacement, and certainly not sent in as a token pinch-hitter "just to keep the streak alive"). What the streak says is that for 2632 games, Cal's managers felt that with him in the lineup, their teams had the best chance of winning. What does that say about him as a player?
Also never mind the 3000 hits. That should be enough to get him in the Hall right there.
Also his DEFENSIVE PLAY. Again, I am reminded of Schmidt, as in: I forgot what a great defensive player he was until I saw those highlight reels at the Hall. Like Schmidt, Cal made it all look so easy... he was so good that he looked EFFORTLESS to the point of almost being blase.
The thing about Cal was: he was of course a talented physical athlete, but he was also thoughtful. But unlike Schmidt, who seemed to be thoughtful to a fault (it was his achilles heel in some ways) Cal used his thoughtfulness to ANALYZE his performance and the performance of those around him and change to improve his game and his team. I remember reading an article in the Orioles' magazine OUTSIDE PITCH where Cal talked about how he knew, as he got older and lost range, he had to position himself differently to "cheat a step" on certain players... no wonder he never seemed to have lost any range.
I also remember how, when I'd see Cal hitting after NOT having seen him for some time (I can't watch the Orioles on TV where I live now, so usually I'd only see him play every couple weeks when I'd go home to see my parents), he ALWAYS seemed to have made some adjustment in his stance: sometimes just raising the bat a little, or opening up a little, or widening his legs, or holding his hands higher. All in an effort to adapt and improve his play.
So there was all that... and yet... and yet....
Somehow I always had kind of a love-hate relationship with Cal, and I could never quite figure it out until this weekend.
My Oriole Fan roots go deep. I remember when I was little, in the hall closet of my parents' old house in Carlisle PA, there was a c.1964 Orioles cap which, even at age 6, was too small for me to fit into. I knew it was mine, but I couldn't remember wearing it.
In other words, before I could even remember being a baseball fan, I was wearing an Orioles cap. Like I said: deep roots.
I remember watching Brooks Robinson gobble up everything hit in his path during the team's 1970 World Series win over the Reds, and then, a year later, watching on TV as Jim Palmer hung his head on the mound while Roberto Clemente circled the bases behind him, leading the Pirates to the 1971 World Series championship.
I loved Brooks and Frank Robinson and Boog Powell and the four twenty-game winners (Palmer, Pat Dobson, Dave McNally and Mike Cuellar), but as that first group of favorites got traded (Boog, Frank, Davy Johnson), benched (Mark Belanger), retired (Brooks) and replaced by new players, I gradually lost interest in the Orioles.
When I came back to the team in the early 80s, there was Cal. He was the last in the original line of Orioles greats: players who played baseball the Oriole Way.
For as much as I enjoyed watching Cal play, as his career progressed and the Streak overtook other aspects of his play, I found myself becoming ANNOYED with him. Nay, angry. I loved him as a player, admired him as a person (he ran a literacy campaign, sponsored youth baseball... stayed late after games to sign autographs for fans... what WASN'T to like?), yet in a lot of ways I found myself HATING him.
It's strange: I've followed Cal's career from the start, when Orioles manager Earl Weaver switched him from third base to shortstop his rookie season (1982); I saw him play in his first World Series (against my other favorite team, the Phillies) and though I was distant most of his career, still got to see him play many times at Oriole Park at Camden Yards; I admired Cal's work ethic, his effortless skill and his willingness to learn and change as a ballplayer. As I emailed a friend the other day...
...I am tired of hearing first about THE STREAK when I hear Cal's induction talked about-written about etc. So often when Cal's detractors mention THE STREAK, they do so with a whiff of condescension: "How does just playing all those consecutive games make you a great player?" It's hard for me to believe that anyone who knows anything about baseball could actually say something like that, much less retain a position of journalistic credibility after uttering-writing it. Never mind that much of Cal's streak was also a CONSECUTIVE INNINGS streak (during the 2632 he played a string of 8243 innings in a row, which means that for approximately 915 straight games [Clarification: it was actually 904 games-mhs], he not only started, but was never pulled for a late-innings replacement, and certainly not sent in as a token pinch-hitter "just to keep the streak alive"). What the streak says is that for 2632 games, Cal's managers felt that with him in the lineup, their teams had the best chance of winning. What does that say about him as a player?
Also never mind the 3000 hits. That should be enough to get him in the Hall right there.
Also his DEFENSIVE PLAY. Again, I am reminded of Schmidt, as in: I forgot what a great defensive player he was until I saw those highlight reels at the Hall. Like Schmidt, Cal made it all look so easy... he was so good that he looked EFFORTLESS to the point of almost being blase.
The thing about Cal was: he was of course a talented physical athlete, but he was also thoughtful. But unlike Schmidt, who seemed to be thoughtful to a fault (it was his achilles heel in some ways) Cal used his thoughtfulness to ANALYZE his performance and the performance of those around him and change to improve his game and his team. I remember reading an article in the Orioles' magazine OUTSIDE PITCH where Cal talked about how he knew, as he got older and lost range, he had to position himself differently to "cheat a step" on certain players... no wonder he never seemed to have lost any range.
I also remember how, when I'd see Cal hitting after NOT having seen him for some time (I can't watch the Orioles on TV where I live now, so usually I'd only see him play every couple weeks when I'd go home to see my parents), he ALWAYS seemed to have made some adjustment in his stance: sometimes just raising the bat a little, or opening up a little, or widening his legs, or holding his hands higher. All in an effort to adapt and improve his play.
So there was all that... and yet... and yet....
Somehow I always had kind of a love-hate relationship with Cal, and I could never quite figure it out until this weekend.
My Oriole Fan roots go deep. I remember when I was little, in the hall closet of my parents' old house in Carlisle PA, there was a c.1964 Orioles cap which, even at age 6, was too small for me to fit into. I knew it was mine, but I couldn't remember wearing it.
In other words, before I could even remember being a baseball fan, I was wearing an Orioles cap. Like I said: deep roots.
I remember watching Brooks Robinson gobble up everything hit in his path during the team's 1970 World Series win over the Reds, and then, a year later, watching on TV as Jim Palmer hung his head on the mound while Roberto Clemente circled the bases behind him, leading the Pirates to the 1971 World Series championship.
I loved Brooks and Frank Robinson and Boog Powell and the four twenty-game winners (Palmer, Pat Dobson, Dave McNally and Mike Cuellar), but as that first group of favorites got traded (Boog, Frank, Davy Johnson), benched (Mark Belanger), retired (Brooks) and replaced by new players, I gradually lost interest in the Orioles.
When I came back to the team in the early 80s, there was Cal. He was the last in the original line of Orioles greats: players who played baseball the Oriole Way.
For as much as I enjoyed watching Cal play, as his career progressed and the Streak overtook other aspects of his play, I found myself becoming ANNOYED with him. Nay, angry. I loved him as a player, admired him as a person (he ran a literacy campaign, sponsored youth baseball... stayed late after games to sign autographs for fans... what WASN'T to like?), yet in a lot of ways I found myself HATING him.
Part of it was that, for all of his greatness as a player, his reliability, his nonchalant defensive brilliance (same as one of my other favorites, Mike Schmidt), the Orioles never got back to the World Series after his sophomore year. I think I kind of blamed him for that, even though it wasn't totally his fault. Like the Phillies did with Schmidt, I think that the Orioles made the mistake, after they won their championship, of trying to build AROUND him, and he wasn't really a LEADER that way. There was never a Pete Rose or Lenny Dykstra on the Orioles to play off Cal's Mike Schmidt demeanor.
But the other thing that made me mad at him was that, as I wrote above, Cal Ripken Jr. was the end of the line for me as far as my favorite players were concerned. Not only was he the last great product of the Orioles farm system steeped in the Oriole Way, but more than that, Cal Ripken Jr. was the last player I really loved who was OLDER THAN I WAS.
Cal's tragic flaw in my eyes was that he was the last link on the field to my youth, to my being a baseball fan as a kid. I was 18 during Cal's rookie season; from that point on, he always felt like my connection to being an innocent baseball fan: one of the last players I not only enjoyed watching play, but LOOKED UP TO in the way you look up to baseball players when you're a kid.
I got angry at him for growing older --how dare he grow older. How dare he have thinning hair, and go grey, and yegads, HAVE BACK PROBLEMS. I didn't want a hero who was growing old and clanky and grey and bald with a cranky back, like me, even if he WAS still an elite athlete.
And then, the final insult: HE RETIRED! How dare he abandon my game and my team!
Traitor! Like I said, love and hate.
Going to see Cal get inducted last weekend, I finally not only became conscious of all these conflicting feelings and thoughts, but I reconciled them. I realized that my "hate" and "anger" was really about ME GROWING OLDER. I forgave Cal for the mistake of being a human being, not a "legend" (as the irritatingly overused word puts it) and came to see all of the things I always LOVED about him, about his play ON the field, and his demeanor OFF the field. I felt happy and proud of him, happy that I got to see him play, proud that he played for my team.
I know that sounds corny, it doesn't make much sense, but as Bill Lee himself said, it's baseball. It's not SUPPOSED to make any sense.
I'm still processing the weekend and will probably write more about it, but for now, I have to say it, for the record: I love you, Cal, I'm proud of you, and proud to be an Orioles fan.
Congratulations, and thank you!
But the other thing that made me mad at him was that, as I wrote above, Cal Ripken Jr. was the end of the line for me as far as my favorite players were concerned. Not only was he the last great product of the Orioles farm system steeped in the Oriole Way, but more than that, Cal Ripken Jr. was the last player I really loved who was OLDER THAN I WAS.
Cal's tragic flaw in my eyes was that he was the last link on the field to my youth, to my being a baseball fan as a kid. I was 18 during Cal's rookie season; from that point on, he always felt like my connection to being an innocent baseball fan: one of the last players I not only enjoyed watching play, but LOOKED UP TO in the way you look up to baseball players when you're a kid.
I got angry at him for growing older --how dare he grow older. How dare he have thinning hair, and go grey, and yegads, HAVE BACK PROBLEMS. I didn't want a hero who was growing old and clanky and grey and bald with a cranky back, like me, even if he WAS still an elite athlete.
And then, the final insult: HE RETIRED! How dare he abandon my game and my team!
Traitor! Like I said, love and hate.
Going to see Cal get inducted last weekend, I finally not only became conscious of all these conflicting feelings and thoughts, but I reconciled them. I realized that my "hate" and "anger" was really about ME GROWING OLDER. I forgave Cal for the mistake of being a human being, not a "legend" (as the irritatingly overused word puts it) and came to see all of the things I always LOVED about him, about his play ON the field, and his demeanor OFF the field. I felt happy and proud of him, happy that I got to see him play, proud that he played for my team.
I know that sounds corny, it doesn't make much sense, but as Bill Lee himself said, it's baseball. It's not SUPPOSED to make any sense.
I'm still processing the weekend and will probably write more about it, but for now, I have to say it, for the record: I love you, Cal, I'm proud of you, and proud to be an Orioles fan.
Congratulations, and thank you!
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