Take A Bow, Cal, Then Take Seat With Lou
Breaking Gehrig’s record could break some hearts.
On Sept. 6, one of baseball’s most revered records is due to fall when Cal Ripken Jr. takes the field at Camden Yards in Baltimore. The hometown crowd will stand on their seats and yell at the top of their proud lungs; the cameras of a hundred nations will roll; the cynical reporters from a thousand newspapers will pay respectful attention.
And what will Cal do? He’ll trot out to shortstop, tap his golden glove a couple of times and shyly tip his hat.
Anyone who doesn’t know who Ripken is will soon learn that he is the latter-day Iron Horse, the man who is doing what baseball fans thought would never be done: break the record set by Lou Gehrig in 1939 when he bowed out after playing in 2,130 games without taking a day off.
Most fans agree that in this era of strikes and self-interest, Ripken’s heroic dedication is one of the best things going in the game of baseball. And Cal, the son of a career baseball man, speaks - reluctantly, at most times - of giving something back to the game that has given him so much. But when you’ve had your nose to the grindstone for as long as Ripken has, it tends to make you a little short-sighted.
So here’s a tip, Cal. Just tie Gehrig’s record, don’t break it. You don’t have to beat Lou. Sure, you’ve dedicated your life to this goal for the last 14 years, but maybe it’s time to re-think it a little.
When Cal Ripken takes the field for his 2,131st consecutive game, what will the fans be cheering? It won’t be a game-winning homer in the bottom of the 10th. It won’t be one of his stellar defensive plays.
Breaking Gehrig’s record will be an act of simple stubborn pride. Granted, pride is the winning factor in many a contest. But even pride ought to get a rest once in 14 years. It’s pathological if you can’t put it down.
Breaking Gehrig’s record doesn’t help the Orioles win games. And poor Cal has, at times, become a victim of his obsession, forced to travel apart from his teammates, playing through slumps that would motivate other players to take a day off. Ripken’s considerable contributions to his team are clouded by the context of keeping his streak alive.
And then there’s Lou Gehrig’s disease. The Yankees slugger finished out his streak while suffering the beginning stages of amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, which killed him two years later. Today, there are thousands of Americans with ALS, living one day at a time, setting their own endurance records as they alertly watch their bodies waste away.
No doubt most ALS victims learn that a life is like a record. But Gehrig’s enduring mark has defied this natural order for more than 50 years. For anyone counting on a miracle, the fall of Gehrig’s record is not good news.
And what will become of Ripken? Someone will surpass him. His life’s work will be whittled away.
But it doesn’t have to be like that. Ripken can defeat the forces of time and take sports consciousness to a higher level.
The fans are cheering. Cal stands before the dugout in Camden Yards, the major-league field of dreams. He smiles and doffs his cap and soaks up the love of the crowd with humility. He turns toward the field and … then returns to the dugout.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there has been a change in the Baltimore lineup. Playing shortstop, number 2, Bret Barberie.”
Later, he says he’s proud to sit on the same bench with Lou Gehrig. Sure, somebody will come along and break their record. But Ripken will have transcended the mathematics of individual player stats. He will prove that the honor in showing up for work every day does not come from being better than your teammates; it’s about doing your best job. And he will pay tribute to the victims of ALS, reminding us that a healthy Gehrig might have played for several more years and that his own struggle can never compare to the one Gehrig faced in the last years.