Starr Gazing: Hats Off To Cal

There is a flip side to this unseemly taste for knocking 'em down when they're at the top. First you have to build them up to a height from which the fall is truly perilous. So when a star suddenly elevates his or her game, they quickly become imbued with far more character than might have been obvious in previous incarnations. A recent case in point was Allen Iverson, whose exceptional effort in the NBA playoffs pushed many of us into to revisionist acrobatics. What we actually saw in Iverson was extraordinary talent bolstered by exemplary competitiveness wrapped, after five seasons in the league (and five years of mortal combat with his coach, Larry Brown), in a more mature game. But we kept confusing all that for character, something that, from every indication, Iverson still lacks. You can't erase all those "bitches" and "faggots" in your repertoire by scoring 40 points and hugging your daughter.

But Ripken had no such conspicuous public blemishes. We had to work overtime manufacturing sins like other-hotelness-sins, mind you, in theory only. But Ripken's timely announcement gives us several delirious months, in the midst of one of the best baseball seasons in memory, to make it up to him. Please let me lead the chorus of praise before the din gets to great.

Cal Ripken is one of the three greatest shortstops in history, ranking somewhere in Cooperstown amid Honus Wagner and Ernie Banks. (And he'll get there on his first crack, in five years side by side with another lovely ballplayer, Tony Gwynn, who has also announced his retirement at season's end.) The consecutive-games record Ripken broke is the greatest baseball career mark I have been privileged to witness. Better than Hank Aaron's home runs. Better than Pete Rose's hits. Better than Nolan Ryan's K's. (Sometimes I think I saw Cy Young's 511th, and that was swell, too.) Those marks are unfathomable to those of us who could never hit a curveball, or throw one either.

What distinguishes Ripken's record for me is that it is somehow fathomable. Or at least we all can understand exactly what it represents. Most of us go to work. Almost every day. But who among us can match Ripken's passion and devotion? I confess to having stayed home with a hacking cough, a bruised shoulder and, even, a badly bruised ego. Cal never stayed home. He showed up and he excelled, day in and day out. Ripken will retire with more than 400 home runs, 3,000 hits and a host of fielding records including fewest errors by a shortstop-a mind-boggling three-in a full season. Cal was a privilege for a baseball fan to watch. Today I get to say my thank-you. The rest of you have a whole half season left to say yours.

© 2001