A heroic example

America needs the example of a real hero: a dedicated hero who enhances natural talents by hard work and takes pride in a craft; an unselfish hero who places team above self; a modest hero who shares the credit for wins and accepts the blame, sometimes unnecessarily, for losses; a sportsmanlike hero who wants his opponents to be at their best so that victory means something; a stoic hero who overcomes pain and frustration because making a good effort is what counts; a well-mannered hero who treats both admirers and detractors courteously; a hero who isn’t punch-drunk with presumed infallibility and who listens to sage counsel; a hero who knows the history of his profession and esteems those who practiced it well before him; an articulate hero who speaks in complete sentences, as if he had actually thought about what he’s about to say; an imperfect hero who nonetheless strives for excellence in all facets of life—in brief, a hero with a noble character, who exemplifies the classic virtues associated with heroism.

America, I give you Calvin Edwin Ripken, Jr.

On September 6, Baltimore’s Camden Yards was packed with 42,612 fans who wanted to honor Cal Ripken, the “Iron Man” who, thirty years before, had broken Lou Gehrig’s seemingly insurmountable record of 2,130 consecutive major league baseball games played. That sold-out crowd was there, not only because Cal had reinvented the position of shortstop, previously identified with physically slight men; not only because of his 431 home runs, 3,184 hits, and 1,695 runs batted in; not only because of his two Most Valuable Player awards and 19 All-Star Game appearances; and not only because he garnered 98.5% of the first ballot votes and was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2007 (who were the eight boobies who didn’t vote for Cal?). No, that crowd was there — and many, many more were watching on TV—because of Cal Ripken, the man.

Who then proceeded to demonstrate why he is such a respected, even beloved, figure.

In his brief remarks, he didn’t talk about himself a great deal. He talked about the enduring wisdom of his parents: craggy Cal Sr., a former Orioles coach and manager whose features might have been chiseled from a Louisville Slugger (“Take it one day at a time.”) and his quietly demanding mother Vi (“You better show up.”). On an evening dedicated to him and The Streak, he got the crowd to applaud another September 6 anniversary: September 6, 1996, when his longtime teammate and pal Eddie Murray hit his 500^th home run at Camden Yards. And then he waxed a bit homiletic.

The Streak, which eventually extended to 2,632 games, embodied what Cal believed were important principles that undergirded the approach to baseball once known as the “Oriole Way:” “We show up each and every day, we meet whatever challenge is thrown our way, we count on each other.” The Streak was not without its ups and downs, but it had taught him that “it’s in the bad times that you learn the most about yourself. Persevering and pushing forward are not just traits in baseball but in life … and that’s the real meaning of The Streak.”

It had often been said, Cal noted, that The Streak would last forever: that he was an immortal because no one would ever come close to 2,632 consecutive games played. (Matt Olson of the Atlanta Braves has the current longest active streak—761—and to top Ripken, he would have to play every game between now and the middle of the 2037 season.) But Cal was having none of it. His constant response to the claim that The Streak was unbreakable had been that, “If I could do it, someone else could do it.” And then came a coda that spoke volumes about the man: “I hope someone passes me someday and that I and all of you have the pleasure of seeing it.”

The game that followed the anniversary ceremony was itself remarkable: Jackson Holliday’s home run broke up Yoshinobu Yamamoto’s no-hitter with two outs in the ninth, the Dodger bullpen imploded, and five batters later, the Orioles had an utterly improbable 4-3 win. Even more remarkable, though, in this age of cheap and vulgar celebrity, is Cal Ripken. And the most remarkable thing about him, an acquaintance of his once told me, is that “he doesn’t realize just how good a man he is.”

The real heroes don’t. America has had such heroes in the past. America badly needs such men and women of character today. Thank you, Cal.