Profiles in Character: Cal Ripken, Jr.’s “Streak” was About More Than Baseball

On July 30, 2007, some 75,000 fans swamped the small town of Cooperstown, New York to honor Cal Ripken, Jr. on his induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame.*  His bronze plaque, unveiled that day, called him “Iron Man.”  It referenced his record of 2,632 consecutive games played for the Baltimore Orioles, eclipsing the “unbreakable” record of 2,130 set by Lou Gehrig. 

“Iron Man” has a deeper meaning in Ripken’s baseball career and for us.  Those in Cooperstown who admired the “streak” were applauding more than consecutive games played.  They were acknowledging his work ethic, passionate commitment to his job and team and his caring about future generations. 

As a youngster, Ripken wore his Little League uniform to bed at night to be ready for the next day’s game.  That commitment to preparation was a hallmark of his career.  He never missed batting practice or fielding ground balls before a game, even when stardom and pressures of the streak could have been an excuse.  “He wore a watch in batting practice to make sure everything ran on time.  That’s how organized and precise he was about everything he did,” recalled Phil Regan, his coach in 1995, the year Ripken broke Gehrig’s record.  In the days when most players relaxed their bodies in the off-season, Ripken trained hard so he’d be fully ready when spring training began.

His commitment to on-field play and his team were equally passionate.  “He just loved the game so much, everything about it, competing every night, even in a bad year,” said teammate Mickey Tettleton.  He wanted desperately to play every day. As he recalled about being a bench warmer when first called up to the Orioles in 1981, “if I ever got a chance, I’m never coming out.”  As history proved, he meant it.

Every Major League Player over the course of a career gets injured, sick and just plain worn out.  “He did play through some injuries and illnesses,” Orioles trainer Richie Bancells said. “There were days when he came to the park and had a fever . . . Where it would knock other people down, he felt ‘I can get through it.’”  Ripken once refused crutches to rehab from a severe ankle injury and still played in the next game.  “I’m an everyday player,” Ripken said.  “I’m counted on.  I’m playing . . . that’s what you do.  It was . . . an honorable thing to play through injuries.  Whatever it took, you were out there every day, and the team could count on you being there.”

As recounted in John Eisenberg’s The Streak, Ripken’s father, Cal Sr., also a player and later coach, “had taught him the sport’s sober code of conduct.  Respect the game. Let your performance do your talking. The game matters more than you do.”  Ripken was a fierce competitor, but without the self-centeredness of stardom.  “He very well could have been one of those bigger-than-life figures, Tettleton remarked, “but he was just one of the guys. . . He really respected the people he played against.  He never showed anyone up.”   As Bancells also put it, Ripken “saw himself through a blue-collar lens.  He equated playing shortstop every day to being a welder who went to work every day or a guy punching a time clock.”

As his fame and the streak grew, Ripken was besieged at the ballpark for autographs.  He would not leave the stadium until everyone standing in line got one. Sometimes this meant holding up the team bus, and occasionally until after midnight.  Being faithful to his fans no doubt also contributed to the 22-minute delay in the game on September 6, 1995, the night he broke Gehrig’s record.  The fans wanted to see and touch him.  While he was embarrassed with the attention, teammates pushed him to jog around the outfield stands so he could receive the love from fans that he had poured into his playing.

At his Cooperstown induction ceremony speech, Ripken recalled an event early in his career that shaped his character and approach to the game:

“I remember when Kenny Singleton showed me a tape of me throwing my helmet down after a strikeout and all he said was, ‘How does that look?’ I remember learning about a family who saved their money to come to Baltimore to see me play. I got thrown out in the first inning and their little boy cried the whole game . . . I vowed to act better.

As the years passed, it became clear to me that kids see it all…Whether we like it or not as big leaguers, we are role models.  The only question is will we be positive or will it be negative.”

Cal Ripken, Jr. set a high bar for himself.  He felt he owed it to his Dad, his team, his fans and himself.  That he met that high bar demonstrates the value and power of character.

* Tony Gwynn of the San Diego Padres was also inducted in the ceremony.

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