On September 6, 1995, baseball star Cal Ripken Jr. broke a seemingly impossible record. He played in his 2,131st consecutive game, breaking Lou Gehrig’s decades-old mark.
I was a high school junior at the time, and an obsessed Baltimore Orioles fan. The run-up to the record-breaking night was amazing. The event itself was unforgettable. I probably shed more than 2,131 tears from the emotion of it all. The recent 30th anniversary ceremony helped fans like me relive that moment.
I regularly attended games with my dad and watched Cal up close. He was always worth watching, even when the team was bad. I saw his work ethic and his intensity. However, I also noticed his interactions with fans.
I was among the frequent autograph seekers standing along the first base side before games, hoping a player or coach would stop. Cal regularly took time to say hi, shake hands, and sign whatever was put in front of him.
I recall one rainy Sunday afternoon when the game was delayed. It was pouring cats and dogs, but I was among the few fans waiting for autographs. Ace pitcher Mike Mussina sat in the dugout, but didn’t want to stand out in the weather (I can’t blame him).
Soon after, Cal emerged from the team’s clubhouse and into the rain. A fan gave him an umbrella. He was infinitely patient and polite. He signed my baseball card. I thanked him and, as always, he said “You’re welcome.”
Maybe it was a small gesture. Perhaps his teammates dared him to go out into the downpour. Regardless, it meant a lot to me.
It’s About Showing Up
Before I knew about Cal, my favorite player was Eddie Murray. His nickname was “Steady Eddie” because he was so consistent. He produced at a high level, year after year. That concept stuck with me.
Cal’s consecutive game streak took things to another level. He showed up each day for his team and Orioles fans. It didn’t matter if he was hurt or sick. I’m sure he had sleepless nights like everyone else. He put his best foot forward, no matter the situation.
Now, I’m not an elite athlete. But those lessons from Cal and Eddie also apply to everyday life.
I strive to be that reliable, and I appreciate others who do the same. It’s a simple thing, but feels so rare in this world.
Take a moment and think about who and what you can rely on. Perhaps it’s the most valuable quality of them all.
Oh yeah, Cal went on to play another 501 consecutive games after #2,131. When he finally took a night off, I cried. I also cried as I watched his last game in 2001.
Maybe it’s because I knew I’d no longer have his consistent presence on summer days. The lessons have lasted a lifetime, though.