At 2:45 a.m. on Sept. 7, 1995, Orioles nonstop shortstop Cal Ripken Jr. headed through the tunnel from the Camden Yards clubhouse to the parking lot. He high-fived two stadium cleanup workers, then hopped into the back of a Lincoln Town Car, leaving Oriole Park as the greatest Iron Man in major league history. Three policemen on motorcycles escorted him out of the lot, roaring past a cluster of screaming fans and one older gentleman holding a sign that read:
"Cal, Thank You For Saving Baseball."
Thirty years ago, Ripken did precisely that, reinvigorating a game severely damaged by a work stoppage that cancelled the 1994 World Series. That stirring night in Baltimore was among the most powerful, inspirational and important nights in the game's history, an unforgettable night that left men -- including Ripken -- women and children in tears. It was more than a baseball story: It was a story of discipline, commitment, loyalty, perseverance, toughness and greatness, attributes that also defined the amazing Lou Gehrig, whose record of 2,130 consecutive games played had stood for 56 years.
"That whole night was surreal, those moments were so glossy and good, it was like you were watching yourself, it felt like an out-of-body experience,'' Ripken said this week, days ahead of the game's 30th anniversary. "Thirty years later, it's really interesting that -- maybe it's because I'm 65 -- I've always been someone who didn't see the value in looking back, living in the past, like going to your high school reunion. Focus on now. Move forward. Looking back, I learned it's not so much the events, it's the experiences you go through, and the people you go through them with.''
Ripken's unfathomable record, the most unbreakable in baseball, is even more impressive given the way the game is played today, where healthy scratches are common and players are rested just to try to keep them off the injured list. Since Ripken's streak ended voluntarily -- "It was time to change the subject,'' Ripken said at the time -- at 2,632 in 1998, the longest consecutive game streak was 1,152 by shortstop Miguel Tejada from 2000 to 2007.
The longest active streak, through Wednesday, is 761 by Braves first baseman Matt Olson. He would have to play every game for the next 11½ seasons to equal Ripken's record, which would require him to play every day at age 43.
Ripken's 1995 season, in which he broke Gehrig's record, began with a road series in Kansas City. The night before Opening Day, many of the Orioles went to a party at the home of former Orioles pitcher Rick Sutcliffe, who had a house in the area. Sutcliffe had a basketball hoop in the yard. Ripken, the most competitive man on the planet, took part in several 2-on-2 games, dunking several times. Ripken craved playing the game -- any game -- playing it properly and, of course, winning.
The '95 season included a stop in every road city to talk about The Streak, something that initially made Ripken tremendously uncomfortable. He eventually realized, though, that in the aftermath of the strike, the game needed something to feel good about. That season, Ripken made it his mission to sign as many autographs for the fans as possible. There were nights in which he signed for 90 minutes after games.
"I remember the strike and the cancellation of the World Series, I remember the lockout in spring training that shortened that [1995] season, I remember the feeling of the ugly side of baseball, and the fans always get hurt by that,'' Ripken said. "Coming into spring training, the first thing you think of is, 'How do you repair that?' How do you say you're sorry?' Many times, it is through the autograph. That's how I communicated with it. The idea of staying afterwards to sign, that turned out to be a really cool thing. Maybe it's because I'm an introvert. All of a sudden, you get a chance to talk to people. That became a thing.''
The march to 2,131 was a seasonlong thing, but momentum gathered in earnest on Sunday, Sept. 3, during a game against the Seattle Mariners at Camden Yards. When the number draped on the side of the warehouse beyond the right field wall at Oriole Park changed from 2,127 and 2,128 after the game became official in the fifth inning, every Mariners player stood on the top step of the visiting dugout and joined the sellout crowd cheering for Ripken. The next night, against the then-California Angels, Ripken had three hits, and he had two more the night after that, including a home run each night. It was the first time in more than four years that he had homered in three straight games.
"I was in the on-deck circle when that banner came down in the fifth inning,'' said Angels second baseman Rex Hudler after the game No. 2,129 on Monday. "I almost started to weep. I had to grab myself and say, 'Hud, not now, man. The next two days are for crying.' I can't imagine playing a week straight let alone 13 years straight.''
Thirty years later, Ripken said, "The reaction of Rex [a former teammate] was really good. He always joked that he was drafted before me. I sent him over an [autographed bat] that said that. That was the coolest.''
Angels infielder Rene Gonzales said that night, "I was here [as an Oriole] when he had the consecutive innings streak (8,243, which ended in 1987). I knew he'd get this record. This was nothing for him. He's an alien.''
The next night, when the number of the warehouse changed from 2,129 to 2,130 -- matching the record set by Gehrig -- the fans cut loose with an ovation that stopped play for 5 minutes, 20 seconds. Ripken waved his cap to the crowd, looked at his sobbing family, and patted his heart to signify how hard it was pounding.
"There were several moments,'' Ripken said after the game, "that I had to hold back tears.''
After 2,130, there was a 30-minute postgame ceremony on the field. Among others, actor Tom Selleck, then-San Antonio Spurs center David Robinson and local legend quarterback Johnny Unitas presented gifts to Ripken and his wife, Kelly. The most moving presentation was made by Pirates pitcher Jim Gott, who, as a rookie, was the starting pitcher for the Blue Jays against the Orioles on May 30, 1982 -- the day Ripken's streak began. Gott had given up one hit in six innings for his first major league victory that day, and he had kept the game ball. But when he walked onto the field that Tuesday night, he gave the ball to Ripken, who was floored by the gesture.
"You don't have to do this,"' Ripken said.
"I want to," Gott said.
Three hours after the game, Ripken undressed at his locker, two attendants tagging and bagging every piece of clothing he peeled off, preparing them for delivery to trophy cases at the Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, and elsewhere. "I'm keeping this,'' Ripken said, flipping his protective cup into his locker.
He left the clubhouse at 1:48 a.m. It was then that he started to feel overwhelmed by the experience, he said, and he barely slept the night before 2,131. "I was sweating so much, the sheets and comforter were soaking wet," Ripken said. He said he thought he might have a virus but decided that it was just a case of "nerves.''
At 8:05 on the morning of 2,131, Ripken took his 5-year-old daughter, Rachel, to her first day of kindergarten, then he took a nap. The drama mounted when he arrived at the ballpark to learn that among those in attendance that night would be President Clinton and Vice President Gore, Joe DiMaggio, Hank Aaron, Brooks Robinson and Frank Robinson.
Orioles journeyman infielder Jeff Huson, who was platooning at third base with Jeff Manto, was thrilled about starting that night. Huson had been tracking the Angels' rotation for three weeks trying to figure out if a right-hander might be starting against Baltimore on Sept. 6.
"I thought I had no chance because the Angels had four left-handers in their rotation,'' he said. "Then I saw that Shawn Boskie [a right-hander] came off the disabled list. Then I saw on 'SportsCenter' last Friday night that he would be starting on Sept. 6. I jumped up in the air and said, "Yes!''
In the stands behind the plate was Cal's younger brother, Billy, a former Oriole who spent the 1995 season with the Cleveland Indians' Triple-A team in Buffalo. Billy was given permission to leave his team even though it meant missing Buffalo's opening postseason game. After sitting in the family's private box high above the field, Billy moved to the front row of seats for the historic occasion because, he said, "I wanted to sit down near the field. Tonight, I was more in amazement.''
The score was 1-1 when Cal came to bat in the fourth inning. Billy called to him and shook his brother's hand. Ripken crushed a 3-0 pitch from Boskie deep into the left-field seats, prompting the iconic call from ESPN's Chris Berman: "Oh my goodness, he did it again!''
"I will never forget that,'' Billy said. "I shook his hand before he hit that homer.''
No one who was at the game, or even watched it on TV, will ever forget what happened a short time later, following the top of the fifth, when the game became official. At 9:20 p.m., play was stopped. The song "Day One" poured through the P.A, black and orange balloons were released, and everyone in the Orioles bullpen raced in to stand at the dugout with Ripken and the rest of the team as the number on the warehouse turned from 2,130 to 2,131. The cheer that went up was perhaps the loudest in the history of Baltimore sports. A fan raised his sign to the sky:
"Today, I Consider Myself The Luckiest Man On The Face Of The Earth."
With several Orioles players wielding their video cameras, Ripken emerged from the dugout, took off his cap and waved to the fans. Then he walked over to the front row of seats behind the plate and hugged his wife, Kelly and children, Rachel and her 2-year-old brother, Ryan. He took off his jersey and cap and presented them to his kids.
"That's when I lost it,'' Huson said. "Every father knew what that meant."
There were four more curtain calls before Bobby Bonilla pulled Ripken out of the dugout and made him circle the field along the warning track. As he ran along the track, Ripken slapped hands with fans who were leaning over the railing. When he got to center field, he jumped, balancing on his stomach at the top of the fence, and high-fived a few fans who leaped from their seats in the bleachers. Along the way, he waved and pointed at fans he recognized. When he got to the third-base coaching box, he was intercepted by umpires Larry Barnett and Al Clark, both of whom shook his hand. Then he ran to the top step of the visitors dugout where all the Angels players were standing and clapping. He hugged hitting coach Rod Carew.
"It was awesome. In the end, the players are all in this together,'' Ripken said. "And I really love Rod Carew."
Angels catcher Jorge Fabregas, who was behind the plate, went over to shake Ripken's hand.
"I was just so, so honored to be out there," Fabregas said.
Play was stopped for 22 minutes. If there has been a more joyful, emotional 22 minutes in baseball, no one could remember it.
"I kept coming out of the dugout, and it was like, 'We won't get this game started until you take a lap around the ballpark,''' Ripken said. "The funny part was, Bobby Bo with his big baritone voice, his size, he was an intimidating influence. He pushed me out [of the dugout]. It was something that I really didn't want to do, but I reluctantly went out there and it turned out to be one of the best human moments on the field.
"What surprised me, when you play, you focus on what is happening around you in the dugout and on the field, but you really don't look in the stands too often. All of a sudden I was recognizing people who had been there for a while. People I knew by name. It just made it super personal. This wonderful celebration of the whole stadium.''
After the fifth inning, after the 22-minute tour, my writer friend Bob Elliott came to me with tears in his eyes.
"OK,'' he said, "I get it.''
The Orioles won the game 4-2 -- Ripken added a single in the eighth inning to his earlier home run -- and speeches followed.
"I've never witnessed anything like that,'' said Cal Ripken Sr., his beloved father. "He had a tremendous burden, and he handled it so well. I just marveled at how he was able to do everything that he did [during the fifth-inning celebration] and could still go out and do what he did in the game.''
Ripken wrote his own speech, and miraculously got through it without crying. Most people that night did not.
Surely there will be tears from Ripken and many others Saturday night at Oriole Park at Camden Yards when the 30-year anniversary of 2,131 is celebrated. Ripken hasn't changed much after all these years: He is still wildly competitive about everything, relentlessly prepared, adamant about doing things properly and always winning, no matter the task. Predictably, he took no credit for The Streak bringing baseball back from the strike of 1994, but 30 years has given him added perspective. When asked what he remembered most about that amazing night in 1995, he chuckled.
"My daughter called me the other day and said, 'Happy Anniversary! You and I have that anniversary in common,'" Ripken said. "I momentarily forgot that her first day of school was the day of 2,131. It was pretty cool taking her to her first day of school on the same day. The whole night was pretty cool."