The Night an Oriole Restored the Magic of Baseball

This week in history: Beating 2,130 consecutive games

Baltimore Orioles shortstop Cal Ripken Jr. (L) puts the tag on Detroit Tigers Duane Singleton on the steal attempt at second base in the third inning in Baltimore, June 6, 1996. Ted Mathias /AFP via Getty Images

On Aug. 2, 1994, Major League Baseball (MLB) came to a screeching halt. The players went on strike and the owners didn’t budge. A shortened season with no postseason was unbelievable, especially for fans too young to have experienced it. The strike continued until April 2, 1995, but many fans were too angry to care that the game was back.

Baseball has long been called America’s pastime. Its rich history stretches back into the Civil War era. It is a game of folklore, myth, and legend. The giants of the game like Ty Cobb, Rogers Hornsby, Babe Ruth, and Lou Gehrig, accomplished things mere mortals never could―or at least that is how fans prefer to remember it. That is how the magic of baseball was kept alive. Heading into the 1995 season, that magic was gone.

Cal Ripken Jr., shortstop for the Baltimore Orioles, belts one into short center field to make a double against the Seattle Mariners in Baltimore, Md. Mannie Garcia/AFP via Getty Images

The magic was gone because the game, at least from the fans’ perspective, had changed. Baseball had exchanged its “boys of summer” innocence for a “show me the money” cynicism. It was supposed to be about wanting to play the game and getting to play the game. Certainly, in the fans’ view that’s what Gehrig would have clamored for. Through injury and illness, he had played 2,130 games in a row, and never made unbending demands about money. In fact, the only thing that stopped the “Iron Horse” from playing was a terminal illness. The comparisons were glaring, if not somewhat unfair.

Nonetheless, baseball needed saving. It needed someone or something along the lines of a Gehrig moment to rescue it and remind the country that the pastime still existed in all its folklore, myth, and legend. Baseball would receive it in the form of Cal Ripken Jr., the long-time shortstop for the Baltimore Orioles.

Cal Ripken Jr. Arrives

Ironically, when Ripken came into the league in 1981, MLB would suffer a strike-shortened season, though it did end with a postseason. He would only be part of the team for a handful of games, not enough to be considered an official rookie. The following season, however, would be his first complete season. He played every game and was named Rookie of the Year.

Following his phenomenal debut season, he went on a tear and won the American League Most Valuable Player (MVP) and helped lead the Orioles to a World Series Championship, actually securing the final out. Ten years after his first season, he won another MVP. In his 20-year career, he was voted to the All Star team 19 times and was the All Star Game MVP twice. He won eight Silver Slugger Awards, two Golden Gloves, was twice the Major League Player of the Year, and to top it off, won the 1991 Home Run Derby.

Baltimore Orioles infielder Cal Ripken catches a ground ball in Sarasota, Fla. on the the first day of spring training. Peter Muhly /AFP via Getty Images

All of those accolades and awards created a baseball legend befitting the old greats—the ones fans only recall in black and white images. But just like those greats, there was something singular about him that stood out above everything he accomplished. That singular thing culminated during this week in history on Sept. 5 and 6, 1995. Ripken was about to do the impossible.

A Night to Remember

Before a sellout crowd at Camden Yards in Baltimore, Ripken played his 2,130th consecutive game, tying him with Gehrig. He hit a solo homerun to make the score 8-0. Fittingly, Ripken’s jersey number was 8.

In the following night, in the third game against the California Angels, there would be a moment to remember―for baseball fans and the game as a whole. The stars and legends were out, including sports hall of famers Hank Aaron, Frank Robinson, and Johnny Unitas, and President Bill Clinton and Vice President Al Gore. Among the 40,000 plus attendees was Joe DiMaggio, the legendary New York Yankee who had been a teammate of Gehrig.

“It’s taken Cal since May 30, 1982―14 years―playing inning after inning, game after game, week after week, month after month, season after season, and tonight, he’ll break the record,” said Orioles broadcaster Mel Proctor.

In the top of the first inning, the Orioles defensively took the field with Ripken first to sprint across the diamond to his position at shortstop. According to MLB rules, a game has to go at least five innings for it to be counted. In the fourth inning, Ripken tore into the baseball, hitting a homerun over the left field fence.

“Ripped to left. Oh my goodness he has done it again,” ESPN broadcaster Chris Berman exclaimed. “Did anyone expect Cal to limp into this streak? This record-breaking night?”

When the top of the fifth inning concluded, Ripken trotted off the field toward the dugout. He had officially broken Gehrig’s record. Ripken had never been a showy or bombastic athlete. The ovations were indeed expected. The curtain calls as well. Since his 2,108th game, four individual banners representing his streak hung from the warehouse wall across from Camden Yards’s right field. Another roar bellowed from the crowd when the “0” became “1.”

Ripken went over to the stands where his wife and two young children sat. He took off his jersey and gave it to his son. He wore a t-shirt his children had given him for that night which read “2,130+, Hugs and Kisses for Daddy.” He hugged his family, waved to the fans, and returned to the dugout.

Baltimore Orioles shortstop Cal Ripken (R) hands a ball back after signing it as he is besieged by autograph-seeking fans following the Orioles practice. Rhona Wise /AFP via Getty Images

The Lap

The applause continued for several minutes. Ripken came out of the dugout again, tapped his heart, waved, and strolled back to the bench. Five minutes had turned into nine minutes, and by this time the crowd was chanting “We want Cal!” At the 10th minute, his teammates, Rafael Palmeiro and Bobby Bonilla, forced him out of the dugout and convinced him to take a lap around the field.

“Rafael’s logic was, ‘Look, this game’s not going to get started unless you run around the ballpark.’ I was like, ‘I’m not doing that. I’m not doing that.’ I don’t know if you could read my lips, but I might’ve said, ‘That’s a dumb idea,’” Ripken said in an interview. “It turned out to be not so dumb.”

Cal Ripken, Jr. Exhibit at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, Cooperstown, New York, shortly after his induction in 2007. Public Domain

The idea became one of the most beautiful moments in baseball history. Somehow, among the tens of thousands of cheering fans, Ripken had turned the game from colossal sport to intimate gathering. Ripken jogged along the walls of the stadium high-fiving and shaking hands with fans, hugging some, laughing with many, and basking in the moment that in a very powerful way helped restore faith in the game and its players.

The ovation lasted an astounding 22 minutes and 15 seconds. When the game ended, the Orioles won 4-2. On the field, Oriole players and executives, Ripken’s family, and others, prepared to further honor him in front of the still packed stadium.

When the 80-year-old DiMaggio stood at the microphone, he told Ripken, “Wherever my former teammate, Lou Gehrig, is today, I’m sure he’s tipping his cap to you, Cal.”

The Iron Horse’s record had stood for 56 years, five months, and five days. It had now been broken by what the game now heralded as the “Iron Man.” Ripken reflected on Gehrig and what he thought the legendary Yankee might think of his accomplishment.

“Lou Gehrig is looking down on tonight’s activities. He isn’t concerned about someone playing one more consecutive game than he did,” Ripken said. “Instead, he’s viewing tonight as just another example of what is good and right about the great American game.”

The numbers on the Orioles's warehouse changed from 2130 to 2131 on Sept. 6, 1995, to celebrate Cal Ripken Jr. passing Lou Gehrig's consecutive games played streak. Public Domain

Ending the Streak

Ripken’s streak would continue for the next few seasons.

Twenty-five years ago this month, on Sept. 20, 1998, Ripken would walk into his manager’s office and utter two words: “It’s time.” The streak would come to an end at 2,632.

Cal Ripken, Jr., 1993. Rdikeman/CC BY-SA 3.0

“When I look back, I feel very proud,” he said after ending the streak. “Not necessarily of the number of the streak, but the fact that my teammates could always depend on me to be out there. The significance of the streak is not so much a number, but a sense of pride that this is my job and I went about it the way I thought I should.”

Ripken, much like Gehrig, embodied the way fans have always hoped players viewed their role in the “great American game.” Because of Ripken, fans were reminded that there was still magic in America’s pastime.

Fortuitously, when Ripken began his memorable lap, the clock turned 9:31 p.m. In military time, that’s 21:31. Then again, perhaps that wasn’t fortuitous. Perhaps it was just another moment to add to the folklore, myth, and legend of the game.