When Sports Heroes Earn Their Designations

I use the word "hero" a bit carelessly, as do most people these days.  Perhaps it is best said that we have two separate meanings to it.  The "real" meaning is for those who put their safety or even their lives at risk to make something better for someone else, or to protect their lives.  The feeling of gratitude and respect that I get when I see someone in uniform, a service member, a cop, a fireman -- that tells me one meaning of the word.

I don't really object, per se, to the other common usage -- for sports figures and the like who succeed in their efforts on behalf of the local nine, or eleven, or whatever.  We get very emotionally invested in their efforts and do respect their --well, if not "heroism", then at least their personal training and long hours to help our team succeed.

So forgive me if I tell a story and occasionally toss out the word "hero."  Just know that I'm thinking of the second meaning and am not conflating a baseball player with any Bronze Star types.
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Back in 1993, I was invited to participate in the presentation of the Lou Gehrig Memorial Award.  For those less aware of it, the award has been given for 60 years by the Phi Delta Theta fraternity in honor of Gehrig (Columbia '25), who was a member of Phi Delta Theta, almost fifty years before I joined the MIT chapter.  The award recognizes a major-league baseball player for exemplary contributions in philanthropic and community activities.

I was selected to be part of the team because I was, of course, a Fraternity member and lived at the time in Marshall, Virginia, not terribly far from Baltimore, and a semi-annual anthem-singer for the Orioles.  As it turned out, the recipient of the 1992 award, to be presented at Camden Yards in Baltimore in 1993, was the shortstop Cal Ripken, Jr.

Ripken, by the end of the 1992 season, had played in about 1,800 consecutive games, on his way to surpassing Gehrig's own consecutive-games streak of 2,130.  His ultimate streak, ending voluntarily at 2,632 games, was so remarkable that the 502 games he played in a row after passing Gehrig would itself have been the 31st longest streak in baseball history.

But I digress.

The ten or so Phi Delts invited to the ceremony were allowed to bring a few guests or family members to the event, which was to be held on the field at Camden Yards prior to an early-season evening game scheduled for 7:00 PM.  There was to be a brief speech by the president of the Baltimore Alumni Club, and then Ripken might say something.  All this was to be at about 6:00 PM.

Those of us who arrived were promptly told of the first change in plans.  Ripken had been slumping some of late.  He had requested that the ceremony not be on the field, but in the auxiliary locker room below the stands, rather than that he receive an award in public while he wasn't doing well.  That was fine; the stadium was brand-new, and the locker room was spacious and very new, clean and well-appointed.

The next instruction from the attendants was less well-received.  Many of us -- and there were about 20 including guests -- had brought items to autograph.  I had invited my wife and two sons, and her brother, to join me there.  All (save me) had brought baseballs to have signed.  But the attendant explained that Ripken had had some issue with people fraudulently getting autographs and selling them, so he generally declined to sign, as policy, in those environments (as I recall, the explanation was something like that).  My kids were pretty dejected about that, but at least they figured they might meet him.

So it gets to be 6:00, and we're all ready -- but no Cal.  His father, Cal Ripken Sr., a coach then, came in and out a few times in uniform, but no "Jr".  The attendants came in and out ... 6:15 ... 6:30 ... no Cal.  At 6:45 we were assured that he was "on his way", but with ten minutes to game time, we had all pretty much prepared for disappointment.

But -- finally, at at least 6:55, in walks Cal Ripken Jr., big as life and very apologetic for being late, and with a very anxious "handler", a young lady constantly trying to speed him up ("Cal, the game is about to start ...").  We never knew what happened, but I remember thinking that regular game times, still usually 7:35 that year, were starting to be moved up to 7:00, and perhaps Ripken's daily routine was supposing a 7:35 start.  Who knows.

We figured we had next to no time with him, so we scrambled into our seats as the Club's president made a very brief statement of honor and presented the plaque.  Cal was very humbled, and paused to face the group and made a little speech himself -- I particularly remember him saying that "... this is the type of honor that is really valued by everyday players -- and I guess I'm an everyday player."  That got a big laugh, as the handler started to push him along, at least verbally.

Then he finished, and we hoped against hope that we might get to shake his hand, at least some of us might.  I was going to make sure my boys got that chance.

I didn't have to worry.  Cal concluded his remarks by saying "And if any of you have items you'd like autographed, please just line up and I'll sign for you."  First, I thought the handler's head was going to explode, and I imagine she thought she was going to get fired.  But sure enough, the whole 20 folks there lined up, and one by one Cal Ripken looked them in the eye, thanked them for coming with a smile, shook hands and signed items without a hint of a rush.

OK, so we all know it's not like they were going to start the game without him.  But he was supposed to be out on the field, and his demeanor didn't reflect that.  What it reflected was "You all have come out here to honor me, and I'm not going to be a jerk even though I made some kind of mistake and got here late.  I'm going to act as if nothing were wrong, I'm going to sign autographs, and I'm going to show myself worthy of the award and worthy of your efforts to come out to present it."

When Cal Ripken, Jr. walked out of the room (with his handler yapping at him and him paying no attention to her at all), the assembled Phi Delts and family members looked at each other not knowing what to say.  I expect we all have low expectations of the interactions we might have with celebrities, given that they can't possibly care all that much about us.  I have met more than my share of major-league players in years of singing the anthem before games, and I'll say politely that those guys truly span the niceness-to-miserableness spectrum.

Yet here had a major celebrity come in and treated us as if we were the ones deserving honor -- I can't stress that enough.

I do know that I will never let an unkind word about Cal Ripken Jr. pass in my earshot without finding a way to correct the statement and defend him.  I'd not met him before, and I have not spoken with him in the 22 years since, and I hope that the person underneath is still the same fellow who had the decency to act the way he did that night.

Granted, it's a bit discomfiting to use the word "hero" simply to describe the actions of someone doing what he should do but what we normally would not expect of his peers.  But I do remember what he did, and I do remember how I felt about the way he treated my children and others that night, and I do remember that they couldn't talk about much else for days.  I would truly love to hear his recollections of that evening, whatever they might be.

So yes, Cal Ripken Jr. can be a hero to me.  And I'm perfectly happy to say so.

Copyright 2015 by Robert Sutton
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