St. Cal?

Dave Paisley

While hanging out with some chums at the Mariner-Oriole game last Sunday, I was exposed for the first time to rabid, unswerving worship of Cal Ripken by a segment of the Mariner bleacher faithful. The whole episode was triggered by a nearby fan, anything but a Cal worshiper, who was suggesting loudly and often that Cal take a seat once in a while. The outcry that this precipitated took me somewhat by surprise.

We all know that Cal Ripken "saved baseball" in 1995, by managing to never take a sick day in 13 years. A friend sitting with me was surprised when I mentioned how poor Cal has become offensively and that maybe it wouldn't hurt him to call in sick once in a while. Well, it was as if I'd suggested we shoot his family dog.

My friend suggested that my ability to enjoy the game has been clouded by statistical worship. I countered by suggesting that his ability to spot a decent player was clouded by St. Cal's saintly halo. I liken this to the Princess Diana effect. Di spent 99% of her waking hours as a royal party girl. However, the remaining 1% was spent kissing babies and shaking hands with AIDS patients while being videotaped from 327 different angles, all of which got on the 10 O'Clock news. That's how she ended up with this larger-than-life saintly reputation, despite a private life that would put Madonna to shame.

Cal has no such behind-the-scenes baggage, but the halo effect is very similar. It's possible that I might have been duped by the Ripken hype if I wasn't more adept at reading behind the box score.

"But he's hitting .276!" they say.

Well, sure, with no power and a distinct reluctance to get to ball four most of the time.

"But he's got two MVPs!" they say.

Well, yes, but in two years that are completely out of line with the rest of his career, especially the freak '91 year.

"But he redefined the shortstop position!" they say.

In a way, perhaps, but he isn't playing shortstop now - he's playing third base, where he's currently about the twentieth-best 3B in the majors and declining fast. In fact, Cal has been a below-average offensive performer for four of the last six years, and the other two were barely above average. Another three years of this, and he'll retire at forty with a very mediocre career behind him. I dare say that if you took away The Streak, he might have trouble making it into the Hall of Fame on his playing merits alone.

He isn't remotely close to the best offensive shortstop in the history of the game (much to the surprise of the Baltimore Sun beat writers, no doubt.) Honus Wagner and Arky Vaughan (to name just two) are way ahead of him relative to their peers, and it's very likely that at least two of the Rodriguez/Garciaparra/Jeter triumvirate will far exceed his offensive accomplishments.

In fact, the player he is beginning to resemble more and more is Alan Trammell, with a few more homers. While Trammell is certainly a possible for the HoF, he's no lock. And if it wasn't for The Streak, Cal wouldn't be, either.

So, if you worship at the altar of St. Cal, sorry to burst your bubble, but maybe you can atone for my heresy by lighting a candle for him.

Preferably Ben-Gay scented.

 

about the author

Dave Paisley is currently spending his time hanging out with Salman Rushdie. You can send him mail at drdjp@strikethree.com, where it will be scanned for death threats before being 128-bit encrypted and forwarded to a secret location.