But rather than take offense at the nickname, Rose adopted it, believing it aptly described his game. He always hustled, and he always played. In his debut season with the Reds in 1963, he batted .273, missed just five games, and was voted the National League Rookie of the Year. Two years later, he batted .312, made the All-Star team for the first time, and played in every game of a season for the first time.
With the same thick chest and sturdy legs that were a boon to his father on the football field, Rose was built to handle the rigors of a long season without taking breaks. From 1963 through 1971, he sat out just three games per season on average while becoming one of baseball’s signature players, a two-time batting champion who routinely surpassed 200 hits in a season. “Charlie Hustle” was a perennial All-Star on Cincinnati teams that won three division titles and two National League pennants. In 1973, he batted .338 and was voted the league’s Most Valuable Player.
His all-out style kept him from building a lengthy playing streak, however. In 1968, after becoming an outfielder, he tore up his hand trying to make a leaping grab at the wall and missed some games. In 1970, he ran over catcher Ray Fosse while scoring the winning run in the All-Star Game, fracturing Fosse’s shoulder and knocking himself out with a bruised knee.
Somewhat counterintuitively, Rose did not routinely begin playing full seasons of games until he was in his 30s. He started in 1974, with the Reds on the cusp of greatness as the “Big Red Machine.” The next year, he hit .317 and again played in every game as the Reds won a division title and the National League pennant and defeated the Boston Red Sox in the World Series. In 1976, as the Reds repeated as World Series champs, Rose played a full season for the third straight year, hitting .323.
By the start of the 1978 season, he was closing in on 700 straight games. It was the longest consecutive-game streak in Reds history, and Rose was proud of it. “I’ve always thought the two things that mark a good athlete are consistency and durability, and that’s why I like to play every day,” he would say later.
But on May 7, 1978, two days after collecting his 3,000th career hit, he came down with a virus and was out of manager Sparky Anderson’s lineup for the second game of a doubleheader against Montreal. The Reds fell behind early, then rallied to take a 4–2 lead. Anderson told Rose to get ready to bat for the pitcher in the bottom of the seventh, a maneuver that would extend his streak. But when the pitcher, Doug Bair, retired the Expos in order in the top of the seventh, Anderson let Bair bat and kept Rose on the bench. The fans booed and chanted, “We want Pete!” They knew his streak was on the line. But Anderson prioritized keeping a hot pitcher on the mound and winning the game over Rose’s streak, which ended that night at 678 straight games.
“It’s nice to have a streak like that, but it doesn’t mean that much,” Rose told reporters after the game. “Sparky told me, ‘I’m glad these streaks of yours are coming to an end or you’re going to get me lynched.’”
Rose was back in the lineup the next day, and a month later he singled twice in a win over the Cubs on June 14, beginning what would become another of his signature achievements: a 44-game hitting streak, the game’s longest since Joe DiMaggio’s in 1941. Though Rose fell short of DiMaggio’s mark of 56, his streak equaled Wee Willie Keeler’s National League record, set in 1897.
Rose never denied that he wanted to set individual records. When reporters interviewed him, he always knew his statistics, how he ranked among the league leaders, and where he stood on various all-time lists. He had accomplished a lot. In 1978, shortly after his famous hitting streak, he became a free agent and signed a four-year deal with the Philadelphia Phillies worth $3.2 million, making him the highest-paid athlete in team sports, quite a feat for a 37-year-old.
Having never won a World Series, the Phillies signed Rose hoping he could put them over the top. They had a nucleus of veteran talent that had recently earned several division titles but had always fallen short in the postseason. In his first year, Rose hit .331 and played in every game, but the Phillies finished fourth in the National League East, a major disappointment. The next year, Rose again played in every game, and though his .282 average was his lowest since his rookie year, the Phillies finally realized their dream, winning the World Series.
In 1981, Rose led the National League in hits in a season shortened by a labor dispute. He turned 40 that year, though, and his talents began to ebb. His average dropped to .271 in 1982 and sank even lower early in 1983. Paul Owens, the Phillies’ manager, still played him every day, but it took a handful of pinch-hitting appearances and late-game defensive stints to keep his consecutive-game streak going.
As usual, Rose knew his numbers. “If it wasn’t for me missing a game with the flu in 1978 when I was with the Reds, I’d be close to 1,400 straight games,” he told reporters. “I had 678 straight that time. I’ve only missed nine games since the 1970 All-Star Game, only three because of injury.”
On August 24, 1983, Rose sat out the early innings of a game against the Giants in San Francisco. With the score tied in the bottom of the ninth, Owens told him to get ready to hit in the top of the 10th. But the Phillies’ ace pitcher, Steve Carlton, gave up a home run that ended the game, also ending Rose’s streak at 745 straight games.
Asked by reporters if he was disappointed to see his streak end, Rose nodded. “Sure, it meant something to me,” he said. “I’ve always come to the ballpark ready to play, for 21 years.”
But he was not upset with Owens. “They just didn’t need me today,” he said with a trace of melancholy.
His bad luck.
Brooklyn third baseman George Pinkney, “tender and high-bred” according to one sportswriter, was the greatest Ironman of the nineteenth century.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
A sore arm in 1897 ended Steve Brodie’s consecutive-game streak just shy of the all-time record.
He probably did not even know he was close.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
Joe “Ironman” McGinnity earned his nickname for pitching both ends of doubleheaders, not for building a consecutive-game streak.
George Eastman House/Getty Images
Everett “Deacon” Scott brought the idea of baseball endurance into the limelight. Lou Gehrig broke his record in 1933.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
Early in his Yankees career, Lou Gehrig admired his larger-than-life teammate, Babe Ruth. But that changed.
MPI/Getty Images
Gehrig conveyed the classic image of strength in the years before weight training and performance-enhancing drugs sculpted inhuman physiques.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
Gehrig is helped off the field after getting knocked out by a fastball to the forehead during a 1934 exhibition game in Norfolk, Virginia.
Bettmann/Getty Images
Gehrig receives a trophy in a midgame ceremony after breaking Everett Scott’s consecutive-game record in St. Louis in 1933.
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Gehrig peers out from the dugout at Briggs Stadium in Detroit on May 2, 1939, the day he took himself out of the lineup, ending his Ironman streak at 2,130 games.
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Gehrig, head bowed and belt cinched tight around his gaunt waist, listens to a speech on July 4, 1939, after which he stated that he was “the luckiest man on the face of the earth.”
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Gus Suhr, a first baseman for the Pittsburgh Pirates, held the National League consecutive-game record for 22 years.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
The Washington Senators’ Eddie Yost played in 829 straight games, taking a few shortcuts along the way.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
Stan Musial set the National League consecutive-game record in 1957 despite
having not played in a game in Pittsburgh two years earlier.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
Even while setting the National League consecutive-game record, Billy Williams wondered aloud why he was doing it.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
Pete Rose compares with Ripken and Gehrig as an Ironman in several statistical categories, but was not known for his endurance.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
Unlike Ripken, Steve Garvey said he wanted to break Gehrig’s Ironman mark. He fell short, but has held the National League record since 1983.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
When Cal Ripken Sr. (center) managed Cal Ripken Jr. (left) and Bill Ripken (right) in Baltimore in 1987, he became the first major league skipper to manage two of his sons.
Bettmann/Getty Images
Sliding into Ripken at second base was “like sliding into a tree,” one player said. His size and strength made him a candidate to play every day.
The Sporting News/Getty Images
Eddie Murray (center) exchanges a celebratory hand-slap with Ripken. He convinced his younger teammate that it was important to play every day.
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Cal Ripken Jr. exchanges greetings with fans on his “victory lap” around Camden Yards on the night he broke Gehrig’s record.
Brian Bahr/AFP/Getty Images
The day after Ripken broke Gehrig’s record, he paraded through the streets of Baltimore on a float.
The Sporting News/Getty Images
Consecutive-game streaks have all but disappeared, but several players in the new century, such as Miguel Tejada, have possessed the urge to play every day.
National Baseball Hall of Fame Library; Cooperstown, New York
13
Ripken
A GUIDING PHILOSOPHY
In the bottom of the sixth inning of the Orioles’ first game in 1989, Cal Ripken stepped to the plate to face Roger Clemens, Boston’s ace right-hander. The Orioles trailed, 3–1, and a comeback against Clemens seemed unlikely, but the packed house at Memorial Stadium still stood and encouraged Ripken with a roar. There was one out in the inning, with runners on second and third. It was exactly the kind of situation Eddie Murray had thrived in for a decade as Baltimore’s cleanup hitter, but Murray was gone now, having been traded to the Los Angeles Dodgers during the off-season. Ripken batted cleanup for the Orioles.
Murray’s departure was not a shock. His relationship with the organization had deteriorated after Edward Bennett Williams publicly criticized his work ethic shortly after his mother and sister died suddenly in 1986. Murray demanded and received an apology from the outspoken lawyer, but the marriage between the Orioles and one of their finest players was crumbling. To enhance their rebuilding effort, they traded him for two relief pitchers and a hot shortstop prospect.
Now, just six innings into the season, Ripken needed to deliver as the team’s new cleanup hitter. He took Clemens’s first pitch for a strike, worked the count to two balls and two strikes, and dug in. Clemens fired a fastball, hoping to send Ripken back to the dugout. Ripken put his thick torso in motion, swung hard, and hit the ball squarely. It flew off his bat in a high arc toward left field. When it cleared the outfield fence, the fans loosed a shattering roar. With one swing, Ripken had put the Orioles ahead.
As Ripken circled the bases, it was difficult for him not to take stock of his circumstances. After slogging through turbulence on and off the field in 1988, he was in a better place now. He had married his longtime girlfriend during the off-season. His new contract tied him to the Orioles for the next three years. And in a surprise that delighted him, the Orioles had rehired his father as the third-base coach under manager Frank Robinson. With great joy, Ripken gave Senior’s hand a firm slap as he rounded third on his way around the bases following his home run off Clemens.
Little was expected of the Orioles in 1989. They were coming off a disastrous season, and their best hitter now played for the Dodgers. But a crop of young players and a can-do vibe infiltrated their clubhouse. Mickey Tettleton emerged as a productive slugger, helping ease the effects of Murray’s departure. A pair of young outfielders, Brady Anderson and Mike Devereaux, chased down line drives headed for the gaps. A left-handed starter, Jeff Ballard, deftly mixed speeds and won 18 games. Gregg Olson, a young closer, embarrassed hitters with a nasty curveball.
Improbably, after losing 107 games the year before, the Orioles shot to the top of the American League East early in the season and maintained the lead through much of the summer. Ripken’s role in the resurgence did not unfold exactly as expected. After hitting a home run in the first game, he hit only two more in all of April and May. He still drove in his share of runs, but Tettleton replaced him as the cleanup hitter, and his average slipped as the season wore on. His defense emerged as the standout aspect of his game.
Though he lacked the quickness of most shortstops, he had sure hands, a strong arm, and, most important, an analytical approach that turned defense into a science. Before every pitch, he took into account the batter, the pitcher, the count, and the pitch call, and positioned himself where he thought the ball was most likely to travel if hit. Sometimes he even factored in the weather, such as whether the wind was carrying balls.
He never wrote down his thoughts or findings, just reacted instinctively inning after inning and game after game. Few shortstops were in the right position more consistently. He committed just 8 errors in 1989, down from 21 the year before. The only reason he did not win a Gold Glove, given to the best defensive player in the league at each position, was that Toronto’s brilliant shortstop, Tony Fernandez, committed just 6 errors.
Putting his knowledge and instincts to use with the manager’s blessing, Ripken also quarterbacked the infield and sometimes even positioned the Orioles’ young outfielders before a pitch. “There was never a doubt that I wanted him on the field at all times,” Frank Robinson said, “and believe me, so did our pitchers and everyone else on the team.”
But while his defense was superb, his offensive production waned as the Toronto Blue Jays rallied and challenged the Orioles for the division title. In September, when his team needed him most, Ripken hit .198. Toronto overtook the Orioles and held on to win the division.
Ripken ended the season with 21 home runs and 93 runs batted in, solid production, but his final average of .257 reflected his ongoing struggle with consistency. In his first three years with the Orioles, he had hit .297 and averaged 27 home runs and 99 runs batted in. But his average was down 40 points and his production totals were lower in his three most recent seasons. He was not yet 30, still in his prime, but his years as an offensive force were becoming a distant memory.
Nonetheless, Robinson, like Weaver, Altobelli, and Senior, always found a rationale for playing Ripken every day, regardless of how the shortstop hit. By the end of the 1989 season, Ripken had played in 1,250 straight games.
“It’s true he wasn’t hitting well for quite a period of time, but what I liked about Cal was he could help us in other ways, especially with his defense,” Frank Robinson recalled. “He made his teammates around him better, especially in the infield. He was into the game. He kept everyone on their toes, told them how to play certain hitters. He helped us win games in ways other than just offense. I never considered resting him.”
On August 7, 1989, a sweltering Monday night, 36,000 fans came to Memorial Stadium for the Orioles’ game against Minnesota. Baltimore was still leading the American League East at the time, and enthusiasm was running high.
After the Twins scored a run in the top of the first, their starting pitcher, Roy Smith, opened the bottom of the first by striking out Mike Devereaux and Phil Bradley, the Orioles’ first two batters. In each case, the third strike was called, raising doubts in the Baltimore dugout about the accuracy of home-plate umpire Dr
ew Coble’s strike zone.
Ripken stepped into the batter’s box. Smith threw a fastball away, aiming for the outside corner. Coble’s hand went up, signaling a strike. Ripken muttered his disagreement loudly enough for Coble to hear. When Smith hit the same spot with his next pitch, another fastball, Coble’s hand went up again, strike two. Ripken continued to mutter. Coble told him to pipe down.
That infuriated Ripken, who turned and unleashed a stream of obscenities. Coble quickly raised his right thumb, ejecting the shortstop from the game.
“He can argue balls and strikes, but what he can’t do is call me what he called me,” Coble told reporters later.
Another American League umpire, Tim Welke, had ejected Ripken on September 25, 1987, also for arguing balls and strikes in the bottom of the first. In 1996, Al Clark would become the third umpire to eject Ripken during his consecutive-game streak.
The Streak Page 18
