By Thomas Boswell
Washington Post Columnist
August 30, 1989

BALTIMORE — It's easy to miss the obvious. We can go years and forget to say the most basic words. For example Cal Ripken Jr. is a baseball treasure.

Just because Ripken isn't doing anything unusual this year doesn't mean he isn't doing anything special.

There are a hundred reasons why the Baltimore Orioles are threatening to produce the most miraculous one-season turnaround in baseball history. But Ripken is Reason One. He is the axle around which the wheel turns.

Ripken is the rock of his franchise in a way that no other player in baseball is asked to be. Not only is he the heart of the batting order as well as the defense, but he is also the team's role model, media spokesman and wise old head. Around him, counting on him every minute, are a dozen kids in their first or second full big league season — and their first pennant race.

With Eddie Murray gone (at last), Ripken now sets the tone for the team. Which goes a way toward explaining why the Orioles have perhaps the most upbeat clubhouse in the game.

Ripken must carry this weight, and make it look effortless, even though family strains stare him in the face. His feisty brother Bill bats only .240 and must battle constantly to hold the second base job. His dad, Cal Sr., the third base coach, must struggle to overcome his barely disguised bitterness at being fired as manager last season.

All this and, now, a birthday too. Last week, Ripken turned 29. No wonder he has fever blisters like hub caps. Wouldn't you if you woke up each morning and knew that near-perfect behavior, near-perfect performance every day was not only your norm but your minimum? Sure, he makes $2 million a year. But can he use it to hire somebody to be Cal Ripken Jr.? No, not even for a day. Only he can be that.

Usually Ripken plays every game, hits .280 with 26 homers and 93 RBI and makes 21 errors. This year he's on a pace to hit .268 with 22 homers, 97 RBI and nine errors.

In a sense, he's the same old Cal. Above average range at shortstop, great arm, the best anticipation and instincts in the league, brainy leader. A master at every nuance of the double play. Clutch at the plate despite having weak hitters behind him. The most durable player since Lou Gehrig. Stoic and studious. But also amusing and mischievous. The salt of the earth next to the pepper of his brother Bill. In other words the perfect teammate.

On the other hand Ripken seems more self-assured than ever. Once he was nettled by the questions that have surrounded him for years. How could a 225-pound man who is almost 6 feet 5 continue to play shortstop? When was he going to move to third base? When was this silly consecutive-game streak going to stop? Wasn't he tired? Wasn't The Streak the reason his slugging average had gone down a smidgen every season since '83? And finally when was he going to have another MVP season like '83 when he had 211 hits, 121 runs, 47 doubles and a .318 batting average?

Now Ripken seems to be at peace with these issues. He knows he's far more valuable as a shortstop than at any other position. Manager Frank Robinson and GM Roland Hemond know it too. In AL history, the only other shortstops who've produced runs like Ripken were Joe Cronin and Vern Stephens. As a third baseman, Ripken would be an all-star. As a shortstop, he's a Hall-of-Famer.

As for The Streak, "everybody's coming full circle and being more supportive of it now," he says. Maybe it's because he passed Joe Sewell, Billy Williams and Steve Garvey this season. Now he stands third with 1,220 games. Maybe it's because fans want to see him catch Everett Scott next season; then only Gehrig would stand ahead of him.

Maybe the magnitude of Ripken's streak is finally sinking in. It now embraces two lunar eclipses. Maybe we're even beginning to dream Ripken can break The Record That Will Never Be Broken. No. 2,131 wouldn't come until 1995. He would be 34. But look at it this way — just one more eclipse to go.

Most important, fans seem to have grasped that giving Ripken a half-dozen vacation days a season would be utterly meaningless. Mike Schmidt, for instance, missed an average of only six games a season over a span of 13 straight years. It didn't hurt him."What's the difference," Ripken asks, "between 162 games and 156?"

"If Cal's tired, he sure has a funny way of showing it — coming out here for early BP and running all over the place, diving in the grass to make catches," says coach Elrod Hendricks. "He's still like a little kid who just got his first uniform. Making him take a day off would be like giving Brooks {Robinson} a day off. It drove him crazy. He came out and ran himself ragged."

Some say Ripken misses Ken Singleton and other old Orioles who hit behind him — "protecting him" is the phrase. Nonetheless it's also true Ripken's hitting mechanics aren't classic.

You can't bring up a theory, no matter how obtuse, that Ripken hasn't already considered. Should he go ask a guru — such as Ted Williams or Walt Hriniak — for help? (No.) Should he be more aggressive with two strikes and potentially strike out more? (Yes.) Should he hit to right more, as he once did? (Maybe.) Should he keep changing — the closed stance and fewer walks are this year's wrinkle — or stick with one method? ("I'll keep adjusting.")

Mostly he works, hopes and keeps plugging."There have been signs the last couple of weeks of extra-base power that I haven't seen in several years,"he says. He enthusiastically recites pitches, parks and details. When you've done so much, yet so much is expected, maybe you're the only person you can turn to for a friendly pep talk.

The pennant is on the line. A team, a city, even history looks toward him to see just how much weight he can bear.

So what does Ripken do? Just what you'd expect of a man who gave $250,000 to establish an adult literacy program and who has given many hours to every imaginable charity from trauma centers and children's hospitals to symphonies.

He's done the responsible thing. He's turned his version of perfection up just a notch. In the last two months he's made two errors. In his last 25 games, with no semblance of a cleanup hitter behind him, he's had 17 RBI. On Sunday at Yankee Stadium, he hit his 18th homer. Just two more and he'll be the first shortstop ever to hit 20 homers in eight consecutive seasons. Step aside, Ernie Banks.

Only 30 more games to go. On top of the last 1,220 in a row. Drink your milk, Cal. You're going to need it.