THESE guys belong in the Hall of Fame.
Many players inducted or nominated seem to get in just because it should be there time or it's a light year for nominee's.
Waters down the meaning of it all....these two are gentleman, professionals, and truly deserving in my book.
:clap: :clap: :clap:
COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. -- Not that it was crazy here Sunday, but a yard sign at a house just down the road from the Hall of Fame induction ceremonies read, "Parking $370,000, with free house!"
Not that it was nuts here, but as the bus carrying the Hall of Famers rolled up to the Clark Sports Center, the gasps and comments were striking to at least one guy who was on deck to make the speech of his life.
Fans from all over the country catch classy Tony Gwynn's induction.
"You didn't know if the people on the bus were pulling our leg or what, but they were going, 'Oh my goodness, look at all the people! I've never seen people up on the hill!'" Tony Gwynn said following the ceremony, when he could breathe deeply and smile again.
One sentence to describe perhaps the most glorious day this season, the afternoon on which Gwynn and Cal Ripken Jr. were ushered into the Hall of Fame?
How about: Excuse me, mmmpffft ... excuse me ... hey! ... that's my foot you're ... mmmpftt ... standing on!
They came from near, and they came from far. They came from Baltimore and from San Diego and points between. They began arriving last week, started staking out spots on the induction grounds some 48 hours in advance and, Lord knows, probably began constructing their signs last January ("Gracias Tony," "T. Gwynn Rocks," "Cal + Tony = Class.")
They came an estimated 75,000 strong to the induction in this tiny, picturesque village of 2,000 or so, completely shattering the old attendance record of roughly 50,000 set in 1999, when Robin Yount, Nolan Ryan and George Brett were inducted.
Nearly 15,000 people rolled through the turnstiles at the museum Saturday, obliterating the Hall of Fame's previous one-day record of just under 9,000.
Cooperstown city officials blocked off Main Street for the weekend, turning it into a pedestrian mall. Sal's Pizza and the Cooperstown Café were bulging at the doors. Autograph lines at the memorabilia shops snaked out the doors, around the corner and several blocks down the street.
There were smiles and Orioles jerseys and Padres caps. There were Red Sox T-shirts and Brewers garb and ice cream cones. Strangers introduced themselves to strangers, and children sold lemonade in front yards to passers-by.
What there was very little of throughout the Village this weekend, or at a reception in the museum with the Hall of Famers on Saturday night, or at the induction ceremony on Sunday, were questions regarding whether anybody had hit another home run in San Francisco.
You couldn't help but be struck by what sure appeared a clear mandate from folks that this was how people wanted the game to be played, and these two were how people want their players to go about playing it.
"I think so," said Gwynn, who was named on 97.6 percent of the Hall of Fame ballots cast in this election. "Honestly, I do. ... I think the fans felt comfortable with us because they could trust us.
"They could trust how we played the game and the way we conducted ourselves, especially in this era of negativity, they could look at our careers and think we did it the right way.
"I think there's no question. The writers, too. I'm not a 97.6 percent guy. No way I was." It might be a very long time before two more no-brainer Hall of Famers as beloved as Gwynn and Ripken take the podium in Cooperstown.
"I'm not going to try and read into a lot of the celebration," Ripken said. "It was a wonderful trek people made from their homes. ...
"It's easy to pound your chest and say it's about me, but it's not. We played a small role. Baseball continues long after we put our gloves down."
And it will continue long after young stars of today like the Mets' David Wright, Detroit's Justin Verlander and possibly even one Tony Gwynn Jr., a rookie with Milwaukee who was practically ordered to take the day off Sunday and be here for his father's introduction, put their gloves down.
The game has survived -- and will survive -- despite the often stupid and ham-handed efforts of some of its participants to sabotage it, from the 1919 Black Sox World Series scandal to the Pittsburgh cocaine trials in the 1980s to strikes, lockouts, steroids, human growth hormone, the cancellation of the 1994 World Series and beyond.
Ripken, of course, was credited with helping to build the bridge to bring fans back in '95 when he snapped Lou Gehrig's consecutive games record, and he delivered a beautiful message during his concise 16-minute speech.
He at once was more relaxed and more emotional -- more human -- than I've ever seen him. He broke down a couple of times, most noticeable when he was talking about his wife and children. In an exquisitely touching moment, he pulled a white rose out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket and asked son Ryan, who was in the audience, to be his delivery boy.
On cue, Ryan, from his seat, pulled a flower out of his coat pocket, turned and handed it to mother -- and Cal's wife -- Kelly.
"Wish I'd thought of that," Gwynn quipped later.
Anyone who watched any portion of Ripken's career knows of his extraordinary preparation and attention to detail. Not surprisingly, it was something imparted by his late father, Cal, who memorably managed Cal Jr. in Baltimore in the 1980s.
"My father told me, 'You take care of the little things, and you'll never have the big things to worry about,'" Ripken said during his speech.
It was a speech that remained on point throughout. When he wasn't thanking family members and friends such as Brady Anderson and John "T-Bone" Shelby, Ripken spent most of his time talking about his belief that life is a series of beginnings, not endings.
Sounds odd from someone who holds the record for consecutive games played at 2,632, Ripken admitted, but it's the way the cycle goes.
"People, and how you impact them, is the most important thing," said the man who is devoting much of his time these days to youth baseball leagues, noting that "whether we like it or not, as major league players, we're role models. Whether we like it or not, we influence (children).
"Teamwork, work ethic and trust are all a part of the game, and they're all factors in how we live our lives," Ripken said.
The crowd of zealots and dreamers, as much a part of the story on this day as the two heroes they came to pay their respects to, roared often during the speech.
Just as the extraordinary contingent of Orioles fans made themselves heard when Gwynn's daughter, Anisha, who already had sung a beautiful version of O, Canada, wound toward the end of The Star Spangled Banner to begin the ceremonies.
Just as they've done for years, first at Memorial Stadium and now at Camden Yards, they hollered the "Oh" part (for Orioles, of course), as Anisha reached "Oh say does that star-spangled banner yet wave."
Because of the threat of thunderstorms on this sticky, 82-degree day, Gwynn's speech came very shortly after that. Hall officials hastily re-arranged the program's order -- pushing the presentations to Gwynn and Ripken up to the beginning -- because they were worried that the skies would open before the two inductees reached the podium.
Like God would dare rain on either of their days.
"We were both in there pacing this morning," Gwynn said of he and his daughter. "I'm trying to get her to calm down and she's trying to get me to calm down."
The throng awaiting upon their arrival at the Clark Sports Center certainly wasn't calming. The mob of people stretched for nearly as far as the eye could see -- including up on the hill off in the distance, the hill the other Hall of Famers were telling Gwynn and Ripken they'd never seen filled.
"Overwhelming is the only word you can use," Ripken said. "I'm on the speaker's circuit, and it's a different environment, but you always want to peek out at the crowd before you go on so you're not startled."
Here?
"I was intimidated."
Said Gwynn: "Gary Carter's advice was great. He said, 'Just look at the trees. There's going to be so many people there, just look at the trees.' So I kept telling myself, 'Just look at the trees, just look at the trees.'"
It wasn't until long after the speeches, in a post-induction ceremony news conference and just about the time Sunday's Giants-Marlins game was beginning in San Francisco, that someone brought up the tenuous status of Hank Aaron's record 755 homers and the controversy accompanying it.
Gwynn looked at his questioner, paused for a long while and then deadpanned: "What a great day today was. Seventy-five thousand people!"
Ripken asserted that he felt the same way.
"It was a great celebration of baseball, and we should take a step back from the controversy and bask in the glory of the Hall of Fame," he said. "Today was a special day. Maybe we can go back to the other stuff tomorrow."
Amen, amen.
Many players inducted or nominated seem to get in just because it should be there time or it's a light year for nominee's.
Waters down the meaning of it all....these two are gentleman, professionals, and truly deserving in my book.
:clap: :clap: :clap:
COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. -- Not that it was crazy here Sunday, but a yard sign at a house just down the road from the Hall of Fame induction ceremonies read, "Parking $370,000, with free house!"
Not that it was nuts here, but as the bus carrying the Hall of Famers rolled up to the Clark Sports Center, the gasps and comments were striking to at least one guy who was on deck to make the speech of his life.
Fans from all over the country catch classy Tony Gwynn's induction.
"You didn't know if the people on the bus were pulling our leg or what, but they were going, 'Oh my goodness, look at all the people! I've never seen people up on the hill!'" Tony Gwynn said following the ceremony, when he could breathe deeply and smile again.
One sentence to describe perhaps the most glorious day this season, the afternoon on which Gwynn and Cal Ripken Jr. were ushered into the Hall of Fame?
How about: Excuse me, mmmpffft ... excuse me ... hey! ... that's my foot you're ... mmmpftt ... standing on!
They came from near, and they came from far. They came from Baltimore and from San Diego and points between. They began arriving last week, started staking out spots on the induction grounds some 48 hours in advance and, Lord knows, probably began constructing their signs last January ("Gracias Tony," "T. Gwynn Rocks," "Cal + Tony = Class.")
They came an estimated 75,000 strong to the induction in this tiny, picturesque village of 2,000 or so, completely shattering the old attendance record of roughly 50,000 set in 1999, when Robin Yount, Nolan Ryan and George Brett were inducted.
Nearly 15,000 people rolled through the turnstiles at the museum Saturday, obliterating the Hall of Fame's previous one-day record of just under 9,000.
Cooperstown city officials blocked off Main Street for the weekend, turning it into a pedestrian mall. Sal's Pizza and the Cooperstown Café were bulging at the doors. Autograph lines at the memorabilia shops snaked out the doors, around the corner and several blocks down the street.
There were smiles and Orioles jerseys and Padres caps. There were Red Sox T-shirts and Brewers garb and ice cream cones. Strangers introduced themselves to strangers, and children sold lemonade in front yards to passers-by.
What there was very little of throughout the Village this weekend, or at a reception in the museum with the Hall of Famers on Saturday night, or at the induction ceremony on Sunday, were questions regarding whether anybody had hit another home run in San Francisco.
You couldn't help but be struck by what sure appeared a clear mandate from folks that this was how people wanted the game to be played, and these two were how people want their players to go about playing it.
"I think so," said Gwynn, who was named on 97.6 percent of the Hall of Fame ballots cast in this election. "Honestly, I do. ... I think the fans felt comfortable with us because they could trust us.
"They could trust how we played the game and the way we conducted ourselves, especially in this era of negativity, they could look at our careers and think we did it the right way.
"I think there's no question. The writers, too. I'm not a 97.6 percent guy. No way I was." It might be a very long time before two more no-brainer Hall of Famers as beloved as Gwynn and Ripken take the podium in Cooperstown.
"I'm not going to try and read into a lot of the celebration," Ripken said. "It was a wonderful trek people made from their homes. ...
"It's easy to pound your chest and say it's about me, but it's not. We played a small role. Baseball continues long after we put our gloves down."
And it will continue long after young stars of today like the Mets' David Wright, Detroit's Justin Verlander and possibly even one Tony Gwynn Jr., a rookie with Milwaukee who was practically ordered to take the day off Sunday and be here for his father's introduction, put their gloves down.
The game has survived -- and will survive -- despite the often stupid and ham-handed efforts of some of its participants to sabotage it, from the 1919 Black Sox World Series scandal to the Pittsburgh cocaine trials in the 1980s to strikes, lockouts, steroids, human growth hormone, the cancellation of the 1994 World Series and beyond.
Ripken, of course, was credited with helping to build the bridge to bring fans back in '95 when he snapped Lou Gehrig's consecutive games record, and he delivered a beautiful message during his concise 16-minute speech.
He at once was more relaxed and more emotional -- more human -- than I've ever seen him. He broke down a couple of times, most noticeable when he was talking about his wife and children. In an exquisitely touching moment, he pulled a white rose out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket and asked son Ryan, who was in the audience, to be his delivery boy.
On cue, Ryan, from his seat, pulled a flower out of his coat pocket, turned and handed it to mother -- and Cal's wife -- Kelly.
"Wish I'd thought of that," Gwynn quipped later.
Anyone who watched any portion of Ripken's career knows of his extraordinary preparation and attention to detail. Not surprisingly, it was something imparted by his late father, Cal, who memorably managed Cal Jr. in Baltimore in the 1980s.
"My father told me, 'You take care of the little things, and you'll never have the big things to worry about,'" Ripken said during his speech.
It was a speech that remained on point throughout. When he wasn't thanking family members and friends such as Brady Anderson and John "T-Bone" Shelby, Ripken spent most of his time talking about his belief that life is a series of beginnings, not endings.
Sounds odd from someone who holds the record for consecutive games played at 2,632, Ripken admitted, but it's the way the cycle goes.
"People, and how you impact them, is the most important thing," said the man who is devoting much of his time these days to youth baseball leagues, noting that "whether we like it or not, as major league players, we're role models. Whether we like it or not, we influence (children).
"Teamwork, work ethic and trust are all a part of the game, and they're all factors in how we live our lives," Ripken said.
The crowd of zealots and dreamers, as much a part of the story on this day as the two heroes they came to pay their respects to, roared often during the speech.
Just as the extraordinary contingent of Orioles fans made themselves heard when Gwynn's daughter, Anisha, who already had sung a beautiful version of O, Canada, wound toward the end of The Star Spangled Banner to begin the ceremonies.
Just as they've done for years, first at Memorial Stadium and now at Camden Yards, they hollered the "Oh" part (for Orioles, of course), as Anisha reached "Oh say does that star-spangled banner yet wave."
Because of the threat of thunderstorms on this sticky, 82-degree day, Gwynn's speech came very shortly after that. Hall officials hastily re-arranged the program's order -- pushing the presentations to Gwynn and Ripken up to the beginning -- because they were worried that the skies would open before the two inductees reached the podium.
Like God would dare rain on either of their days.
"We were both in there pacing this morning," Gwynn said of he and his daughter. "I'm trying to get her to calm down and she's trying to get me to calm down."
The throng awaiting upon their arrival at the Clark Sports Center certainly wasn't calming. The mob of people stretched for nearly as far as the eye could see -- including up on the hill off in the distance, the hill the other Hall of Famers were telling Gwynn and Ripken they'd never seen filled.
"Overwhelming is the only word you can use," Ripken said. "I'm on the speaker's circuit, and it's a different environment, but you always want to peek out at the crowd before you go on so you're not startled."
Here?
"I was intimidated."
Said Gwynn: "Gary Carter's advice was great. He said, 'Just look at the trees. There's going to be so many people there, just look at the trees.' So I kept telling myself, 'Just look at the trees, just look at the trees.'"
It wasn't until long after the speeches, in a post-induction ceremony news conference and just about the time Sunday's Giants-Marlins game was beginning in San Francisco, that someone brought up the tenuous status of Hank Aaron's record 755 homers and the controversy accompanying it.
Gwynn looked at his questioner, paused for a long while and then deadpanned: "What a great day today was. Seventy-five thousand people!"
Ripken asserted that he felt the same way.
"It was a great celebration of baseball, and we should take a step back from the controversy and bask in the glory of the Hall of Fame," he said. "Today was a special day. Maybe we can go back to the other stuff tomorrow."
Amen, amen.
