The Streak

by John Eisenberg

  Though it was a response befitting royalty, it was not all cheers. In an ESPN.com column, sportswriter Bill Simmons took issue with the idea that he needed to take advantage of this last chance to see Ripken on the playing field. While conceding that Ripken, “statistically, may be the greatest shortstop of all time,” Simmons wrote that he had “just chugged along” for most of his career, piling up high career totals without producing the “electric” moments other famous players engineered. And actually, Simmons wrote, his stats were average except for those for a couple of seasons.

  As for the consecutive-game record, it was “more luck than anything,” Simmons wrote, adding that he was “still waiting for somebody to explain why it benefits a baseball team to have its franchise player playing 162 games a year for 16 consecutive seasons. If winning is the bottom line, and it’s proven that baseball players perform better when they are rested occasionally . . . well, isn’t that the most counter-productive record of all-time?”

  Simmons, who would become his generation’s most popular sportswriter, was voicing familiar criticisms of the streak on the Internet, fast becoming the dominant media. A new century was under way, momentous changes were in motion, and Ripken, even while still in uniform, already seemed like a time traveler from another era. He had played in every game for more than 16 years on principle, not because it was always practical or statistically sensible. The rationale was either old-fashioned or beautiful, depending on one’s point of view.

  Simmons’s desire for “electric” moments also was a familiar refrain. Fans had longed for baseball players to wow them since Babe Ruth started slugging home runs after World War I. More recently, the ubiquity of nightly highlight packages on television had elevated the public’s craving for outstanding individual plays.

  But indelible moments are not baseball’s basic currency. This is a sport that rewards consistency and perseverance. Its truths crystallize gradually rather than immediately, over weeks, over months, sometimes even over years. Ripken’s record was a reflection of that subtle sensibility, its value becoming evident almost imperceptibly, inning by inning, game by game, year by year. He delivered indelible moments, none more enduring than the night he passed Gehrig, but what mattered, what constituted the very essence of baseball, was his consistent presence, his dependability, the simple fact that he was there, always there.

  He did not need to defend himself. His career ranked with the greatest ever witnessed, and his signature achievement, though certainly open to interpretation, was perched in the first rank of the sport’s history. Ripken played his final game on October 6, 2001, and when he went into the Hall of Fame in 2007, his bronze testimonial plaque began with these words, which cast his legacy: “Arrived at the ballpark every day with a burning desire to perform at his highest level. Dedication and work ethic resulted in a record 2,632 consecutive games played from May 30, 1982 through September 19, 1998, earning him the title of baseball’s ‘Iron Man.’”

  Those spare, poignant sentences said it all.

  22

  Ironmen

  A PHILOSOPHICAL CHANGE

  On September 20, 1998—the day after Ripken’s streak ended—baseball had a new active consecutive-game leader for the first time in more than a decade. It was Albert Belle, a surly slugger for the Chicago White Sox. He had played in 327 straight games, leaving him 2,305 shy of the record. Even if he played in every game for the next 14 seasons, he would trail Ripken.

  After that season, Belle, coincidentally, signed with the Orioles as a free agent and became Ripken’s teammate. He stretched his streak to 392 games before it ended ignominiously on June 9, 1999, when the Orioles’ manager, Ray Miller, suspended Belle for a game for failing to run out a ground ball.

  The end of Belle’s streak meant Vinny Castilla, a third baseman for the Colorado Rockies, now had the longest active streak in the majors—303 straight games. But within a week, Jim Leyland, the Rockies’ manager, gave Castilla a day off, explaining simply that Castilla appeared to need a break. Another Oriole, B. J. Surhoff, then became the active major league leader, having played in 225 straight games.

  Surhoff would eventually play in 445 straight games for the Orioles and Atlanta Braves before sitting one out after taking a fastball to the ribs. Several other players put together similar streaks as the new century began, but they all stopped well short of 500. The Cubs’ Sammy Sosa played in 388 straight until a bad back forced him to miss a game on September 19, 2000. Shawn Green played in 415 straight for the Blue Jays and Dodgers before sitting out a game on September 26, 2001, in observance of Yom Kippur, the Jewish holiday.

  Consecutive-game streaks were experiencing a palpable decline, both in length and renown. But actually, Ripken’s notwithstanding, they had been in decline for decades.

  In the first half of the twentieth century, major leaguers routinely achieved the fundamental element of a streak, playing an entire season without missing a game. On average over those five decades, 9.66 players per year did it. But the per-year average dropped to 5.92 in the second half of the twentieth century despite the major league population nearly doubling due to expansion. Fewer seasons of perfect attendance inevitably meant fewer streaks.

  Once the new century began, the decline in perfect attendance accelerated. In 2004, only two National Leaguers and two American Leaguers played all season without missing a game. Only 2.6 major leaguers per year did it between 2009 and 2013. Hunter Pence, an outfielder for the San Francisco Giants, was the only major leaguer to play in every game in 2013 and 2014.

  What caused the philosophical shift on endurance that has resulted in consecutive-game streaks becoming an endangered species?

  Higher Salaries

  In 1975, the year before free agency was instituted, the average major league salary was $44,676. By 2012, it was $3.2 million, and 20 players earned at least $20 million per season. The spike in pay altered how both players and teams viewed the conundrum of whether to play through an injury or sit out.

  “With that kind of money on the table, the mindset of the player is, ‘If I’m injured and not 100 percent, I’m not going to let the injury affect my future earnings. I’m going to sit out until I’m healthy.’ I hate to say that, but it’s true,” said Doug Melvin, the Milwaukee Brewers’ general manager from 2002 through 2015.

  Ripken agreed. “Now a player gets praised if he recognizes he has an injury and takes himself out for the sake of the team. Needless to say, I looked at that situation differently,” he said.

  Teams exhibit similar caution, preferring not to see high-priced players risk the team’s large investment in them by playing when less than fully healthy.

  “There’s a protective nature on the part of clubs when contracts are so big,” Ripken said. “Teams don’t want to risk a guy getting hurt when they’re paying him so much. If he’s borderline to play, money is a major factor in the decision.”

  Guaranteed Multiyear Contracts

  Before free agency, most players signed one-year deals and worried about playing well enough to secure another contract the next year. That encouraged them to play whenever possible, almost out of fear. The story of Wally Pipp echoed in many players’ minds. Pipp took one day off and lost his job to Lou Gehrig forever.

  But now many more players are on multiyear contracts that are fully guaranteed. They can feel secure about their jobs even if they take a day off.

  “Today, there are guys who look for days off, who say, ‘This hurts’ or ‘That hurts.’ They’re very comfortable playing 120 games a year. But when guys were on one-year contracts, very few felt comfortable playing 120 games. Someone would take their job if they sat out,” Tim McCarver said.

  He continued: “In those days, your salary for the next year depended on your performance, and part of your performance was playing every day. It makes it that much more unbelievable that Ripken played in more than 2,600 straight games. He was on guaranteed contracts the whole way, so why play? Cal deserves credit.”<
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  Richie Bancells, the Orioles’ head trainer and a veteran of countless decisions about whether a player should take the field, said the change has come quickly. “It’s since Cal played. There is just so much more money on the table and so many guaranteed contracts, all of which behooves one to be conservative,” Bancells said. “Agents get involved, and they’re very, very protective of their investment.”

  Smarter Sports Medicine

  Thanks to the evolving use of techniques such as MRI and arthroscopy, team doctors and trainers can now diagnose more injuries and have a better grasp of their potential harm. For instance, it is now known that hip and back pain can result from ligament and labrum tears rather than just sprains and bruises. As a result, more players choose to sit out games rather than play when injured.

  “I had a conversation with our former team doctor not long ago,” Doug Melvin said. “I said, ‘Doc, it’s a good thing you’re not a doc in today’s baseball world. You’d be real busy.’ He said, ‘I was a doctor for 25 years and I never treated one oblique [rib] muscle injury. Now every team deals with oblique injuries every year.’ I asked, ‘Why is that?’ He said, ‘Today, with all the MRIs and exams at our disposal, diagnosis of injuries goes way, way beyond what used to be the norm.’”

  Increased Statistical Analysis and Specialization

  The more information a manager has, the more he is liable to tailor his use of certain players to certain situations, inevitably resulting in fewer of them playing every day.

  This strategy has long been part of the game. As early as the 1800s, it was evident that left-handed hitters fared better against right-handed pitchers, and vice versa. Shortly after World War II, the Dodgers’ Branch Rickey hired a full-time statistician to evaluate players’ performance. Beginning in the 1960s, Earl Weaver managed with the help of index cards containing his batters’ performance against different pitchers.

  Today, with the rise of sabermetrics since the 1970s, there is a veritable avalanche of sophisticated statistics and performance analytics. When making out his lineup, a manager can study how hitters fare in different ballparks, how pitchers perform on different counts, how much ground players cover in the field, how often batters put the ball in play—enough information to make him dizzy. Inevitably, it produces more specialization and fewer players appearing in the lineup every day.

  “It used to be that you played your best guys because they gave you the best chance to win, but now there’s a mindset that, with the help of analytics, you can fare just as well without a guy by using more chess pieces, as long as you use them correctly,” Ripken said.

  General De-emphasis

  Although Ripken’s streak will always be applauded as a remarkable feat, consecutive-game streaks have long generated an opposing view best summed up as “Who cares?” That view finally has prevailed, it seems.

  “Being an everyday player just isn’t as valued as much as when I played,” Ripken said. “A full season—I think that’s something like 145 games now.”

  A signature moment quietly occurred early in the 2010 season when Evan Longoria, a third baseman for the Tampa Bay Rays, had played in 131 straight games. A redoubtable, broad-shouldered infielder with home run power and a sure glove, Longoria was emerging as his generation’s version of Ripken. Already a two-time All-Star at age 24, he liked to play every day.

  One Sunday in late May, he came to the ballpark feeling “under the weather,” according to the Tampa Bay Times. He wanted to play, but Joe Maddon, the Rays’ manager, kept him on the bench all day.

  “We’re not looking for the next Cal Ripken right now in regards to number of games in a row played,” Maddon explained. “I just want to keep him well and healthy and on the top of his game.”

  Maddon, considered one of the game’s shrewdest managers, then issued what amounted to a death knell for playing streaks.

  “I do believe if you were to permit him to play 162 games, I bet he could,” he said of Longoria. “But I don’t think it is in his best interest or ours.”

  Two decades after Ripken passed Gehrig, it is difficult to imagine any player producing a consecutive-game streak so long. Yet several players in those decades have possessed a Ripken-like desire to play every day.

  Ichiro Suzuki, a Japanese outfielder who spent most of his major league career with the Seattle Mariners, played in either 161 or 162 games in every season but one between 2004 and 2012. Before that, as a young player in Japan, he played in 763 consecutive games. Juan Pierre, another outfielder, appeared in 821 straight for the Rockies, Marlins, Cubs, and Dodgers between 2003 and 2007. But since he only pinch-ran on June 3, 2005, he could not claim what would have been one of the 10 longest streaks ever. Instead, he was credited with two shorter streaks of 434 and 386 games.

  Hideki Matsui, another Japanese outfielder, played in his first 518 games in the major leagues after the Yankees brought him to America in 2003. Before that, he played in 1,250 straight for the Yomiuri Giants, a Japanese club, giving him a combined streak of 1,768 straight games in Japan and America before a wrist injury ended his run on May 10, 2006.

  Prince Fielder, a slugging first baseman, played in 547 straight games for the Brewers, Tigers, and Rangers between 2010 and 2014. He stopped only because of a herniated disc in his neck, which required surgery.

  “Only a few guys have that mindset, that sense of responsibility to their job and their teammates, like Cal and Gehrig, obviously, and a few others more recently, like Matsui. Prince had that mindset,” said Doug Melvin, who was the Brewers’ general manager when they drafted Fielder, in 2002. “They come to the park, they enjoy playing, they have fun doing it, and they never want to come out. When they’re hurt or sore, they just go beyond it. There’s a mental toughness about them.”

  Fielder’s father, Cecil, had also been a prolific slugger, swatting 319 home runs, mostly for the Tigers, in a 13-year major league career. At five feet eleven and 275 pounds, Prince was rounder than his father but could hit the ball just as far.

  Once he became a regular with the Brewers, Fielder missed just five games in 2006, four in 2007, and three in 2008. But even after he smacked 50 home runs in 2007 to establish his credentials as a power hitter, the Brewers’ manager, Ned Yost, rested him several times each season.

  Fielder bristled at the days off. “Every time I missed a game, it pissed me off,” he recalled. “I hated being sat, just didn’t ever want to sit at all. I was a young guy and made it into something personal. I said that when I put in enough time and did well enough that I had the chance to dictate it and play every day, I was going to do that, play every single day. That’s what I wanted.”

  Criticism from fans and the media helped shape his philosophy. Fielder constantly heard and read that he was not in shape and was bound to break down because he did not take care of his body. His response was to try to play every day.

  “A lot of people didn’t think I’d be able to do it. I heard that from my rookie year on—‘He’s too big, too all that.’ At the time, I probably was,” Fielder said. “But I’ve been big all my life. It’s not like it popped up on anybody. I’m big. But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m stubborn. Because they said I couldn’t play every day, I wanted to.”

  He finally played a full season in 2009. In 2010, he sat out just one game, the nightcap of a doubleheader on September 14. That ended a streak of 327 straight games for him, and it was the last game he would miss for almost four years.

  “Unless it’s bleeding or broken, I’m going to play,” Fielder told reporters when he reached 500 games in a row while with the Tigers in 2013.

  The Tigers’ manager, Jim Leyland, appreciated Fielder’s approach. “Prince is a very proud guy,” Leyland said. “On most occasions, he runs to first base as hard as anybody we’ve got. He likes to play. He likes to be in the lineup. He knows he gets paid to be in the lineup, and that’s what he does. I give him the utmost credit.”

  That winter, Fielder was traded to the Rangers.
He never took a physical, according to Jon Daniels, the Rangers’ general manager, and was in the Opening Day lineup, batting fourth and playing first base. Much was expected of him. He was in his prime, 29 years old, and had hit between 25 and 50 home runs for eight straight seasons.

  From the outset in 2014, though, Fielder struggled. Instead of lashing the ball with his fierce left-handed swing, he hit weak grounders and struck out. His batting average plummeted and Texas fans grumbled, until Fielder admitted in early May that his neck was stiff and sore. When doctors investigated, they found the herniated disc.

  At first, Fielder tried to play through the pain. He had the longest active consecutive-game streak in the majors and was stubborn about playing every day. “I didn’t care if I was 0-for-50 or whatever, I was going to play,” he said.

  But his struggles persisted, and it soon became clear he could not keep going without receiving medical attention that would force him out of the lineup. After playing in 547 straight games, he sat out a game on May 17, 2014, received an injection of painkiller, and said he hoped to return in a few days. He had just turned 30.