Still setting records

Fans flock to see Gwynn, Ripken join baseball Hall of Fame

COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. -- The bus pulls in behind the stage, and baseball's newest Hall of Famers stare out the window at the largest crowd in the event's history.

Tony Gwynn and Cal Ripken Jr. are surrounded by fellow Hall of Famers, guys who have been through this induction drill before, have won World Series and MVP titles and have faced bases-loaded-in-the-ninth situations in front of 50,000 people.

But even among this group, a record 75,000 fans is something else entirely.

"Never seen the stage so far back," one of them says.

"Never seen that many people on the hill before," another says.

"Never seen that many people, period," someone else says.

Three thousand miles away, Barry Bonds is just one home run from breaking Hank Aaron's all-time record. Here, though, in this small, upstate New York village, there is little mention of Bonds. No talk of drugs, no debate over steroids.

Just the largest crowd ever to watch an induction -- in fans and in fellow Hall of Famers. Someone asks Gwynn whether he thinks the huge turnout is a statement that fans still appreciate baseball.

"Yeah, I think so," he says. "Honestly, I do. We played for one team and in one city. I think fans felt more comfortable with us because they could trust us. ...

"Especially in this era of negativity, they can look back on our careers and hopefully feel we did it the right way."

The plaques honoring each man are thumbnails to their careers. The speeches they give serve as glimpses at their souls.

Gwynn's new plaque begins by describing him as "an artisan with the bat." He brought notes to the podium but mostly spoke off the top of his head.

He thanked three Little League coaches by name and talked of hiding out in spring training one year to eavesdrop on Rod Carew instructing another team. He smiled at the memory of his wife sparking his devotion to video study by hitting record on the VCR one night and choked up when mentioning his late father.

He wore a brown-and-gold suit, which he joked was just one color combination he could have chosen from his days with the Padres.

"I told the fans back in San Diego they'd be standing up here with me," he said. "I hope they're just as nervous as me."

Ripken's new plaque begins like this: "Arrived at the ballpark every day with a burning desire to play at the highest level."

His speech came verbatim from the file he printed off the night before and practiced a million times.

His main message was respect for the game and remembering one's place in it. On the day he received his sport's highest honor, Ripken remembered a time a couple of weeks ago, when a 10-year-old at a camp asked whether he played baseball.

"Yeah," Ripken said. "I played a little bit."

The kid then asked for which team, and at what position, and then finally, "Should I know you?"

Ripken sees that story as an example that no matter your success, you should always serve the game. That's why he asked baseball players to accept their positions as role models and to use their influence positively.

The highlight of his speech, however, came when he addressed his wife, Kelly. He pulled a white rose out of his suit pocket and asked for help from his son, who then pulled a white rose from his own pocket.

"That was awesome," Gwynn said. "I should've thought of that."

Yes, the magical weekend was a nice break for a sport that has been dogged by steroids for the better part of a decade.

But late in the afternoon Sunday, without mentioning drugs or scandal, someone asks Ripken and Gwynn what they think about Bonds' pending date with history.

Neither wants to answer. After a short pause, Gwynn smiles. Eyes engaging the questioner, he says: "What a great day today was. Man, 75,000 people. Unbelievable."

The crowd breaks into applause and laughter.

"Maybe we'll go back to reality tomorrow," Ripken says.

"Yeah," Gwynn agrees. "Tomorrow."