END OF IRON AGE

There was only one way to describe Cal Ripken Jr.’s announcement Tuesday that this would be his final season of baseball: practical.

It wasn’t exactly a news conference; not after Ripken laid out his thoughts to a Washington Post reporter the day before. But it also wasn’t a tearful, emotional farewell.

When a reporter asked him--almost challenged him--to say the “R” word with his own mouth, Ripken stared straight out with those piercing blue eyes and coolly said: “I’m retiring and I’m not going to play baseball anymore.”

There, he did it.

At its most basic, that’s all there was to Ripken’s career. He showed up, he did it. Practical.

That might not be an accurate description of Ripken’s impact: a new standard for durability, a new breed of big, numbers-producing shortstop, but it explained how that all came to be.

He took the lessons from his father and applied them on a daily basis. When things went wrong, when the suggestions that his pursuit of Lou Gehrig’s consecutive-games streak was taking a toll on his body and team, he simply went back to work and then restored his output to its usual level.

Ripken paid little attention to the peripheral aspects of the game. In 1995, when the Baltimore Orioles adopted an alternate, gray cap (looked hideous), it prompted a clubhouse conversation with Frank Robinson, an Oriole executive at the time. Eventually the talk turned to the goofy, cartoon Oriole the players wore on their caps before they switched to the “ornithologically correct” bird in 1989.

Amazingly, Ripken said he had no recollection of the cartoon caps. The guy wore the logo every day for the first eight years of his career, won a World Series title wearing that silly bird, but said he couldn’t remember it? Odd.

He said he didn’t play for numbers either, but ultimately they are what defined him. The 2,632 consecutive games, of course. The 3,107 hits and 421 home runs, making him one of only seven players to top both the 3,000 and 400 plateaus.

Then there were the 429,525 All-Star votes this season, through Monday’s count, that put him atop the American League third basemen in All-Star balloting.

It’s not a response to his play this season, it’s simply a recognition of how much he has meant to the game, how much the fans love him.

Several reporters hold grudges against him because he wasn’t always cooperative with the media. He has let me down on occasion as well, but I have never encountered a fan who said the same thing--and that’s what matters the most.

He single-handedly spread goodwill for the game when it needed it most, the year after the 1994 strike led to the cancellation of the World Series. Along came Ripken and his pursuit of Gehrig’s record, his embodiment of all the basic joy the game brought. He signed autographs tirelessly, endured news conferences with the same questions in every city he visited that season.

He’ll probably have to replicate that availability on some scale in his last go-round.

“The idea of a farewell tour has never really set well with me,” said Ripken, who turns 41 in August. “I’m just uncomfortable getting that sort of attention.”

Remember, he had to literally be pushed out of the dugout and into the start of that now-famous lap around Camden Yards the night he surpassed Gehrig with his 2,131st consecutive game.

Often, the same qualities that make athletes great, such as fearlessness or supreme confidence, can be at the core of their greatest flaws.

As admirable as Ripken’s determination was, his stubbornness that he belonged in the game and could contribute also caused plenty of aspirin-inducing dilemmas for his managers and the front office.

You couldn’t just take him out of the lineup to give him a break or shake things up. He fought his displacement from the shortstop position, and he bristled at talk the Orioles were exploring other third basemen this year.

He was the most immovable, untouchable person in sports--with the possible exception of Chick Hearn. As much as they might have wanted to, the Orioles didn’t dare trade or cut their hometown hero and ambassador.

You can bet there were sighs of relief throughout the team offices this week, just as there were on Sept. 20, 1998, when he removed himself from that night’s starting lineup and ended the streak.

Although everyone else could see that Ripken is now a .210 hitter with diminished fielding range, no one could say that to his face.

So he’ll leave, makingthe right move as usual.

Ripken said that since the early stages of his career he would ask the old veterans who were practically out the door if they had any regrets. They said they wished they had taken better care of themselves, or they had taken the game more seriously from the beginning.

Ripken made sure he didn’t repeat their mistakes, and as a result he can make this satisfying statement: “When I look back on all my experiences, I don’t have those sort of regrets that the players had when I asked them years ago.”

I’m always wary when athletes say they’re leaving to spend more time with their family, because that rarely turns out to be the case. Even Ripken’s wife, Kelly, sounded unprepared to deal with his constant presence in the house.

But Ripken did seem genuine in his desire to do more work teaching the game of baseball and helping developmental leagues.

It seemed like the same attitude that served him so well for 20 years in the big leagues: “I’m just going to continue to try to work at things.”

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J.A. Adande can be reached at j.a.adande@latimes.com

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2: Most Valuable Player awards (1983, 1991; Gold Glove awards (1991, 1992).

11: Various fielding records owned by Ripken.

7: Members of 3,000-hit, 400-homer club, including Ripken.

18: Consecutive American League All-Star appearances.

2,632: Games Ripken played in consecutively from 1982 to 1998.