There are certain athletes in pro sports who have just one name.

Michael. Shaq. Wayne. Magic.

And, after this past summer, Cal.

If there was one individual over the past three months who was more talked about than O.J., it was probably Oriole shortstop Cal Ripken Jr., who on September 5 broke what many thought the most untouchable record in professional sports: the streak of 2,130 consecutive games owned by former Yankee Lou Gehrig.

Game 2,131 was more an event than a baseball game. Cal was honored before, during and after the game by an almost absurd number of prizes, speeches and standing ovations.

ESPN broadcast the game nationally, during which announcer Chris Berman used every superlative in the English language twice. When the game became official, fans in other parks gave him standing ovations.

To a martian who had just arrived on earth, it would appear the free world was under the jurisdiction of Cal Ripken Jr.

Despite all the hoopla, there are a few things quite odd and unsettling about the streak itself.

From a purely baseball point of view, it is difficult to place Cal's record on a par with Aaron's home run record or DiMaggio's hitting streak for one reason: these other players actually had to perform on the field to achieve their marks.

Of course a player can't make it through 2,131 consecutive games without being supremely talented and conditioned, as Cal was (and is). But there can be no question that, in the end, Ripken owes his place in baseball history primarilly to Lady Luck.

No matter how fit or determined Cal was, there was no sure way he could avoid a takeout slide at second base or a fastball in the head. All he could do was hope it wouldn't happen. And guess what? It didn't.

That's not to say that Cal is unique--sheer luck has helped or harmed the career of every athlete. But in the case of this record, it plays a larger role than ever before.

An entirely different question is whether Cal, as he claimed repeatedly, always put the welfare of the team before the streak.

There have undoubtedly been times over the past 13 years in which Cal didn't feel like playing. A mild ankle sprain. A 2-for-20 slump. A personal problem.

Professional sports is a grinding business, and, as any athlete knows, a day or two off in the middle of a season can do wonders to keep a player fresh.

No matter what he says in public, I can't believe that anything but a pursuit of the record kept Cal from taking one of these respites.

It has certainly had an effect on the Orioles' opponents, however. What pitcher would dare pitch Cal inside, what baserunner even think of sliding hard on a double play, and take a chance of being branded one of baseball's all-time bad guys?

As the big day inevitably approached, Ripken began to transcend his role as an athlete to that territory so dreaded by Charles Barkely: the role model.

Sportswriters all over the country lauded him as a wonderful example of a hard-working, no-nonsense professional, the kind of person every child should aspire to be like.

One day on a local radio show, amidst the Cal-worshipping, a man called in to say that he had been working at his company for 40 years and never missed a single day.

There must be many men and women who can make similar claims, all of whom must have gotten pretty annoyed when they saw the nation's fascination with the streak.

But then again, in a society in which athletes make a hundred times what teachers do, who can be surprised?

Congratulations, Cal. But enough is enough already.