When he was doing badly, he didn't blame lengthy contract negotiations, some nagging injury, the fans or his teammates. He blamed himself.

He appeared to be the kind of person who, rather than take a break when he had a problem, pounded away at it night and day, never resting until the problem was solved. I suspect that the times he least wanted to come out of the lineup were during slumps.

When the record fell, Ripken didn't do much--he came out of the dugout a couple of times and doffed his cap, but that was all it seemed he wanted to do.

It took two teammates to shove him out of the dugout and into posterity for good, as he took a victory lap around the stadium, slapping hands with the fans, leaping to give high fives to the folks in the centerfield bleachers.

It was as if he wanted to share his experience with the entire crowd, and not grab the spotlight for himself.

When the game ended, and the speeches were made, Ripken spoke not of himself, but about "what was good and right about the great American game."

The postgame ceremony was a little schlocky (the team gave him a new Chevy, not exactly something he couldn't afford or something particularly commemorative of the moment). Perhaps it was the intrusion of baseball's 1990s values onto the celebration of values which are largely disappearing.

Baseball, and maybe the country, would be wise to take a look at some of the lessons the streak has offered.