[Ed. note-A beautiful essay. Be sure to click "Read More" at the bottom to see the pictures. -zk]

About a year ago, my friend Julia and I decided to go to Cooperstown to see Cal Ripken get inducted into the Hall of Fame. The decision was made on a whim, without much thought to what the trip really meant. A bit of internet research and a few phone calls later, a hotel was booked and the trip slipped to the back of my mind. As the date drew closer, the excitement began to build, but it wasn't until the drive up that I began to realize that this was a pilgrimage.I needed to be a witness to the closing chapter of Cal Ripken's baseball career. It seemed only right to be there.

We arrived in Cooperstown in the early afternoon on Friday, hoping to see the Hall of Fame before it got insanely crowded on Saturday. I hadn't been feeling quite normal since we got in the car that morning. My emotions were bubbling just below the surface. I felt as though I might start crying on a moment's notice. I was in emotional overload. And when we entered the Hall, the first thing on display was a large painting of Tony and Cal. It was my first glimpse of Cal in a Hall of Fame context, and it was pretty awesome. The rest of the HOF was great, too, but the masses of people made it a bit hard to examine everything as thoroughly as I would have liked. Not that I am complaining. The people are what made the weekend as special as it was. The Orioles and Padres fans, as well as the smatterings of fans in other teams' t-shirts and ballcaps, were united in a way that I've never seen. Despite the rain, the beating sun, the rain again, and more crowds of people than a small town can hold, most everyone seemed just thrilled to be there, and the camaraderie was palpable.

On Saturday afternoon we lucked into seeing Cal entering Doubleday Field for the Ironbirds game, where he stopped to sign autographs and shake hands with those close to him. Despite the fact that I've seen Cal thousands of times, and often closer than I got to on that day, seeing him at all was a thrill. I figured I'd only see him on this particular weekend from a mile away and through binoculars. The emotion that had been threatening to come up for so long finally did. I could feel it in my throat as I looked at the fans screaming their heads off for Cal. Along with everyone surrounding me, I snapped off as many pictures as I could. Cal disappeared into the stadium and I felt a little empty upon his departure.

We had planned on getting to bed early on Saturday night so that we'd be well rested and ready to go early Sunday morning. But after meeting up with some very cool Orioles and Padres fans in the hotel bar, we ended up only getting about 4 hours sleep. Or should I say that Julia got about 4 hours sleep. I couldn't sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time all night. Despite the emotion and the fatigue and the beer, I was like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. When I did sleep I was plagued by dreams of oversleeping and missing the induction.  Finally, dawn arrived and it was time to go. Armed with our backpacks full of sunscreen and a bottle of champagne to toast Cal, we trudged the 2 miles from our parking spot to the field. The morning was cool and overcast, and rain seemed imminent. I told Julia not to worry, the weather would cooperate for Cal. I was confident. And sure enough, about an hour before the induction was set to begin, the skies cleared and the the sun came out.

Everywhere you looked, there were Orioles fans. They wore orange and black and white. They had all sorts of signs. You could hear bits of conversation everywhere you went about Cal, or when they were there for Eddie's induction, or Brooks'. The overwhelming feeling was something I haven't felt or seen other O's fans feel for a long time: pride. It was beautiful, and the emotion finally came out on this day. Before Cal had even taken the stage, I found myself happy to be wearing sunglasses so that my tear filled eyes weren't on display. No one would have cared, though. The guy sitting next to us was crying during the intro video, after all.

The moment I think I really lost it, though, was during the introduction of the current Hall of Famers. More than any of the Orioles, it hit me when Willie Mays was introduced. There was Willie Mays. Willie. Mays. Cal had been invited to join an exclusive club that included Willie Mays. And he was ours. We watched him grow up. We knew how special he was before he started getting recognition for The Streak. And here he was, getting the highest honor that can be bestowed upon a baseball player. And he's ours.

His speech was lovely, of course. It made me cry, of course. But when I look back on my weekend in Cooperstown, I probably won't remember what he said in his speech. What I will remember is the 50,000 person strong "O" during the national anthem, and the crowd of people as far as the eye can see. In an era when there isn't much to be proud of as an Orioles fan, I'll remember being surrounded by fans who remember when we had something to cheer about, and who care enough about this team to drive 6 hours and sit in a field for 6 more so that Cal will know how much he is loved and respected.