I will miss his insatiable desire to win, no matter how big or small the game.

There are 30 steps that lead from the field at Minnesota's Metrodome to the clubhouse. After batting practice, Ripken would see how many strides it took him to get to the top. His personal best was four. Once, teammate Brady Anderson tied Ripken's record. So Ripken scaled the steps again -- this time in three strides. The night before the season opener in Kansas City in 1995 -- the year Ripken broke Lou Gehrig's streak of 2,130 consecutive games played -- Ripken and some teammates went to Rick Sutcliffe's house. There was a basketball hoop in the backyard. A fun little shootaround turned into a spirited two-on-two game, elbows flying. What if he rolled an ankle? What if The Streak had ended on a backyard basketball court? What did Ripken care? His team won. And he had two great dunks.

I will miss his toughness.

On April 10, 1985, Ripken's left ankle crumpled while he took a pickoff throw from Mike Boddicker. He stayed in the game, but went to the hospital that night. He was given crutches and told to stay off the ankle for several days. Once out of sight of the nurses, he threw away the crutches. The following day was an off-day, but with a hideously discolored and badly swollen ankle he played in the next game: "I just taped it up real tight."

Cal Jr. came by the sturdiness naturally. Once, his late father, Orioles coach Cal Sr., took a line drive in the face while pitching batting practice. The O's trainer rushed to the mound only to hear Cal Sr. scream, "What the hell are you doing out here? I haven't finished my round." Blood streaming from his cheek, Senior finished throwing BP, went to the hospital and was back in the third base coach's box by the third inning.

I will miss his patience.

The night before Ripken broke Gehrig's record, he was leaving Camden Yards when an eager but clueless fan, who'd clearly never played baseball a day in his life, ran up to Ripken's truck and said, "Cal, I know what you're doing wrong at the plate. You've got your elbow too high. Put it down here." Ripken listened, thanked him cordially and drove off. "Happens all the time," Ripken said.

After the 1995 season, the Ripken family took a trip to Sea Island, Ga. One afternoon they went to the grocery store together. Soon, a line of people was following Ripken around. A woman noticed that Ripken's son Ryan, then 2, had eaten a doughnut, and had chocolate all over his face. The woman ran several aisles away, tore open a bag of paper towels, ran back and wiped off Ryan's face. "Can I keep this paper towel?" she asked Cal. "Why?" he responded.

"It's chocolate from your son's face," she said, "and I wiped it."

I will miss his preparation.

Ripken always insisted on knowing the pitch his pitcher was about to throw so he could position himself properly. One year, he actually called pitches for some of his pitchers. He can recall specific at-bats and pitch counts from years before. He studies every opposing hitter's tendencies.

He even has a scouting report on his wife. Once, in a game of one-on-one basketball with her husband, Kelly Ripken backed Cal into the lane. "Watch," he told a guest. "She always fakes right before she shoots." That's exactly what she did.

I will miss his playfulness.

The night Ripken broke Gehrig's streak, he was visited by President Clinton, who was sweating profusely. Ripken caught Anderson's eye, who smiled back knowingly. The two are constantly playing a game in which one offers a line from a movie and the other has to follow with the next line. They'd been reminded of the scene in Broadcast News when perspiration pours off Albert Brooks during his big chance to anchor the news. Later, Ripken and Anderson did that entire scene, line by line.

I will miss his determination.

Ripken is a great athlete, but a self-made ballplayer. Former manager Gene Mauch once said of Ripken: "Someday he'll have the worst swing in Cooperstown." He changed that swing a thousand times, but got it right often enough to hit the ball safely 3,171 times, 429 of those hits going for home runs.

A memorable hit came on Opening Day 1989, when he smashed a neck-high fastball from Roger Clemens for a three-run homer that led to an Orioles win. More important, it was the beginning of the end to a miserable two-year stretch of losing, and made the team believe that it could contend one year after a 107-loss season. But then Ripken has always demonstrated an extraordinary sense of the moment, from the home run he hit the night he broke Gehrig's record, Sept. 6, 1995, to the one he belted in this summer's All-Star Game.

I will miss his command of the infield.

I will miss that sling-shot throw that hit the first baseman in the chest every time. I will miss the way he fielded the ball up the middle, spun around and threw. I will miss him going back into left or center for a pop up-no shortstop did that better. I will miss his inventive way of sliding to pick up a ball that had settled in shallow left, and how he popped up, ready to throw.

With his size and power, Ripken changed the way the shortstop position is played and inspired such players as Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter and Nomar Garciaparra to play the middle infield despite their being the biggest kids on the dirt.

I will miss his character and grace.

When his father -- his hero -- was fired six days into the 1988 season, Cal Jr. had every right to blast away at a team so bad not even John McGraw could have won with it. But Junior remained silent, even stoic. He was that way from his first day as a rookie until the end of his brilliant career.

For two decades, Ripken was the anchor of the Orioles clubhouse. Got a problem? Go see Cal.

Ripken was, by common agreement, the most respected player of his time. Braves pitcher John Burkett was recently asked to name the player he'd most like to play with but never had. He never hesitated: "Cal Ripken." Former Tigers first baseman Cecil Fielder played in 236 consecutive games before getting a day off. When he finally did, he laughed and said "Hey, I ain't no Junior." Former journeyman infielder Jeff Huson said that playing in Cal's record-breaking 2,131st consecutive game was, "besides the birth of my children, the greatest thrill of my life."

Cal forever will be linked to The Streak, but he'd be a first-ballot Hall of Famer without it.

I will miss Cal Ripken Jr., the man.

And I do not expect ever to meet another one like him in sports.

This article appears in the October 1 issue of ESPN The Magazine.