I never thought I would make it.

Last weekend, I made a trip that – just one month ago – I thought was impossible.  But, miraculously, I found myself in Cooperstown for the induction of Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn into baseball’s Hall of Fame.

The reason I thought the trip was impossible was because late last fall, my wife and I were both very surprised to learn that we were expecting.  Even more surprising was the fact that we were expecting twins (we have no history of twins in our family.)

But here’s the “catch”:  My wife was due to deliver those twins on the very same weekend Cal Ripken was being inducted into the Hall of Fame.

Nice timing, right?

So upon hearing the news of the delivery date, I went ahead and cancelled the bus trip I had signed up for.  After all, there’s no way I could miss their arrival…and there’s no way I could leave if they were just a few days old.

But then a funny thing happened.

My beautiful, healthy twin daughters arrived two weeks early – on July 14 – and roughly six hours after giving birth, my wife looked at me and said, “Now you can go to Cooperstown.”

Of course, I thought it was just the pain medication talking…but it turned out she was serious.  And while it was difficult leaving my wife, our six-year-old and our two-week-old twins for a weekend…we managed to line up plenty of help from friends and family.

So there I was, setting foot on Main Street in Cooperstown Saturday afternoon and joining the throng of more than 75,000 who came to upstate New York to celebrate the careers of two of the game’s greatest – and most likable – players.

And while the story of my improbable journey to Cooperstown is certainly a memorable one, the thing I’ll take away from my 48 hours in baseball paradise doesn’t involve Ripken, Gwynn or my family at all.

Instead, what I’ll remember most about this past weekend is what people weren’t talking about – and what people seemingly had no interest in.

In this summer of 2007 – a summer filled with steroids allegations…blood doping cyclists…dog-fighting trials…and crooked NBA referees – everyone who had gathered in New York ignored all of the negative headlines that have filled the sports pages for far too long.

Seriously – during my entire trip, I don’t think I heard the name “Barry Bonds” uttered more than three times.  I saw roughly 98 million Cal Ripken jerseys in the streets but just one Mark McGwire jersey.

I don’t know if it was primarily a function of the two men being inducted or simply a reflection on those fans who love the game so much they’re willing to go to extraordinary lengths just to stand in a field for a few hours and listen to a speech being delivered on a faraway stage. 

But for some reason, this past weekend was like a much-needed vacation from today’s sports pages.

There were no television sets filled with sportswriters shouting at one another.  There were no talk radio shows filled with irate callers looking to fire a manager or trade a player.  And there were no Congressional investigations or breaking stories about the latest steroid cheats.

All I saw during my time in Cooperstown – aside from overpriced merchandise – was a gathering of baseball fans who wanted nothing more than to celebrate all that’s good about the game.  And while a record number of fans went through the turnstiles at Major League ballparks on Saturday, a record number of fans were also going through the Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum.

So what does it all mean?

I can’t say that I know for sure. 

But I do think this past weekend was an indication of just how strong the game of baseball really is.  No matter how many times the Business of baseball tries to destroy the Game – through work stoppages, game-fixing or steroid scandals – the Game always manages to survive.

As a lifelong Orioles fan, I’ve heard the argument many times that Cal Ripken saved baseball back in 1995.  And maybe the way he conducted himself during his pursuit of Lou Gehrig’s record did have something to do with fans coming back to the stadiums sooner than they claimed they would.

But the truth of the matter is that the game itself is bigger than Cal Ripken, Tony Gwynn, Bud Selig, or Barry Bonds.

The essence of baseball was on display in Cooperstown this past weekend.  

You had to look for it a bit – past all the $100 autograph tables and the $300 authentic jerseys. 

But if you looked and listened hard enough, it became obvious.  Baseball will survive because it’s about a father and son playing catch in a field hours before the induction ceremony…it’s about shared memories…eternal optimism…and dealing with adversity when life throws you that inevitable curveball.

I arrived home safely early Monday morning after a long drive – made even longer by the State of Pennsylvania’s impeccable timing for their road construction projects. 

But since I’ve been home I haven’t paid much attention to the “news” of the day.  I haven’t looked to see which players are named in the Jason Grimsley affidavit…I haven’t read to find out if that NBA referee has implicated any of his colleagues…and I have no idea who won the Tour de France.

But I have watched some baseball.  I watched the Phillies beat the Cubs on Monday night and I enjoyed the Tigers’ win over the Athletics while staying up late with my newborn twins.

Obviously I need to thank my wife for insisting that I go to Cooperstown to see Cal Ripken go into the Hall of Fame.  It would have been easy to simply say, “I need you here to help with the twins” – and I would certainly have understood.

But while I was enjoying myself in Cooperstown, I think I may have discovered something. 

You see, it is possible to tune out all of the noise and enjoy the game for what it is…even in 2007. 

So while there may never be another Cal Ripken or Tony Gwynn, the game itself will survive.  The truth of the matter is, it makes no difference which player ESPN tells you is “Now”…how much money each player makes per at-bat…or which strip club your third baseman is frequenting in Toronto.

All that matters is the game itself.

Maybe that’s a naïve perspective, but honestly…shouldn’t that be what matters?  It’s not my responsibility to figure out who’s cheating and who’s clean…and, honestly, I’m not qualified. 

So I’ll leave that up to the business folks running the game.  It may not be a perfect solution, but no matter how many times they’ve tried, those businessmen haven’t yet killed the Game itself.

Questions and comments can be sent to jodymadron@sportsgrumblings.com