My favorite player finally will be inducted into the Hall of Fame.

He was an ambassador to the sport during his stellar career, a true baseball gentleman. His many accomplishments were derived from natural talent, amazing work ethic and total dedication. Fans appreciated him everywhere as he devoted his entire career to one team.

As a kid, I admired the star's batting stroke and studied the statistics on the back of his baseball cards (I have a collection of more than 200). Come July 29, he'll take his rightful place among baseball immortals.

We're sending a reporter to cover the festivities. Sadly, it's not me. I won't get to see my idol in his finest hour.

Man, I really love Tony Gwynn.

What's that? There's another player being enshrined next Sunday?

Oh, yeah. That Cal guy.

I guess people around here are more excited about Cal Ripken's induction than Gwynn's. I'm preparing for a week-long love fest with countless Odes to The Iron Man.

It's going to be a strange day for me. Folks around here will be blabbering on about Cal, when all I want to hear about is Gwynn, Mr. San Diego Padre.

Since I grew up in a suburb of Baltimore, it would make sense for me to be more of a Ripken fan. As an 8-year-old just getting into baseball, I recall hearing wonderful things about this great Oriole shortstop named "Cow."

Then, I went to my first O's game at Memorial Stadium. Although I learned how to spell his name, to my recollection, he did nothing of substance. I was disappointed.

From then on, I was continually unimpressed by "Cow" Ripken, an opinion that carried over to my teenage years.

Maybe it was a case of overexposure.

Everyone around me was cuckoo for Cal.

All I saw, though, was a guy who kept grounding out with runners on base. That's the type of thing he did whenever I got the chance to see Ripken play (which wasn't often because we never had cable TV). It shaped my opinion of him, regardless of his astounding consecutive games streak.

As I got older, I learned to appreciate Ripken's durability and consistency. But I never rooted for him, even though my friends and father/baseball coach loved him. His ability wasn't fascinating. Just fundamental. He was kind of -- dare I say it? -- boring. Not that there's anything wrong with that. p>About that time, this guy on the west coast, Tony Gwynn, caught my attention with his batting wizardry.

Maybe it was a case of underexposure.

I didn't have the chance to watch Ripken much, but I never got to see Gwynn play. I could only read about him. All I saw were the statistics on the back of all those cards and his boxscore lines in Baseball Weekly. In other words, I never saw him ground out with runners on base.

According to what I read, Gwynn did very little wrong.

The more I learned about the chubby batting champ, the more amazing he sounded.

Gwynn used a puny bat, which he wielded with the accuracy of a diamond cutter. He studied video of his plate appearances, had a friendship with the legendary Ted Williams and made his living by slapping singles through the five-and-a-half hole (between

the third baseman and shortstop).

I swear, he would have batted .400 in 1994 if it wasn't for the strike (he stood at .394 after 110 games when the work stoppage hit).

It seemed like Gwynn went 2-for-5 or better every night. He also made himself into a Gold Glove right fielder and -- like Ripken, his East Coast counterpart -- was the consummate pro.

By the time his run was over, Gwynn had eight -- eight! -- NL batting titles over 20 seasons.

His career batting average of .338 is 17th all-time, although no player in front of him played after 1960 -- Teddy Ballgame's final season.

I know all about Ripken's exploits -- the streak, the MVPs, the All-Star memories and fielding records. That stuff was impossible to ignore while living so close to Baltimore. But Gwynn captured my attention, from nearly 3,000 miles away.

That's a Hall of Fame achievement in and of itself.

So, here's to two worthy Hall of Fame inductees.

Now, try not to have a "Cow" next week, Ripken fans.

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