JUPITER, Fla. -- Cal Ripken drove an hour early yesterday morning from the Orioles' spring training complex to the site of their Grapefruit League game against the Montreal Expos. His schedule for the day included extra batting practice in the cage beyond the outfield fence, and then a start at third base.

He never put on his uniform.

In the middle of the extra hitting session, still dressed in his warm-ups, he took a cell phone call, ended the session and told club officials he was leaving immediately to go home and be with his father, Cal Ripken Sr., who has lung cancer and was described as "gravely ill" in a statement released by the Orioles.

As his teammates dressed and headed out for regular batting practice on a windy morning, Ripken picked up his unopened equipment bag, got back in his car and headed toward the airport, starting a trip back to Maryland that he'd dreaded having to make.

His spring season had come to an abrupt halt, for the worst possible reason.

"What can you say?" Orioles general manager Frank Wren said minutes later, sitting in the Orioles' dugout with one of his 7-year-old twin sons. "We just told Cal to take as long as he needs before coming back."

Willis Otanez replaced Ripken in manager Ray Miller's lineup, disappointing many in the crowd of 3,148 that watched the Orioles beat the Expos, 7-3, at Roger Dean Stadium. But the fact that Ripken, of all people, had felt compelled to leave the park shortly before a game spoke volumes about the urgency of the situation.

"I didn't get a chance to talk to him," said Chris Hoiles, one of Ripken's closest friends on the team. "But it's just a tough, tough situation. It's a terrible time for anyone, but Cal and his dad are really close. You know his dad would want him to carry on, but there comes a time when you need to be there and spend every minute you can with him."

Ripken is, of course, still baseball's all-time ironman and a future Hall of Famer. But as he made his way home yesterday, he was just another son going through one of life's bleakest passages, as vulnerable to its sadness as anyone. Few events reduce you more than a parent's death.

"I hate it, I just hate it," said Orioles bullpen coach Elrod Hendricks, who has known Ripken Sr. for more than three decades and spent time with the family at Johns Hopkins Hospital over the winter. "This is the man who taught me how to be a coach. I called him the baseball encyclopedia."

Hendricks had seen Junior in the clubhouse before batting practice yesterday and had no idea he'd left until a reporter told him. He exhaled, sat back against the dugout wall and seemed near tears as he spoke.

"The last time I talked to [Ripken Sr.], he was home from the hospital and I said, 'I'll come out to see you tomorrow,' " Hendricks said. "He said, 'Give me a few days.' The [chemotherapy] treatments were rough. It's been tough on the whole family."

The cancer was diagnosed last fall, according to Hendricks, after former Orioles coach Jimmy Williams urged Senior to see a doctor. Others had made the same request over the summer, to no avail.

"He'd lost some weight, that was the thing," Hendricks said. "I said to him, 'Hey, have you been to see a doctor?' He said, 'None of your damn business, I can take care of myself.' That's the way we are with each other, always snapping and carrying on. Anyway, he finally went to the doctor and, well, there it was."

It was obvious from the start of spring training last month that Junior wasn't as focused as usual on his game and the coming season. Instead of kidding around and wrestling with teammates, as he usually does, he was quiet, businesslike and often stayed to himself.

On the field, he managed only seven hits in 37 at-bats in the Orioles' first 17 spring games. That's why he was in the batting cage with hitting coach Terry Crowley yesterday morning.

"Of course it was on his mind," Hoiles said. "Not that he was talking about [his father's health] that much. But it's just natural. You do what you can to keep your focus, but with a situation like that, your mind obviously is going to be elsewhere. You're going to be distracted pretty much all the time."

News of Junior's sudden departure spread quickly through the clubhouse and left a melancholy chill in the warm air. Senior worked for the Orioles' organization as a coach, manager and instructor from the late 1950s until 1992. A classic, old-school fundamentalist, he touched many generations.

Hoiles just shook his head. "Quite a few of us knew him a long time, learned from him and spent a lot of time with him," he said. "This thing is the toughest on Cal [Junior], obviously. But a lot of us in here are feeling it, too. It's not a good day."

Pub Date: 3/24/99