WHAT'S THE RUSH TO SAY GOODBYE?

Byline: KEVIN MODESTI

The hottest thing in baseball these days is not the Seattle Mariners or the July trade banter. It is retirement.

Anybody who is anybody is doing it, or is preparing the press release.

Tony Gwynn and Cal Ripken Jr. announced their retirements before the All-Star break, effective at the end of the season. Eric Davis announced his retirement, also three months before the fact. Rico Brogna and Stan Javier are hailing the Leisure World tram, and Wally Joyner is gone already.

Brogna, architect of a .269 lifetime average and 106 home runs, revealed that he would leave the Atlanta bench behind in the fall, freeing him to coach high school football in Connecticut. This fell into the category of news most of us could have done without.

If the fitting sendoff for Cal Ripken was his hitting a home run in the All-Star Game, what would suit Rico Brogna? Going 1 for 5 with three strikeouts in a Thursday matinee at Pittsburgh?

Brogna might as well have announced he won't run for president in 2004, for all the impact his retirement will have.

As it turned out, the Braves were on the same page as Brogna. Tuesday, they cut him from the roster. Cancel the farewell tour.

Retirement is a more complicated decision for ballplayers than for those of us toiling in a rock quarry, who, if we discover we're not getting around on the high hard boulders anymore, merely submit two weeks' notice.

Some future Hall of Famers, like Gwynn and Ripken, are praised for choosing the right time to walk away and are loaded down with gifts upon their last visits to each park.

But others, like Michael Jordan and any number of fighters, discover they might have walked away too soon, with sweat and blood yet to be spilled.

And others, like Willie Mays and Steve Carlton, are ridiculed for ``hanging on too long,'' after their skills have atrophied to the point of embarrassment.

Mays' example, to some historians, was the worst, the 42-year-old flailing away at .211 for the 1973 Mets.

It says here, though, that Mays' ugly final season dropping his career average from .304 to .302 was no national tragedy. Not when you consider the pleasure New York fans might have derived from one last glimpse. Not when you weigh the fulfillment Mays might have gained from testing his limits.

Which brings us to Rickey Henderson, the most notable exception to this year's exit stampede by 40-something Hall of Fame locks.

Henderson is 42 and manning left field part-time for last-place San Diego after signing a minor-league contract in March and playing a couple of weeks at Triple-A Portland. The Padres are his seventh team and 11th stop in 23 seasons.

Henderson was batting .221 before he dropped into his batting crouch in the second inning Tuesday in Anaheim and grounded the 2,966th hit of his career up the middle to drive in the game's first run.

History's greatest base stealer (he broke Lou Brock's career record a full decade ago) doesn't care if you think he's washed up.

``(I) hear, `It's time for you to quit!' '' said Henderson, who is making $300,000 with the Padres, one-tenth the option-year salary Toronto declined to pick up. ``Why? I can do pretty much as good a job as a 25- year-old leadoff hitter. ... I've told Tony (Gwynn) that when I don't enjoy the game, I'll retire.''

He has objectives: He is 34 hits from 3,000, and 26 runs from Ty Cobb's record 2,245. Henderson figures to reach both milestones in September but hopes to play next season as well - ideally by making a fifth stop in Oakland.

Rickey carries around the reputation for self-centeredness. A jeweled ``130'' (his 1982 steals record) hangs from his neck.

What he is, really, is an uncomplicated soul, an athlete concerned with little more than the proper working of his own muscles and synapses.

He will play until all 30 teams tell him to stop or until a limb falls off.

What's wrong with that?

Henderson is not taking up a roster spot that could go to somebody else. Padres outfielders Gwynn, Mike Darr and Mark Kotsay have been hurt. It was Henderson's 13-game hitting streak in May and June that sent the Padres briefly into first place.

Gwynn, batting .357 between injuries, sees nothing wrong with Henderson following his heart.

``When you get to the end of your career, you have all these outsiders telling you what to do,'' Gwynn said. ``The older you get, the more you're questioned. In his case, he's been in that position for the last three, four years.

``You just have to know yourself.''

Rickey knows that, although he has nothing left to prove, he's not ready to embark on a farewell tour. For that he should be applauded as loudly as Gwynn and Ripken.