Yesterday was the 65th anniversary of one of sports' greatest achievements, the end of Joe DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak, a milestone that seems to have passed largely unnoticed by all but dedicated seamheads.

Which might tell you something about the expectations for the record itself.

The lack of fanfare about baseball's most remarkable record suggests not that it is unappreciated but rather that people expect it to be around for many more anniversaries. That of all of the hallowed marks in a game that is record doting and cherishes the concept of "unbreakable" marks, this one might just be.

Which would be saying something in baseball where Cy Young's 511 career pitching victories (1911) and Rogers Hornsby's .424 batting average (1924) are among those with more time on the books.

Since DiMaggio went 0 for 3 with a base on balls against Cleveland on July 17, 1941, twice robbed on backhand plays by third baseman Ken Keltner, nobody has managed to move within 10 games of his standard. From May 15 to July 16, DiMaggio hit .409 and, in the process, took the Yankees on his back, lifting them from fourth place into first and eventually to the World Series in an MVP season.

Nobody has combined the day-in and day-out consistency and, yes, good fortune to really threaten DiMaggio. Only Pete Rose (44 games) in 1978 and Paul Molitor (39) in 1987 have even put together streaks that began to get interesting.

Under modern conditions, with set-up men and closers, it is hard to imagine anybody making a run. Even should a once-in-a-lifetime hitter come along, a true "five-tool" player, there is the matter of pressure, which DiMaggio handled with such grace and under considerably fewer eyes. When DiMaggio was passing George Sisler and Wee Willie Keeler, TV was barely a concept and there was no SportsCenter, no Internet.

In Hawai'i, where he was a staff sergeant with the 7th Army Air Force during World War II, DiMaggio is recalled for a prodigious home run he hit just after stepping off a six-month layoff in 1944. The homer, according to legend, cleared Honolulu Stadium and, on a mighty bounce, came to rest on the porch at Drier Manor, a stately Victorian mansion across Isenberg Street where the St. Louis Alumni Clubhouse now stands.

Long after he is forgotten for all his other celebrity — being Marilyn Monroe's husband, a line in Ernest Hemingway's "Old Man and the Sea," a figure in Paul Simon's "Mrs. Robinson" or "Mr. Coffee" commercials — DiMaggio will still have his record.

For that, 65 years is likely just a beginning.

Reach Ferd Lewis at flewis@honoluluadvertiser.com or 525-8044.