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RIP Rickey Henderson

NorthLoop

By NorthLoop
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Hate

Hate 20247

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What a great player. I loved watching him steal bases. RIP to an all time great.

I did, at the time, really enjoy how Nolan threw his 7th no-hitter the same day Rickey broke the record. 

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cmontexas

cmontexas 3367

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6 minutes ago, Hate said:

What a great player. I loved watching him steal bases. RIP to an all time great.

I did, at the time, really enjoy how Nolan threw his 7th no-hitter the same day Rickey broke the record. 

Was also strikeout number 5000

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Sandman

Sandman 3430

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My favorite Rickey story is when he went to the Mets and John Olerud was on that team. Olerud had to wear a batting helmet at all times, as he had suffered a brain hemorrhage years before and he wanted to be extra careful about his head. Upon talking with Olerud, Rickey said "That's funny, I had a teammate in Toronto that also wore a helmet all the time". Olerud said "Yeah...that was me. We played in Toronto together".

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Huckleberry

Huckleberry 34578

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Rickey and I got in a conversation at the Astrodome when he played for the Padres. There was a runner on 2nd with 2 outs. Astros hit a single and Rickey tried to throw out the runner at home. Sailed the cutoff man. Batter advanced to second on the throw.

I literally screamed to him (I was 21) "Rickey can hit, Rickey can run, but Rickey can't throw, hit your cutoff! Now there's another RISP!" He flipped me off. Next batter hit a single. Runner scored from second. After that he tipped his cap to me from left field. Along with Pedro Martínez my favorite player ever I watched live who never played for Houston.

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Beau Vine

Beau Vine 55859

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When Rickey Henderson was in high school, a guidance counselor named Tommie Wilkerson offered to pay him a quarter for every hit he got, every run he scored, and every base he stole. She did this to motivate him to play the game with his heart. At the time, Rickey was a football player, both in talent and spirit, and he only played baseball because his mother thought it was a safer game.

A quarter for every hit. A quarter for every run. A quarter for every stolen base.

In his big, wild, wonderful, hilarious, beautiful big-league career, Rickey…

Knocked 3,118 hits, counting the postseason.

Scored 50 more runs than Ty Cobb or anyone else who ever played baseball.

Stole about 500 more bases than Ty Cobb or anyone else who ever played baseball.

I’d argue that no player in baseball history was ever more alive than Rickey Henderson, which is why his shocking death just days before his 66th Christmas hits so hard. Rickey played a cautious sport with abandon. Rickey played a timid sport with flash. Rickey irritated and thrilled and frustrated and dominated and left us all wanting more.

“When we were kids,” his teammate Mike Gallego said, “we played in the backyard emulating Pete Rose’s stance or Joe Morgan’s. I believe Rickey emulated Rickey.”

Yes, Rickey was his own thing, entirely, completely, from the way he crouched at the plate (“he has a strike zone the size of Hitler’s heart,” Jim Murray famously wrote), to the way he slid headfirst on the bases (he modeled his slide after an airplane landing) to the way he held out virtually every spring (“You have to say Rickey’s consistent,” Don Mattingly said during one of those holdouts, “and that’s what you want from a ballplayer: consistency”) to the way he referred to himself in the third person (“People are always saying, ‘Rickey says Rickey,’” Rickey said, “but it’s been blown way out of proportion”) to the joyful confidence he exuded every time he stepped out on the diamond from age 20 to age 44.

“You wanna throw me out today?” he would ask catchers the first time he stepped to the plate. “Well, hang tight. Rickey’s gonna give you that chance.”

His career is unlike anyone else’s. Look at this:

dbcab8df-6520-478f-a386-0b70cdf5ec22_513
Those are all the uniform numbers Rickey Henderson wore for his nine different major league teams. His baseball life was more than a baseball journey… it was a mathematical journey. He wore No. 35 during his early glory days in Oakland, back when he stole an unreal 130 bases in 1982.

When he joined the Yankees in 1985, a 46-year-old Phil Niekro wore No. 35—it was the only number Knucksie ever wore in the big leagues. The Yankees offered Rickey Billy Martin’s old No. 1 instead. But Rickey chose 24, because he wore that number back in the minors in honor of his hero, Willie Mays.

“But when he retires,” Rickey said of Niekro, “I want my 35 number back.”

Niekro left the Yankees the next year, but Rickey stuck with No. 24. Then he went back to Oakland in 1989, and both of his numbers were gone—Ron Hassey wore No 24, and Bob Welch wore No. 35. So he changed again, this time to No. 22,. He wasn’t happy with that number, though, so he asked to change to No. 32, the number he wore in high school. While the A’s considered his request, he was able to trade $2,500 in stereo and appliance equipment to Hassey in exchange for No. 24. That was the number he wore when he won the MVP in 1990.

When he was traded to Toronto in 1993, Turner Ward wore No. 24, so Rickey briefly wore No. 12. He quickly bought No. 24 from Ward, for a reported $25,000. He also took Ward’s locker and his spot in leftfield. “I told my wife to stay away from him,” Ward said.

Four months later, Rickey returned to Oakland, where his gold-and-green No. 24 was again waiting.

At age 37, he signed with San Diego (which had No. 24 waiting for him), a few months later he was traded 90 miles north, to Anaheim (still 24), and at the end of the year, he signed as a free agent with Oakland once more, the fourth time he signed with his hometown team. At age 39, he walked 118 times and led the league in stolen bases for the jaw-dropping 12th time.



Then he signed with the Mets, where he got No. 24 once more, and hit .315/.423/.466, stole 37 bases and scored 89 runs in just 121 games… he stole six more bases in the National League Division Series against Arizona.

He was released by the Mets in May of 2000—after going into a home run trot on a fly ball that did not leave the yard—and signed with Seattle, which wasn’t about to give him No. 24, since they already knew the number would be retired for Ken Griffey Jr. Instead, pitching coach Bryan Price gave him 35, the number he had made famous in Oakland.*

*Price had taken No. 35 because it was worn by his all-time favorite player, who, and you’ll never guess this in a million years, was former Giants shortstop Chris Speier.

After helping the Mariners get to the ALCS, Henderson signed with San Diego again (24, again), went to the Red Sox (35, again) and, finally, after playing independent baseball in Newark, signed with the Dodgers, where he said he would take on any role to help the ballclub. He also took on the number 25. It was his 25th and final big-league season.

When asked if he had lost a step, his answer was Rickey.

“I don’t know if they want people to steal 100 bases at this time,” he said. “But if I had a full season, and I was healthy, and I was getting on base enough, yes, I could steal 100.”

What a baseball life. He was obviously elected to the Hall of Fame on the first ballot and with 95% of the vote—his plaque fits his legend. “Faster than a speeding bullet,” it begins, “scored more runs (2,295) and stole more bases (1,406) than any player in history. Combined power, plate discipline, flair and an uncanny ability to electrify crowds.”

Under his full name, Rickey Nelson Henley Henderson—he was named for 1950s rock icon Ricky Nelson (who spelled his name without the E)—is his nickname, in quotations: “Man of Steal.”

Baseball truly is a conservative game, more so now than ever before. Everything is geared toward safety and away from risk, toward protecting arms and playing the precise percentages and making only the safest bets. Rickey Henderson was the antithesis of that. He ran free. He challenged opponents. He forced the action. In 1982, when he stole those 130 bases, he was caught 42 times, more than anyone in baseball history, and more than 22 of the 30 teams in baseball last year. Rickey didn’t like getting caught stealing, of course, but he also knew that was the price of being Rickey. “If my uniform doesn’t get dirty,” he said, “I haven’t done anything.”

My favorite Rickey Henderson story of the many hundreds happened when he came back to Oakland and was looking to assure his new manager, Tony La Russa, that he would be a team player. Up to that point, Rickey ran whenever he wanted to run, he had a perpetual green light, but he asked to be shown the signs and promised to follow them. So they showed him the steal sign, the hit-and-run sign, the bunt sign. And they told him that when a coach swiped his arms, that took off all signs.

Not long after, Henderson was on first, and the coach swiped his arms, signaling to Henderson that he was to stay. Rickey stole second anyway, and came around to score. The next time he reached first, the coach again swiped his arms, again signaling Henderson to stay. Rickey stole second again.

La Russa furiously cornered Henderson in the dugout and asked him why he wasn’t following the signs. Henderson looked puzzled.

“You said if he swipes his arms, that means take off sign,’” Henderson said.

La Russa nodded.

“Well, he swiped his arms,” Rickey said. “And Rickey took off.”

 

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Wally Pryor

Wally Pryor 5407

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There was no one who embraced banter with fans more than Rickey. He savored it as much as the game itself. 

For several years in the days of the old Arlington Stadium we stood in line to make sure and get the $7 first-row seats in sections G & H whenever the Yankees or A's were coming to town. You didn't miss out. To get a front row seat in the left center stands in that old dinosaur was a ticket to unbridled entertainment. And that source of entertainment was Rickey.  He didn't give a shit about playing the outfield. Never did. He was more interested in engaging, and telling you about how big his dick was, and how much your mom enjoyed it, and how much your sister would as well if your mom got tired of it, and on and on.  One of the guys we used to go with to the games took in a folded up dry erase board to message Rickey, relentlessly.  Rickey came close to climbing the wall when he was told that his manhood was "3 inches, on a good day", but he'd soon have to turn around and somewhat pay attention to a baseball game being played. The shit went on and on, and it was fantastic. 

Rickey was a character and beyond. And one helluva player. One of one.

RIP Rickey.

 

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shadow_operative2.0

shadow_operative2.0 16255

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Stew gives a little idea about the cause. 

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Former Oakland Athletics great Dave Stewart was exhausted, his voice raspy and eyes watery, as his mind drifted over all of the memories.

This didn’t seem real.

Sure, Rickey Henderson, one of his best friends in life – not just baseball – wasn’t feeling the best. Henderson was asthmatic, endured ongoing sinus problems that required surgery last year, and often was fatigued.

Still, that was Rickey, always on the go, refusing to let his body slow him down.

“When I heard he was sick," Stewart told USA TODAY Sports Saturday, “I wasn’t surprised. He doesn’t know how to slow it down. He doesn’t give himself a chance not to be 100%.

“Him having asthma, him being sick, it never stopped him. He was always on the go. He had these rental properties in Oakland, and I’d get these calls saying they saw Rickey out cutting the grass. I’d say, ‘What do you mean?’ They told me he actually out there with a lawn mower doing work on his property.

“He was always go-go-go. He loves to fish. He just took up hunting. On his first hunt, he’s out there hunting wild boar. That’s not the animal you hunt on your first hunt."

Stewart called Henderson on Friday afternoon to remind him they had a business call scheduled for Saturday. Henderson’s daughter, Alexis, answered the phone. They were in an Oakland hospital where Henderson was scheduled to undergo surgery.

Later, Stewart got a call from Alexis telling him that her father didn’t make it.

He was gone, at the age of 65, five days before his 66th birthday on Christmas Day.

“I couldn’t believe it," Stewart said, “I still can’t. I can’t wrap my heard around it. We’ve known each other practically our entire lives.

“That was my dude." 

https://www.usatoday.com/story/sports/mlb/columnist/bob-nightengale/2024/12/21/rickey-henderson-death-cause-dave-stewart-oakland-athletics/77140363007/

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