A few words about Rickey Henderson

The stolen base king lost a battle with pneumonia, dying at the age of 65.

One of the most fascinating things Rickey Henderson ever said was stealing bases wasn’t all about pure speed. Granted, he had that in spades, but it was more about the instinct and timing to pull it off so many times in a single season. In twelve different seasons, he finished with at least 56 steals. He stole 77 or more seven different times.

Henderson was a different animal. He could hit it out of the park, something he did 297 times during his 25 year career. You don’t post 111 wins above replacement by stealing alone. Henderson drew 2,190 walks, scored 2,295 runs, and finished with an .820 OPS and 120 OPS+. He produced in the postseason big time for the Oakland Athletics and Tony La Russa, hitting .339 in 14 World Series games and stole 33 bags in 60 playoff games.

He was a menace to opposing teams. Henderson was the prototype for a leadoff hitter: he walked, stole, could round the bags on one swing, and usually found his way home if you let him reach first base. Managers and pitching coaches could only wish to contain him. Baseball got to appreciate him, even from afar here in St. Louis.

Respecting the legendary talents of the game who didn’t wear your favorite jersey enriches the game and spreads the appeal. It was like appreciating a Tony Gwynn opposite field double or a Ken Griffey Jr. home run. When the latter hit his 600th home run at old Busch Stadium in front of his dad, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house-and Griffey was wearing the wrong kind of red.

During the summer of 1998 that I just posted about earlier today, Henderson stole 66 bags and logged 670 at-bats. He drew 118 walks, reached base at a wicked .376 clip, and cranked 14 home runs. He did all of that at the age of 39. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa brought the sex appeal, but Henderson supplied the masterclass.

He leaned out over the plate during an at-bat, looking like a guy who was already thinking about second base. You would have thought he was homesick with how fast he went around the bags. The charisma that he brought to the game made it hard to not appreciate his ability. That smile popping out from behind a pitcher’s shoulder had to drive them nuts.

The entire world knew what he was trying to do once he reached first, and Henderson made it there 1,406 times during his magical career. Few people could steal bases and hit for power like he could, finishing five times in the top ten for MVP and winning once. Most pitchers were beaten before they even moved towards the plate.

Henderson was the one who broke Lou Brock’s record, holding the bag over his head with that wide-eyed grin. He had such immense respect for the Cardinal and his record that Midwest fans couldn’t stay mad for long when he accomplished the feat. All records are made to be broken; all one can hope for is that they are broken by a great player.

Born on Christmas, he died five days short of his 66th birthday, a criminal sin for his family and loved ones. Deaths around the holidays can flip the table on a normally warm time of year. It was a bout with pneumonia, the same freakish illness that took Bernie Mac too soon, that got the best of Rickey. After all of those checks on first base, the Grim Reaper unfortunately nailed him. I hope his family knows how much of an impact he made on the game.

Our loss is baseball heaven’s gain. Enjoy that drink with Lou, Rickey, when you step off the elevator into the Great Ones lobby. Call Bob Gibson and Stan Musial over, and get them thinking about a pickup game up top, beyond the corn and behind the years of existence. Nearly 66 years later after he got on base, Henderson finally stole heaven.