Remembering Rickey Henderson

I enjoy writing tributes to major league ballplayers when they die. But not if they die at around my age. And certainly not if they die at ten years younger.

Rickey Henderson died this week at age 65. As self-promoting as he was, Henderson is an underrated player. For example, many would be surprised to learn that he ranks 19th all-time on the wins-above-replacement (WAR) list. This puts him just behind Lou Gehrig and just ahead of Mickey Mantle.

I’m not saying Henderson was as good as Gehrig and Mantle. Peak-Gehrig and peak-Mantle were better than peak-Rickey.

Still, I think it’s fair to put Henderson in the same class as those two. In fact, it was Mantle’s close friend Billy Martin who, when managing a young Rickey Henderson, called him “a once in a lifetime player.”

Martin was right. Henderson holds the all-time record for runs scored and stolen bases. When he retired, he held the record for walks. (He’s now second to Barry Bonds).

Not surprisingly, then, he’s widely and justifiably considered the best lead-off hitter ever. Indeed, none of the players ahead of Henderson in all-time WAR batted lead-off regularly.

Henderson was a ten-time all star, a Gold Glove winner, and the AL MVP in 1990. He was runner-up for that award in 1981 (when he probably should have won it) and finished third in 1985.

The comparison to Gehrig and Mantle causes me to note that those two legends spent their entire career with one team. Henderson played for nine different teams and had four stints with Oakland, his hometown club and the one he’s most closely associated with.

Of course, Henderson played in a different era and he played for several of these clubs in his final years when he was trying to stay in the game he loved. But still.

Scouts love to talk about five-tool players — players who excel at hitting, hitting for power, fielding, running, and throwing. Willie Mays epitomized the five-tool player.

Henderson started out as a three-tool player. In the minor leagues, he could hit and he could run (how he could run!), but he was an error machine and lacked power

His third tool was the ability to draw walks. It wasn’t recognized as a tool at the time, which is one reason why Henderson was underrated. But modern analysis has demonstrated its importance.

Thanks to hard work and will power, Henderson became a very good fielder (as noted, he won a Gold Glove) and a hitter with power. He went from single digits in home runs early in his career to 28 in his MVP season, and he averaged around 20 during his peak years.

Henderson played in three World Series, two with Oakland (winning one) and one with Toronto (winning another). His batting average for the three was .339 with a remarkable OPS of 1.065.

His stats were poor though, when Toronto won the 1993 World Series. Nonetheless, Henderson played a part in the most memorable event of that clash — Joe Carter’s walk-off, Series-ending home run.

In Game Six, with Philadelphia leading by one run in the bottom of the ninth, Henderson walked on four pitches. This was after he stepped out of the batter’s box just as Mitch Williams was getting ready to throw his first pitch, causing the surprised relief ace to heave a wild non-pitch. Did this throw Williams off stride? Maybe.

With Henderson representing the tying run, Williams honored the threat of a stolen base by using a slide step, rather than the full delivery he always relied on. Williams was able to retire Devon White, but Paul Molitor followed with a single, sending Henderson to second.

Because Henderson loved to steal third, and because a sacrifice fly by Carter would tie the score (Carter was master of the sac fly), Williams stayed with the slide step.

The rest is history. Carter’s blast ended the Series.

Williams didn’t shirk responsibility for the home run. In fact, he beat himself up over it following the game. But he has emphasized how much he regrets getting beat without using his normal delivery. That’s due to Rickey Henderson.

But when I think of Henderson, I think above all about his style. Since Pete Rose, I can’t think of a player as distinctive as Rickey was. He was white hot and yet, somehow, cool.

The last time I saw Henderson play, he was in left field for the Mets. I was in the left field seats at Camden Yards in Baltimore.

The fans were really giving it to Rickey and he was giving it right back. In fact, he engaged in a running conversation throughout the game. Yet, he was off with the crack of the bat on every ball hit to left or center.

White-hot but cool.

Henderson was cool when it came to money. Instead of cashing his first million dollar check, he framed it. The Oakland As assumed the check had been cashed and, the story goes, couldn’t figure out why the team bank account didn’t balance.

I’ve also read that Henderson didn’t spend his per diem money. Instead, he stashed the envelopes containing the cash in a drawer at home. He would then give an envelope to a daughter (he had three) who brought home a good report card.

Another cool thing about Henderson was the way he referred to himself in the third person — e.g., “Rickey won’t be staying on first base long.” For most people, third-person self-references are annoying or worse. In Henderson’s case, they were somehow endearing, at least to me.

Here’s my favorite Rickey in the third-person story. As far as I can tell, it’s true.

While playing for the Padres in 1996, (one of two stints with San Diego) Henderson was the last player to board the team bus. As a veteran, he had expected someone to leave him his seat in a front row, but there none was available.

"No seat for Rickey?," Henderson said, standing in the front of the bus. "Rickey don't get no seat? Ain't nobody got a seat for Rickey?"

"Just tell one of the kids to move," Brad Ausmus said. "You've got tenure."

Rickey replied, "Nah, Rickey don’t got ten years, Rickey got 15."

Sadly, he only got 65 in this life. RIP.