Being Rickey

RIP, Rickey Henderson, 1958-2024

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:

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.

No one could catch Rickey in ’82, and no one has since. (Heinz Kluetmeier /Sports Illustrated via Getty Images)

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.”