“What Jimmy really loved to do? What he really loved to do was steal. I mean, he actually enjoyed it. Jimmy was the kind of guy who rooted for the bad guy in the movies.” — Ray Liotta as Henry Hill
That’s a quote from “Goodfellas,” which premiered in September 1990, when the Oakland A’s were reigning champions and Rickey Henderson was the most electrifying player in baseball. That was his best season, too, and at the start of the next one, he broke Lou Brock’s career record for stolen bases.
Henderson yanked the base from the Coliseum dirt and raised it to the sky. He thanked God, the A’s and the city. He thanked family, fans and managers. Then, with Brock standing beside him, Henderson declared: “Today, I am the greatest of all time.”
That night, 1700 miles away in Texas, Nolan Ryan broke his own record for no-hitters with seven. The irresistible contrast made for a lazy talking point: the humble, stoic Ryan had upstaged the vain, cocky Henderson. Low-hanging fruit at its most sour.
Henderson, who died Friday at age 65, was the bad guy in that movie — and sure, he brought it on himself. He whined about being underpaid. He often referred to himself in the third person. He wore fluorescent green batting gloves. He popped his collar and shimmied on home run trots. He slashed the air after catching fly balls, his glove like Zorro’s blade.
And all of it — the contract stuff notwithstanding — was awesome.
“In my way of playing the game, people have called me a hot dog,” Henderson once said. “But I call it (bringing) some style or entertainment to the people. I enjoy going out there and exciting the fans, because I feel like they come out here to see some excitement.”
Was any player ever more exciting than Rickey Henderson? Was anyone a better entertainer? Certainly, no one outside of the movies loved stealing as much as Henderson or succeeded so grandly at it.
Henderson finished with 1,406 stolen bases. His last came in August 2003, for the Dodgers, off a Colorado pitcher named Cory Vance who was born in June 1979. That was the same month as Henderson’s very first steal, in his major-league debut for the A’s.
In some ways, Henderson was a lot more like Ryan than it seemed. Both played in four decades, into their mid-40s. Henderson led his league in stolen bases 12 times; Ryan led his league in strikeouts 12 times. Henderson is the only player with more than 1,000 steals; Ryan is the only pitcher with more than 5,000 strikeouts. (Henderson, in fact, was strikeout victim No. 5,000.)
But here’s the difference: as freakishly dominant as Ryan was in strikeouts, Henderson was far more prolific in stolen bases. Ryan has 17.2 percent more strikeouts than Randy Johnson, who ranks second. Henderson has 49.8 percent more stolen bases than Brock.
Here’s another way to frame that: Let’s say Henderson’s career had ended in 1993, which would have been a fitting capper. Henderson, then with Toronto, drew a leadoff walk in the bottom of the ninth inning in Game 6 of the World Series, causing the Phillies’ Mitch Williams to try a slide-step motion to hold him on. Joe Carter took advantage with a clinching home run.
(In his absorbing biography of Henderson — “Rickey: The Life and Legend of an American Original” — Howard Bryant tells a great story from the following season, after Henderson had re-joined the A’s. On a trip to Toronto, players and staff reminisced about where they were when Carter hit his homer. Henderson shouted from the back of the bus: “I was on second base!”)
Through 1993 Henderson had 1,095 career steals, about 17 percent more than Brock — the same as Ryan’s strikeout edge over Johnson. But Henderson then stuck around for another decade as a speedster for hire.
He bounced back to Oakland, then to San Diego, the Angels, Oakland again, the Mets, Seattle, the Padres again, Boston and Los Angeles. He kept running even when the big leagues stopped calling, swiping 53 more bases for independent teams in Newark and San Diego.
All that speed naturally found its way to the plate. Henderson scored 2,295 runs, another record, just above Ty Cobb, Barry Bonds, Hank Aaron and Babe Ruth. When he set the mark in 2001, with a homer for the Padres, Henderson trotted around the bases – and then slid into home.
“It was feet-first and he was always a head-first guy; that caught us more off-guard than anything,” said Ben Davis, a catcher on that team. “But you never put anything past Rickey. I mean, that year, think about it: he got his 3,000th hit, he got the all-time walks record and he got the all-time runs scored record. The walks record was broken by Barry, but that’s unbelievable, to do all that in one year.”
Henderson was 42 then but still managed 25 stolen bases, the most ever for that age. His single-season record of 130, set in 1982, has never been seriously challenged. Even with new rules to encourage base stealing, last year’s leader, Cincinnati’s Elly De La Cruz, had just 67.
Besides Henderson, only one other modern player, Vince Coleman, has three seasons with 100 steals. After Henderson passed Brock, Coleman, then with the Mets, mused about his own chances. He thought he could do it.
“He knows I’ll be chasing his record, just like I’m chasing all the other records,” Coleman told the (Bridgewater, NJ) Courier-News. “If I stay healthy, I’m gonna average 80, 90, 100 steals a season.”
Coleman never topped 50 steals again. He finished hundreds shy of Henderson, and yet still had a standout career: his total, 752, is sixth all-time. Ultimately, Coleman lacked the on-base component that eludes so many base stealers. Of the 20 players with 500 steals since 1930, more than half had a career OBP under .350.
Henderson’s was .401. Only one modern player with 500 stolen bases, Bonds, reached base more at a higher rate. And while Bonds is easily the game’s greatest living player, Henderson was probably the greatest living Hall of Famer at the time of his death. The only others even in the conversation would have been Mike Schmidt or a pitcher like Johnson, Greg Maddux or Steve Carlton.
It’s jarring now to look at the career leaderboard in wins above replacement. The only living players above Schmidt, who is tied for 24th with Nap Lajoie, are Bonds, Roger Clemens and Alex Rodriguez, whose careers were tarnished by ties to steroids. The extraordinary volume of high-impact performance is just so hard to achieve.
Henderson did it. He hit from a crouch with a refined approach that would play in any era: a seven-time league leader in walks, he also slammed a half-season’s worth of leadoff homers with a record 81, plus another in the postseason.
That came in Game 4 of the World Series in 1989, the year the A’s brought Henderson back from the Yankees in a midseason trade. That October was his showcase: a .441/.568/.941 slash line with 11 steals in 12 tries. The A’s lost just once on their way to a championship.
Henderson led off the clincher against San Francisco’s Don Robinson. He took two balls. With a thunderous lineup behind him, he could have worked the count. Instead he swung hard at a fastball down the middle, lashing it over the left field fence. The A’s never trailed in that World Series as they romped to a sweep.
It was their last title representing Oakland, Henderson’s hometown. Eventually the team named the Coliseum’s field in his honor, though he never got his own statue — too much permanence, perhaps, for a franchise with a wandering eye.
Now the A’s are gone, off to Las Vegas by way of Sacramento, and Henderson is gone, too. Wednesday will mark 66 years since his birth, on Christmas night 1958 in the backseat of an Oldsmobile on the way to a hospital in Chicago. He was a man on the move from the very start.
Dash away, dash away, dash away all.
(Top photo of Henderson after he broke MLB’s single-season stolen-base record in 1982: Getty Images)
https://www.nytimes.com/athletic/6011502/2024/12/21/rickey-henderson-legacy-oakland-athletics-appreciation/
