Rickey Henderson will always be a baseball, Oakland legend

Reflecting on the impact the Hall of Famer had on one writer who grew up in the Bay Area

Editor’s note: Baseball Hall of Fame outfielder Rickey Henderson died at age 65, MLB announced Saturday. Henderson, who was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility in 2009, is widely considered the greatest leadoff hitter in baseball history. A 10-time MLB All-Star, two-time World Series champion and the 1990 American League Most Valuable Player, Henderson is one of 33 players in MLB history with 3,000 hits and is 19th in league history in Wins Above Replacement (WAR). He is MLB’s career leader in stolen bases (1,406) runs scored (2,295) and still holds the record for stolen bases in a season (130 in 1982).

Andscape senior NBA writer Marc J. Spears grew up an Oakland Athletics fan in San Jose, about 40 miles from Oakland where Henderson played for the Athletics and covered him when Henderson played for the Anaheim Angels.

I swore I was Rickey Henderson as a kid playing for the Spartan Little League in San Jose, California. Any time I got a chance to steal a base, I would take a couple steps out, wiggle my fingers just like Rickey and as the pitcher threw the baseball I was gone. And no matter the situation, like Rickey, I was diving headfirst into the base. And to my recollection I never got caught stealing, like the greatest base stealer of all-time and, in my opinion, the most talented baseball player ever.

Once I got in junior high school, me and my buddies would take the Bay Area Rapid Transit (BART) from Fremont to Oakland without parental guidance to the Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum for one main reason: Watching Oakland Athletics star Rickey Henderson in person before Mount Davis was built (Bay Area folks know). We would use the A’s Safeway Saturdays promotion to get in for $5 for a general admission seat, a hot dog, sunflower seeds and a soda. And me and my boys sat in left field as close as possible so we could watch Rickey’s every move and hope for some type of interaction.

Posters on my childhood wall included Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Julius “Dr. J” Erving, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Michael Jordan, Charles Barkley and Eric “Sleepy” Floyd. There was only one non-basketball poster. It was a Winchell’s Donut poster highlighting an eye-black wearing Rickey, whose A’s uniform was covered in dirt. Basketball was my love since junior high, but I idolized Rickey and followed him from Oakland to both New York teams to Toronto to San Diego to Anaheim to Los Angeles and to Seattle over the course of 25 seasons. It didn’t matter what team he was on. I was a Rickey fan — from his baseball talent to his swaggy home run trot, to his dangling jewelry to his unique way of catching a pop fly with a snap, to his third-person, confident, grammar-challenged quotes. Rickey was always that guy.

In 1997, I got a job covering the Anaheim Angels for the Los Angeles Daily News. Upon landing the job, I thought to myself a 38-year-old Rickey was on the team. But just like Rickey, I had to be cool. The Chicago born, Oakland-raised star could not have been nicer and more welcoming, which meant the world to me, especially since it wasn’t the always the case throughout the locker room.

Once we established a rapport a few weeks into my new job, I told him that I used to have his Winchell’s poster on the wall in my childhood room.

“Oh man, you making Rickey feel old,” he said.

Rickey also told me one of my favorite quotes in nearly 30 years of being a sportswriter. I asked him foolishly if he was the greatest leadoff hitter in Major League Baseball history.

Without missing a beat, Rickey answered, “I think I is the greatest leadoff hitter that ever be.” Grammatically correct? No. Understood and factual? No question. And when I needed a laugh during a slow Angels game, I would find that tape and play the quote to the delight of my fellow writers.

My journalism career took me back to the San Francisco Bay Area in 2009. I ended up becoming friends with two people that knew Rickey well: former Oakland A’s star pitcher Dave Stewart and local architect Rick Dumas.

It was through Stewart that I would get to hang out with him and Rickey at Athletics games from time to time in a private suite. Rickey said he remembered me, to my surprise, and he showed me a lot of respect. I cherished every conversation we had talking baseball, Oakland and life.

Rickey was also a regular at Dumas’ legendary and private Super Punch annual holiday party at the latter’s home in the Oakland Hills. But when I went to the most recent party on Dec. 7, everyone but Rickey seemed to be there drinking the mystery spiked punch. His presence was certainly missed. I would later find out that Rickey wasn’t there because he was fighting health issues that would ultimately take his life.

I’ve been blessed to be in a business where I have been able to meet a lot of my sports heroes and the world’s current best athletes. Some of those encounters could be disappointing. That wasn’t ever the case with Rickey. He never disappointed, on and off the diamond. YouTube and other videos will never replicate what it felt like seeing this baseball giant hitting leadoff home runs followed by a very slow trot, making nonchalant outfield catches and stealing second and third base with ease.

Rickey Henderson will always be a baseball legend, an Oakland legend and one of the greatest people there “ever be.” Rest in Peace.

Marc J. Spears is the senior NBA writer for Andscape. He used to be able to dunk on you, but he hasn’t been able to in years and his knees still hurt.