You know you're getting old when your favorite baseball player gets elected to the Hall of Fame. Rickey Henderson was the first thing I ever noticed about baseball or the New York Yankees for that matter. It was pretty much over from that point on.
My Father used to go to baseball games with a guy named Red. Red knew an MLB umpire and once asked him who was the best baseball player he's ever seen. The umpire, without pause or hesitation said, "Rickey Henderson." Then the umpire did hesitate, but only before admitting "And he'd be even better if we gave him more calls."
That was Rickey Henderson. A brash, arrogant superstar of an athlete of a baseball player. Ridiculously gifted. A freak. Electrifying. A terror on the base paths and absolutely fearless. And the best damn lead-off hitter the game has ever seen.
He knew it too.
In Little League I was happy to patrol left field like Rickey used to in Yankee Stadium. Unfortunately I never got the opportunity to show off my range or wheels. I was happy to dig holes in the outfield with my cleats though and I did that often.
I was also not much of a hitter. At the end of each season the coaches would give me my fielding average instead of my batting average -- surprisingly enough, it wasn't that impressive. But I could always draw walks. I went up there looking to for walks, actually.
Whatever. That ball was scary.
Anyway, whenever I was lucky enough to draw a walk, I'd be on my toes for any opportunity to swipe a bag. Second? Yeah I'm taking second. I'm taking second, then I'm taking third. I'd take home too if it wasn't against the rules in Little League.
In all my baseball fantasies I've ever had, I was to be Rickey Henderson. Too bad for us, there is only one.
Congratulations Rickey! You deserve it. And indeed you were, much like you told us all back when you broke Lou Brock's All Time Steals Record, the greatest of all time.
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