Rickey Nelson Henley Henderson passed away on December 20th at the age of 65, leaving behind a legacy as baseball’s greatest leadoff hitter and baserunner. His life and career were a testament to passion, resilience, and an unwavering belief in seizing the moment.
Born on Christmas Day 1958 in the back seat of an Oldsmobile on the way to the hospital, Rickey’s story began with speed—quite literally. Reflecting on his dramatic arrival, he later quipped, “I was already fast. I couldn’t wait.” That zest for life and determination carried him through 25 extraordinary years in baseball, where he seemed to relish every challenge and thrive under the brightest lights.
Growing up in a National League town, I didn’t have many opportunities to watch Rickey’s magic unfold, as he spent most of his career in the American League. Still, his unforgettable performances in postseasons and All-Star games left a vivid impression on me. Rickey’s unique style of play—dynamic, bold, and joyful—was impossible to ignore.
Rickey’s dedication to his craft extended to every facet of the game, including his iconic batting stance. By adopting a low crouch at the plate, he not only made himself a smaller strike zone (smaller than Hitler’s heart) but also demonstrated his innovative thinking. “Last year Ed Ott of the Angels got so frustrated because the umpire was calling balls that would’ve been strikes on anybody else that he stood up and shouted at me, ‘Stand up and hit like a man.’ I guess I do that to people,” he once said with a sly grin.
When it came to base-stealing, Rickey’s headfirst slides became his signature move. He explained, “I felt that running was more important to me, with my legs, so I started going head-first. I got my low-to-the-ground technique from airplanes.” It’s this kind of creative problem-solving that made Rickey not just a player, but an artist on the field.
Rickey’s tenacity extended far beyond his prime. Even at 46, he believed he still had what it took to play in the majors. His refusal to let go of his dream is a reminder of the power of persistence and self-belief.
Though sometimes misunderstood, Rickey embraced his individuality with humor and grace. Critics often commented on his habit of speaking about himself in the third person. “People are always saying, ‘Rickey says Rickey.’ But it’s been blown way out of proportion. Rickey uses it to remind himself… Rickey’s just scolding himself,” he explained. For Rickey, life was about pushing boundaries, embracing fun, and staying true to who he was.
Even when controversy surrounded him—like the time he called himself the “greatest of all time” after breaking Lou Brock’s stolen base record in 1991—Rickey stood firm. “If you talk about baseball, you can’t eliminate me, because I’m all over baseball… Telling the truth isn’t being cocky.”
Here are some gems he shared that reflect his positivity and drive:
- “If my uniform doesn’t get dirty, I haven’t done anything in the baseball game.”
- “Once you can accept failure, you can have fun and success.”
- “I love playing this game, and every spring training feels like the first.”
- “Somehow, I’ve been blessed to have the young spirit inside – not feel like every year I get a year older. I feel like every year I get a year younger.”
Rickey Henderson was more than a baseball legend; he was a shining example of how to live life with energy, optimism, and passion. As we reflect on his journey, may we carry his spirit into our own lives—always striving, always believing, and always running forward.
Piece of Mindful 
great piece here; loved RH as well! He was one of a kind; may God bless his soul! RGB- Y4 OUT!!
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I was an Oakland A’s fan from 1968 (10 years old) when the team moved from Kansas City, until now, as Satan has taken the team away. For us old timers, this has always been Reggie’s town. Rickey was indeed an immortal, erm, but despite the litany of quotes above, he was in fact one of the most inarticulate fellows professional sports has ever given the mic too.
What’s suspicious is the guy was a physical specimen. No claims of juicing were ever pointed in his direction. I can’t recall any major injuries he suffered save for an occasional flare up of his “hammy”- his pet term for his hamstring.
He was roughly my age and a lifelong elite athlete. I am most certainly not. Yet I am still here*.
Reports say he had emphysema, according to his old teammate, Dave Stewart, and pneumonia has been cited as the cause of death. I can’t find any report of Rickey smoking, but players smoked in the dugout routinely until it was banned long into Rickey’s career. Is second hand smoke a thing? Are parents smoking before the baby is born a seeding process for fatal illness?
Normally I’d suggest at least a cursory glance at Dead Celebrity island but in this case, my main suspicion is a guy who thought himself physically indestructible simply ignored some warning signs.
*I insist these are not famous last words.
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I was born in ’62 and some of my fondest memories are coming home from school and rushing to watch the playoff games on TV. In those days it seemed the A’s were always on and I loved them (and their uniforms). I still remember being perplexed by Gene Tenace’s unlikely performance in the post-season.
My fondness is undoubtedly enhanced by sentimentality, but there’s also no denying that they presented a very entertaining product in those days.
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Tenace hit two homers off a soft tosser named Gary Nolan in game one. A hanging curve and a so-so fastball. Geno excelled at fastball mashing. For some reason, he was the only player on both sides who did any real hitting. Tony Perez had a decent series but he and Bench kept coming up with the bases empty as the Reds fabled ‘table setters’ Tolan, Rose and Morgan didn’t do much. Sparky didn’t help his cause by dissing the Coliseum as ugly, justifiable as that observation was, but that hubris spoke to the A’s secret weapon: all that dismissal of the A’s image and behavior distracted from the fact that Finley knew exactly what he was doing putting that team together. That team was the first of the A’s successes which featured walks, home runs, suffocating defense, strike throwing starting pitching and a deep and varied bullpen. If any of these guys became stars, that was incidental. The A’s AL rivals, the Orioles, were run, like Finley’s A’s, by an insurance actuary, Earl Weaver. While baseball scratched their heads over how they could win with low batting averages and workman like efforts from hard hat ballplayers, those two teams were playing what we now call Moneyball.
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As a Pirate’s fan (and Pittsburgh resident) I was DEVASTATED by the Bob Moose wild pitch (which I now view dubiously) that sent the Red’s to the 72 World Series. I was probably the #1 A’s fan since I wanted to see that “machine” dismantled! I know Mark is a Red’s fan, but I’ve probably never despised a sports team more.
Additionally, Gene Tenace was born in SW PA and the Pirate’s last two WS appearances (71 & 79) were both against and victorious over Earl Weaver’s Orioles. Though that ’79 team was bogus since they “recruited” Madlock, Garner & Foli…hardly the “We Are Family” that coke dealer Stargell was propagandizing.
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I was not a Reds fan in 1972.** That only came about because my then-wife was from New York, and while being utterly without talent, thought that fact made her quite special. I remember the Mets/Reds playoff in 1973, and she of course spoke of the Mets as if she was a part-owner. I should have seen then that the marriage would not last. She honestly thought that because she slid out of a birth canal owned by a woman in Rockville Centre, on Long Island, that she was a cut above. “If you can make it here, you’ll make it anywhere” did not apply to her, as she, a graduate of a secretarial school, could not make it there. Anyway, after the Pete Rose Buddy Harrelson fight in ’73, I adopted the Reds, and they went on to win in 75 and 76 and they had me for life, or at least until 2020, when they played before empty stadiums, when my bubble burst.
Why did THAT matter? Even before Covid, the Reds played to empty seats.
** I grew up a Milwaukee Braves fan as I had uncles and aunts and cousins and a grandma there (“Spahn and Sain and pray for rain” was the joke before they became a powerhouse). When they had Aaron, Spahn, Burdette, Adcock, Crandall, I forgot the rest, they were legendary and in two world series against the Yankees. Then came ’66 and they moved to Atlanta even as their Milwaukee fan base was loyal and vibrant. I quit baseball that year.
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By the way, MLB knew that Milwaukee was a baseball town, and so in 1970 gave them the former Seattle Pilots, renaming them the Brewers, an American League team. If you ever want to read a great book, try Ball Four by Jim Bouton, who played for the Pilots in ’69 (he threw is arm out with the Yankees and became a knuckle-baller) and wrote a kind of a behind-the-scenes tell-all. “Shitfuck” was the manager Joe Schultz’s favorite expression. Bouton concluded that Seattle, a city that seemed to prefer symphonies and operas over baseball, was not a good fit for a baseball team. (That was then, not now.)
Ball Four was named one of the top 100 books of the twentieth century by the New York Public Library.
The Houston Astros were a National League Central team and a new owner came along, and said he would only buy the team if it jumped to the American League with its DH rule. MLB realized that Milwaukee was a National League town, and so the Brewers jumped to the NL and the Astros to the AL in 2013.
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Sportscaster Greg Gumbel died today which led me to look at his brother Bryant who became co-host of CBS’s “The Early Show” on 11-1-1999. Bryant was the first to announce the September 11 attacks to CBS viewers after sipping some red wine. Turns out he was born on…wait for it…9-29 (9-11).
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