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Writer's pictureMark Rosenman

Rickey Henderson: A Quarter-Century of Stealing Bases and Breaking Records – RIP




Rickey Henderson, the "Man of Steal," was larger than life both on and off the diamond, which makes his untimely passing at the age of 65 in the Oakland area on Friday after battling pneumonia, feel like the baseball world has lost some of its spark. For Mets fans, his brief stint in Queens during the late '90s offered a glimpse of his Hall of Fame brilliance—a career defined by record-shattering speed, a bat that aged like fine wine, and a personality that was as bold as his base-stealing leads. Sure, Rickey didn’t invent swagger, but he trademarked it, patented it, and sold it back to you with interest. In 1999, he hit .315 and stole 37 bases at the age of 40, proving that time, like a pickoff throw, was something he could usually outrun. While his time with the Mets came with its quirks (only Rickey could turn a card game into a postseason headline), it was just a snapshot of a legendary 24-year journey across nine teams, four decades, and every corner of baseball history. Rickey didn’t just play baseball—he redefined it, leaving behind a legacy of unmatched leadoff prowess, 1,406 stolen bases, and a style that reminded us the game is meant to be as joyful as it is competitive.


Rickey Henderson was born on Christmas Day in 1958, but this wasn’t your typical "silent night." He made his grand entrance into the world in the backseat of an Oldsmobile, racing toward a Chicago hospital, a fitting start for someone who’d spend his life outrunning everyone. Henderson once quipped, “I was already fast—I couldn’t wait!” That kind of speed and wit would follow him everywhere, from his childhood in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, to his days tearing up the basepaths in Major League ballparks. Named Rickey Nelson Henley after the crooner Ricky Nelson, he inherited his last name later in life when his mom remarried, but his legendary first name needed no enhancements.




Growing up in Oakland, Rickey developed a habit of doing things his own way. Though naturally left-handed, he taught himself to hit right-handed because all his friends batted that way. By the time anyone explained he didn’t have to, it was too late—he was already demolishing pitchers as baseball’s most successful righty-swinging, lefty-throwing player. This unique combo is so rare in MLB that Rickey stands as its ultimate ambassador, proving that even in baseball, being one-of-a-kind is a winning formula.


At Oakland Technical High School, Rickey wasn’t just a one-sport phenom. He played baseball, basketball, and football, racking up accolades faster than his future stolen base totals. As a running back, he rumbled his way to back-to-back 1,000-yard seasons and enough scholarship offers to wallpaper his room. He dreamed of suiting up for the Oakland Raiders, but his mother, in her infinite wisdom, nudged him toward baseball, reasoning that football players didn’t last as long. One has to wonder if she also foresaw the Hall of Fame induction and 24-year career that would make her son a legend. If Rickey’s life had been a football game, you’d say he ran it all the way back for a touchdown.


Drafted by the Oakland A’s in the fourth round of the 1976 draft, Rickey Henderson’s journey to baseball immortality began in the minors, where his speed was already more of a cheat code than a tool. His first stop was with the Boise A’s, where he hit .336 in 46 games and sprinkled in a couple of triples and home runs for good measure. Opposing pitchers quickly learned that keeping him off the bases was less of a strategy and more of a pipe dream.


The next season with the Modesto A’s, Rickey officially became a menace on the basepaths. While most players were content with stealing the occasional bag, Henderson turned it into an art form. Modesto set a near-record 357 stolen bases as a team, thanks largely to Rickey swiping 95 of them himself—enough to make every catcher in the California League develop an instant case of the yips. For his efforts, Rickey won the team’s MVP award and likely caused a surge in Advil sales for opposing pitchers and catchers.



By 1978, Henderson was still climbing the A’s farm system ladder, terrorizing Eastern League pitchers with the Jersey City A’s and then heading south of the border to play winter ball for the Navojoa Mayos in Mexico, where his team won a championship. Even in a limited six-game stint, Rickey managed to leave his mark because, of course, he did. By 1979, he was with the Ogden A’s of the Pacific Coast League, where he hit .309 and stole 44 bases in 71 games. It was clear by this point that the only thing keeping Rickey out of the big leagues was waiting for Oakland to get the paperwork ready.



Rickey Henderson made his big-league debut with the Oakland A’s on June 24, 1979, and wasted no time showing he belonged. In his first game, he had two hits, stole a base, and probably left the catcher questioning his career choices. By season’s end, Rickey hit .274, swiped 33 bases in just 89 games, and gave A’s fans a preview of the chaos he’d unleash for years to come.


The following season, Rickey didn’t just run—he flew. In 1980, he joined the exclusive 100 Stolen Base Club, becoming only the third player in the modern era to achieve the feat. Along the way, he shattered Ty Cobb’s American League stolen base record and Eddie Collins’ franchise mark, stealing 100 bases and leaving catchers as useful as decorative cones. But Rickey wasn’t just fast—he hit .303, walked 117 times, and scored 111 runs, making him a one-man wrecking crew on Billy Martin’s “Billy Ball” A’s.


Not content with breaking records in one hemisphere, Rickey spent the winter in Puerto Rico, stealing a league-record 42 bases and likely earning a collective sigh of relief from MLB catchers who figured they'd get a brief vacation. By 1981, he was in full MVP form, hitting .319 during the strike-shortened season, leading the league in hits, runs, and stolen bases (56). His defensive flair—think “snatch catches” so dramatic they should’ve come with a soundtrack—earned him his only Gold Glove. He finished second in MVP voting, narrowly edged by Rollie Fingers, who apparently needed both a killer season and a world-class mustache to beat Rickey.


Then came 1982, the year Rickey redefined speed. Lou Brock’s single-season stolen base record of 118? Obliterated, as Rickey swiped 130 bags. That’s right—130! That was more than nine teams managed that season. He also racked up 119 runs, 116 walks, and an OBP of .398. His strike zone, described as “smaller than Hitler’s heart” by sportswriter Jim Murray, drove pitchers mad and had umpires questioning their eyesight.




Rickey didn’t just crouch in his batting stance; he practically folded himself into origami. His logic? The lower he squatted, the less strike zone he presented, and the better he saw the ball. Ed Ott of the Angels once yelled, “Stand up and hit like a man!” Rickey probably replied with a walk—and then stole second and third, just for good measure.




By 1983, Rickey wasn’t just stealing bases; he was stealing records. That year, he posted his third 100 runs/100 steals/100 walks season, something no other modern player has ever done even once. He led the league with 108 steals and walked 103 times. And just for variety, he threw in a few triples, because why not?


In 1984, Rickey hit a career-high 16 home runs, proving he could go long when he wasn’t terrorizing catchers. After leading the league in steals yet again, he was traded to the New York Yankees, where he’d bring his speed, swagger, and new power-hitting prowess. Over his career, Rickey added leadoff homers to his arsenal, setting a record that likely made pitchers rethink throwing that first pitch anywhere near the plate.

In December 1984, Rickey Henderson packed his bags and left the laid-back vibe of Oakland for the bright lights and pressure cooker that is New York City. The Yankees acquired Henderson and Bert Bradley in a deal that sent five players—Tim Birtsas, Jay Howell, Stan Javier, Eric Plunk, and José Rijo—packing in the opposite direction. The Big Apple didn’t intimidate Rickey. If anything, he strutted into town like he owned the place, and in many ways, he did.


In his first year as a Yankee, Henderson was a one-man highlight reel. He led the league in runs scored with a staggering 146—numbers you’d expect from a video game, not real life. That wasn’t all: he also swiped 80 bases, hit .314, took 99 walks, and slugged .516. He even added 24 home runs for good measure. He was a stat-padding, scoreboard-dominating machine, winning the Silver Slugger Award and finishing third in the MVP voting. Those 146 runs were the most anyone had scored since Ted Williams crossed the plate 150 times back in 1950. Fun fact: Henderson also became the first player since Jimmie Foxx in 1939 to score more runs than games played. Not bad for a guy who started his career by swiping second base in Oakland.


Oh, and speaking of swiping, Rickey set a new club standard in 1985 by becoming the first player in baseball history to steal 80 bases and hit 20 home runs in the same season. He did it again the next year just to hammer home the point. For a moment, Eric Davis of the Reds joined him in this exclusive "20/80 club," but let’s be honest, it’s Rickey’s world, and Davis was just borrowing a key.


When Henderson switched his jersey number to 24 in New York (because Phil Niekro already had his old number, 35), he inadvertently turned it into a signature brand. He’d wear 24 for most of his career, though he made a few exceptions, including stints with 14, 25, and even a return to 35 for old times’ sake.


In 1986, Rickey stayed Rickey—leading the league in runs (130) and steals (87) for the second straight year. Oh, and he hit 28 home runs, nine of which came as leadoff blasts. He continued to be a nightmare for pitchers, reaching base via walk 89 times and finishing seventh in extra-base hits. Basically, if Rickey was on your team, you’d start every game with a head start.


By 1987, however, things took a turn. It was a down year for Rickey—or, as most players would call it, the peak of their careers. The New York media wasn’t exactly the forgiving type, and Yankees owner George Steinbrenner publicly criticized Henderson for “jaking it,” suggesting he wasn’t giving his all. For context, Rickey still hit .291 with a .423 on-base percentage, stole 41 bases, and clubbed 17 home runs—despite being limited to just 95 games. But when you’re Rickey, people don’t expect you to be great; they expect you to be otherworldly.


The best part of this rough patch? Henderson’s legendary phone call to Seattle’s Harold Reynolds, who had the audacity to lead the AL in stolen bases that year with 60. According to Reynolds, Rickey rang him up and said, “Sixty stolen bases? You ought to be ashamed. Rickey would have 60 at the break.” Then he hung up. Mic dropped.




Henderson bounced back in 1988, reclaiming his crown as the AL’s stolen base king with 93 swipes. He also scored 118 runs, posted a .394 on-base percentage, and hit .305. By the time he left New York, Rickey had set the Yankees’ franchise record for stolen bases with 326—a record that stood until Derek Jeter finally surpassed it in 2011 after playing 1,700 more games in pinstripes than Rickey. Because, of course, Rickey doesn’t just break records—he shatters them and leaves a trail of dust for others to clean up.


When Rickey Henderson returned to Oakland in June 1989, it was like a high school reunion where the star quarterback still had the arm. The Yankees sent him back west in exchange for Eric Plunk, Greg Cadaret, and Luis Polonia. Oakland fans were thrilled, the Yankees fans shrugged, and Plunk probably muttered, “Again?”


Henderson wasted no time proving his worth. He swiped 52 bases and scored 72 runs in just 85 games, practically dragging the A’s to the postseason by sheer will and lightning-fast legs. Once there, he turned into an absolute menace, stealing eight bases in five games during the ALCS and hitting .400 with a slugging percentage that could’ve fueled a rocket launch. Naturally, he was named MVP of the series, because who else could it be? In the World Series, he helped Oakland sweep the San Francisco Giants, hitting a blistering .474 and adding two triples, a homer, and three stolen bases. For Henderson, it was just another week at the office—if your office includes champagne showers and championship rings.


And then there’s the Nolan Ryan story. On August 22, 1989, Henderson became Ryan’s 5,000th strikeout victim. Most players would brood about being a footnote in someone else’s highlight reel, but not Rickey. He practically beamed, saying, “If you haven’t been struck out by Nolan Ryan, you’re nobody.” Only Henderson could turn a strikeout into a badge of honor.




The following year, Henderson made MVP voters sit up and take notice. He flirted with a batting title, finishing second at .325, and spent the season terrorizing pitchers with a league-leading 119 runs and 65 stolen bases. He also topped the AL in on-base percentage (.439) and OPS (1.016). In typical Rickey fashion, he reached base in 125 of 136 games and smashed 28 homers, just to remind everyone he could hit too. He even helped the A’s to another pennant, though they fell to the underdog Cincinnati Reds in the World Series.


Then came May 1, 1991—a day baseball historians had been circling on their calendars. Henderson swiped his 939th career base, breaking Lou Brock’s long-standing record. True to form, Rickey grabbed the microphone at the ceremony and declared, “Today, I am the greatest of all time.” It wasn’t bragging; it was a statement of fact.





In 1993, Henderson wasn’t content with just being the best in the majors. He went international, breaking Yutaka Fukumoto’s world stolen base record with his 1,066th steal. At the time, he was hitting .327 with 17 home runs and had an on-base percentage (.469) so absurd it belonged in a video game. The man was 34 years old, but on the bases, he might as well have been Benjamin Button.




Rickey Henderson wasn’t just a player; he was a phenomenon, rewriting record books while making everyone wonder if he was even real.


By July 1993, Rickey Henderson found himself in yet another uniform, traded to the Toronto Blue Jays in exchange for Steve Karsay and José Herrera. On paper, it seemed like a perfect match: Rickey, the base-swiping machine, joining a playoff-bound squad. In reality, it was like asking a Ferrari to run on diesel. Henderson hit a paltry .215 in 44 games, partly because he fractured a bone in his hand after being hit by a pitch. Despite the injury, he still managed 22 stolen bases and scored 37 runs, which is Rickey’s way of saying, “Even on a bad day, I’m better than most.”


The postseason wasn’t exactly Rickey’s highlight reel. He batted .120 in the ALCS and .227 in the World Series. But leave it to Henderson to still find his way into baseball history. When Joe Carter launched "that" home run to win the Series, it was Henderson and Paul Molitor who crossed the plate ahead of Carter, cementing Rickey’s cameo in one of the game’s most iconic moments. Rickey wasn’t the hero that day, but he was Rickey—always in the mix.





After the confetti cleared, Henderson returned to his old stomping grounds in Oakland in December 1993. By 1994 and 1995, he was back to doing what he did best: walking, stealing, and getting on base. He consistently ranked in the league’s top 10 in all three categories. In 1995, he hit .300, marking the sixth and final time he’d reach that milestone in the American League. For most players, a .300 average at 36 would be a victory lap. For Rickey, it was just Tuesday.


In 1996, Henderson joined the San Diego Padres, proving that Southern California sunshine agreed with him. He finished in the National League’s top ten in walks, on-base percentage, steals, and runs. The Padres must have thought they’d struck gold—until August 1997, when they traded Rickey to the Anaheim Angels for a grab bag of minor leaguers and a player to be named later. (Spoiler: that player didn’t become Rickey Henderson.) With the Angels, Rickey hit just .183, the kind of stat that made you wonder if he was bored.


But Rickey wasn’t done. In January 1998, he signed with Oakland—for the fourth time. At this point, you’d think the A’s would’ve just reserved a locker with his name on it. That season, at 39 years old, Rickey did what Rickey does: he led the majors in stolen bases (66) and the American League in walks (118) while scoring 101 runs. He also became the oldest player to lead the league in stolen bases and the first 39-year-old to swipe 50 bags. It was as if time had a gentleman’s agreement with Rickey: “You can slow everyone else down, but Rickey keeps running.”


And run he did—straight into the history books.


By 1999, Rickey Henderson had added yet another chapter to his baseball saga, this time donning the orange and blue of the New York Mets. For a 40-year-old, he played like a guy half his age, batting an impressive .315 with 37 stolen bases. His on-base percentage ranked seventh in the National League, and he was crowned the 1999 NL Comeback Player of the Year by *The Sporting News*. Not bad for someone who, at this point, had likely run more miles on the basepaths than most people put on their cars.


Rickey wore No. 24 with the Mets, a jersey number steeped in history. It hadn’t seen much action since Willie Mays retired in 1973. Did Rickey mind stepping into that shadow? Of course not. This is Rickey Henderson we’re talking about—the man would’ve worn Babe Ruth’s number if they’d let him.


But Rickey’s time in Queens wasn’t all highlight reels and accolades. The Mets and Rickey were, shall we say, a bit like oil and water. Following the Mets’ gut-wrenching loss in the 1999 NLCS, the media gleefully pounced on the story of Rickey and Bobby Bonilla playing cards in the clubhouse while the season was slipping away on the field. Was it a bad look? Sure. Was it pure Rickey? Also, yes.





Heading into 2000, Rickey had the audacity to ask for a raise on his $1.9 million salary—a move that probably made the Mets’ front office spit out their coffee. The Mets refused, and the relationship soured faster than a Citi Field hot dog in July. Henderson had a contentious relationship with manager Bobby Valentine, and he openly grumbled about the team’s decision to open the season with a trip to Tokyo. (Let’s be real, though—can you imagine Rickey in Japan? The man probably autographed sushi menus.)


On the field, things weren’t much better. Rickey hit a meager .219 with zero home runs and just two RBIs in 2000. By May, the Mets had seen enough. They put Rickey on waivers and showed him the door.


As always, Rickey being Rickey didn’t slink away quietly. Instead, he left Queens with a shrug and likely a story or two to tell. After all, Rickey wasn’t just a ballplayer—he was an experience. The Mets may not have known what they were signing up for, but they sure got it.


After Rickey Henderson’s brief and somewhat bizarre stint with the Mets, he decided to put on a new uniform with the Seattle Mariners in 2000. Let’s be honest: Rickey wasn't retiring. The man had the sort of career that could only be described as “still trying to steal second... at age 41.” In just his second game with Seattle, Rickey did what Rickey does best—he led off with a home run, making him only the third player in baseball history to hit a home run in four different decades. That's right, Ted Williams, Willie McCovey, and Rickey Henderson—an exclusive club where the membership card comes with a hefty dose of swagger.




Despite starting the season in the National League, Rickey finished fourth in the American League for stolen bases (31), proving that age was, in fact, just a number for him.


Then came the year 2001, and Rickey, being Rickey, wasn't slowing down. He returned to the Padres, and not only did he break Babe Ruth's career walks record, but he also shattered Ty Cobb's record for career runs, and set a new benchmark for most games played in left field. But wait—there’s more! On the last day of the season, in the final game of Tony Gwynn's career, Rickey picked up his 3,000th hit with a leadoff double. Rickey’s ability to make everything about himself—while still somehow making it about the team—is a gift, truly.




But this wasn’t the end of his improbable journey. Rickey took his talents to Boston in 2002, signing with the Red Sox at the ripe old age of 43. He even became the oldest player in major league history to play center field, replacing Johnny Damon. And don’t forget the cherry on top—Rickey had stolen more bases in his career than the entire Red Sox team had... for a solid 22 years. It’s a stat that says more about Rickey’s insistence on sticking around than it does about the Red Sox.


As 2003 came around, Rickey found himself in unfamiliar territory—without a major league team for the first time in his life. Did he sulk? Of course not! He headed to the independent league with the Newark Bears, and surprise, surprise—he earned All-Star honors and caught the eye of the Los Angeles Dodgers, who signed him mid-season. In 30 games with L.A., Rickey did what Rickey does: stole bases and confused the heck out of anyone who thought they had seen the last of him.




But even as his body aged, Rickey’s love for the game never did. As the 2003 season wound down, Rickey continued to insist he wasn’t finished. He flirted with a return to the game, and in 2005, even signed on to play with the San Diego Surf Dawgs in the Golden Baseball League, helping them win a championship and solidifying his place as the oldest, most tenacious player on the field.


Retirement was something Rickey could never quite accept. He kept dodging it, teasing everyone with the possibility of another comeback. Even in 2007, Oakland GM Billy Beane entertained the idea of giving Rickey one more shot, but Rickey wasn’t having it. He wanted more than a symbolic appearance. If he was going out, it would be on his terms.


After his playing days were over, Rickey Henderson transitioned from stealing bases to coaching players on how to steal them, with a little help from his encyclopedic knowledge of the game. In 2006, the Mets decided it was time to bring in the big guns—well, one big gun in particular—Rickey Henderson. They hired him as a special instructor, with the primary mission of teaching their hitters the fine art of base-stealing. His influence was immediately felt, especially on José Reyes, the Mets' speedy leadoff man, who probably learned more about stealing bases from Rickey than he had from any textbook or coach.


As Rickey said in May 2007, "I always want to be around the game. That’s something that’s in my blood. Helping them have success feels just as good." And you could see the passion in his eyes—just as much as when he was zooming around the basepaths in his playing days. You could almost hear him whispering, "Steal it like I did, kid."


Then came the promotion. On July 13, 2007, the Mets decided they could use Rickey's expertise a little closer to the action, so they moved him from special instructor to first base coach. This move was designed to replace Howard Johnson, who was moved to hitting coach. While it was a step up in the coaching world, the gig didn’t last long—Rickey was not brought back for 2008. But, as any baseball lifer knows, Rickey couldn’t stay away from the game for long.


Despite his brief stint with the Mets, Rickey remained a baseball lifer. He periodically made appearances as a special instructor at Oakland A’s spring training camps, where he worked with outfielders and taught the next generation of players how to steal bases—an art that, as we all know, Rickey practically invented. In 2010, he specifically worked with Rajai Davis and Coco Crisp, two guys who could run like the wind but, perhaps, needed a little guidance on how to do so efficiently.


Rickey might have retired from playing, but it was clear that he would never fully retire from helping players understand the game—and maybe, just maybe, sneak in a stolen base or two when no one was looking.


By 2009, after years of toeing the line between “retired” and “you know I could still play” Rickey finally had his number 24 retired by the Oakland Athletics. And even then, in his acceptance speech, Rickey managed to make sure we all knew that if a team needed him—well, his phone was still on.




You see, that’s the magic of Rickey Henderson. He didn’t just play baseball—he lived it, breathed it, and made sure you knew he was the best to ever do it. And when it was time to retire, he did so the only way he knew how: slowly, with the promise that if anyone wanted to win a World Series, all they had to do was ring him up. After all, Rickey’s heart was always in it, even if his body wasn’t.


The game has lost a legend far too soon at the age of 65, and it’s hard to believe—because even at 65, you might take the over on how many bases Rickey could steal in today’s game. Henderson’s legacy is a curious blend of swagger, humility, and unrelenting dedication to his craft. When he swiped his 939th base to eclipse Lou Brock, he didn’t just rewrite the record books; he cemented his place in baseball folklore with a combination of flash and finesse that few, if any, could replicate. His declaration of being "the greatest of all time" might have ruffled some feathers, but it was never about arrogance—it was about his unwavering belief in his abilities. As time passed, it became clear: his words weren’t an insult to the game, but a testament to his relentless pursuit of excellence. Rickey didn’t just steal bases; he stole the spotlight, turning every game into a showcase of his brilliance.


Rickey Henderson’s career wasn’t just a collection of spectacular plays and jaw-dropping statistics—it was an entire legacy built on speed, smarts, and a relentless pursuit of greatness. Over 25 years in Major League Baseball, he etched his name into the record books in ways that will never be matched. His 1,406 stolen bases are not just a record; they are a mark of domination, a testament to his ability to swipe a base with the elegance of a thief in the night. Add to that the most runs scored (2,295), most unintentional walks (2,129), and an unprecedented 25 consecutive seasons with at least one home run, and you get a player who redefined the game’s pace. He also holds the record for the most times caught stealing, but that's just a footnote when you consider the sheer volume of his stolen bases. His 81 games leading off with a home run, and his record 12 seasons leading the league in steals, were just part of a career that didn’t have a dull moment. Off the field, he won accolades and awards that cemented his legacy: the 1990 American League MVP, a Gold Glove in 1981, and 10 All-Star selections. In the postseason, he stole 8 bases in a single series, making him just as lethal in October as he was in the regular season. His dominance wasn't confined to the basepaths—Rickey Henderson's name is synonymous with the game's all-time greats, and his place in history is secure forever. RIP, Rickey. You've run your last lap, but your legacy will always be a steal.

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