Congratulations to baseball great Rickey Henderson, who was elected last week to the Hall of Fame. He was always one of my favorite players, and I'm excited about the honor and the renewed spotlight he's enjoying.
It's easy to feel jaded about the Baseball Hall of Fame these days, especially when several dozen voters have the gall to leave an all-time great like Henderson off their ballots (A lot of fans are bent out of shape out of this, but I think it's just mainly due to the fact that writers vote on this, many writers don't like Rickey, and many writers have this weird hangup about certain players being "worthy" of going in "on their first ballot), but I'm charged about this.
Rickey in fact was the very first "favorite" individual athlete I had as a kid. I wish I could tell you with certainty that the young Ricky Brooks was captivated purely by Henderson's dynamic blend of speed, power, and charisma. I wish I could tell you that my reason for not liking him WASN'T that his name was the same as mine. But you know what? The name thing wasn't all of it, but it was a big part of it. The extra "e" somehow was the bit of extra spice that made the aural similarity even cooler.
Oh, when I was 7, 8 years old, I guess I tried to "pattern my game" after Henderson. But my game was whiffleball, and while you can screw around with replicating signature batting stances and baserunning styles in whiffleball, you can't do that in Little League. Yep, organized baseball was the end of that weak attempt at imitation, as I wasn't really allowed to steal bases, I didn't play the outfield, and working the count to draw walks wasn't so much a skill but something that just happened for you when the kid on the mound had the jitters.
Henderson, though, was a great major leaguer, probably the best leadoff hitter of all time, and a guy who seemed to dominate on his way to awards and stolen base records. He had a panache about him that could be seen as hot doggin', and he got some bad press for perceived selfishness. Yet teammates generally seemed to like him, and he was indisputably an outstanding performer by both statistical and observational measures.
A threat to hit a home run each time up, a threat to steal a base each time he was on, Henderson had an aura about him that made the game exciting. Statheads often get frustrated when people build a case for a player around a so-called immeasurable quality like "aura" (as many voters wanted to do for Henderson's fellow inductee Jim Rice), but I think those of us who watched him in the eighties would find it hard to argue the effect Henderson's presence could have on a game.
Then there was the off-the-field stuff, the stories and quotes that lingered on as he lingered on, refusing to leave the game until he exhausted every last chance he had to play in the big leagues. Some of the stories were even true. There's an awesome summary of the Legend of Rickey Henderson right here if you're interested.
In the wake of the big announcement last week, Henderson was all over the media, and I found him appropriately humble, charming, and engaging. In particular, his appearance on MLB Network's "Hot Stove" show was a treat. In some ways, it's hard to believe it's only been 5 years since Rickey finally retired, because his election to the Hall of Fame takes me back to the 1980s, when I once dreamed I could be like him...if only I could hit a whole lot better, were a whole lot more athletic, and weren't so slow.
It's easy to feel jaded about the Baseball Hall of Fame these days, especially when several dozen voters have the gall to leave an all-time great like Henderson off their ballots (A lot of fans are bent out of shape out of this, but I think it's just mainly due to the fact that writers vote on this, many writers don't like Rickey, and many writers have this weird hangup about certain players being "worthy" of going in "on their first ballot), but I'm charged about this.
Rickey in fact was the very first "favorite" individual athlete I had as a kid. I wish I could tell you with certainty that the young Ricky Brooks was captivated purely by Henderson's dynamic blend of speed, power, and charisma. I wish I could tell you that my reason for not liking him WASN'T that his name was the same as mine. But you know what? The name thing wasn't all of it, but it was a big part of it. The extra "e" somehow was the bit of extra spice that made the aural similarity even cooler.
Oh, when I was 7, 8 years old, I guess I tried to "pattern my game" after Henderson. But my game was whiffleball, and while you can screw around with replicating signature batting stances and baserunning styles in whiffleball, you can't do that in Little League. Yep, organized baseball was the end of that weak attempt at imitation, as I wasn't really allowed to steal bases, I didn't play the outfield, and working the count to draw walks wasn't so much a skill but something that just happened for you when the kid on the mound had the jitters.
Henderson, though, was a great major leaguer, probably the best leadoff hitter of all time, and a guy who seemed to dominate on his way to awards and stolen base records. He had a panache about him that could be seen as hot doggin', and he got some bad press for perceived selfishness. Yet teammates generally seemed to like him, and he was indisputably an outstanding performer by both statistical and observational measures.
A threat to hit a home run each time up, a threat to steal a base each time he was on, Henderson had an aura about him that made the game exciting. Statheads often get frustrated when people build a case for a player around a so-called immeasurable quality like "aura" (as many voters wanted to do for Henderson's fellow inductee Jim Rice), but I think those of us who watched him in the eighties would find it hard to argue the effect Henderson's presence could have on a game.
Then there was the off-the-field stuff, the stories and quotes that lingered on as he lingered on, refusing to leave the game until he exhausted every last chance he had to play in the big leagues. Some of the stories were even true. There's an awesome summary of the Legend of Rickey Henderson right here if you're interested.
In the wake of the big announcement last week, Henderson was all over the media, and I found him appropriately humble, charming, and engaging. In particular, his appearance on MLB Network's "Hot Stove" show was a treat. In some ways, it's hard to believe it's only been 5 years since Rickey finally retired, because his election to the Hall of Fame takes me back to the 1980s, when I once dreamed I could be like him...if only I could hit a whole lot better, were a whole lot more athletic, and weren't so slow.
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