I first met Rickey Henderson the winter of 1989 at a baseball card show held at the Holiday Inn off J st in Sacramento. It was cold and raining when my mom dropped me off. Admission was $5 and there was a $10 fee to meet Rickey and get his autograph. I’m grateful that my parents foot the bill, but it also cut into my baseball card allowance. I waited in line for what seemed like an eternity to meet Rickey and although I was fifty feet away from him at most, I couldn’t see him because of the crowd. When I finally got to the front of the line I handed Rickey a card to sign and shyly asked, “Mr. Henderson can I get a picture with you?” Without looking up he simply replied “yes.” I handed my camera to the gentleman behind me and sat in the folding chair next to Rickey. A quick snap and it was done. I was excited to meet Rickey and to that point getting a picture with him was the highlight of my life. This was long before digital cameras so once I got my photo back from being developed I was greatly disappointed. I had a weird look on my face, my mouth was open as though I was saying something, and Rickey was still signing my card. Oh bother!
I would run into Rickey again 30 years later during the summer of 2019 while covering the Bay Bridge Series between the A’s and Giants. That weekend included a reunion of the 1989 World Series Champion Oakland A’s. I was standing near the A’s dugout when Rickey appeared and walked right by me on his way to do a radio interview on the field. I
followed close behind and took a few quick photos. Once the radio interview was over Rickey came back to mingle with his old teammates and answer a few questions from the media. Sadly I wasn’t fortunate enough to get a question in, but behind his sunglasses we appeared to make eye contact. After 30 years I never expected Rickey to remember me but ever since that day….
Rickey Henderson is in the Hall of Fame and deservedly so. His career spanned four decades and he is considered to be the greatest lead off hitter of all time. Rickey is also the all time stolen base leader with 1,406 which far easily eclipsed Lou Brock’s previous mark of 938. I don’t follow crime rates but it’s easy to see that Rickey was a master base stealer.
We live in a fairly quiet neighborhood, we have two cats and a dog, and are pretty happy; but when crime hits home it hurts. Since that day in Oakland last summer, my things are going missing around the house and I think it’s Rickey. As a matter of fact, since I sat down to write this my pen disappeared. It was right next to me on the desk. The door is closed and I didn’t even hear Rickey come into my office! Why would Rickey want my pen?? Wait a minute…
here’s my pen, it rolled under my printer. Sorry about that. Okay, maybe I was wrong about the pen but there are other things missing that I’m sure Rickey must have taken.
I don’t think Rickey takes my stuff maliciously but more so to irritate me. I get why someone would steal a car, but why my car keys? My wallet is regularly stolen but conveniently returned and hidden in the back pocket of yesterday’s pants. The funny thing is that Rickey never takes anything of any value.
I wear reading glasses now and it really upsets me when I can’t find them. There isn’t a day that Rickey doesn’t swipe a pair of glasses from me, he is 60 years old now, but it gets worse. The other day I went for some leftover pizza in the fridge, and when I opened the door, it was gone! Obviously “someone” stole this in the middle of the night. I guess if he is so hungry he must be in a pickle.
Living in the capital of the Golden State, along with the recent protests, civil unrest, and looting over the murder of George Floyd, I hear politians talk about getting “tough on crime.” When it comes to Rickey and his habitual stealing, I, like the catchers during his career, would like to lock him up and throw away the key. Better yet, hang them on the key rack where they belong and I’ll never find them there.
Disclaimer: This post is all in good fun. In no way am I claiming that Rickey Henderson is
taking my things, I just have a wild imagination. Maybe one day I’ll write about my dream where Junipero Serra stole my goat.