From the get-go, Rickey Henderson was in a hurry.
Born in the back seat of a ‘57 Chevy while his mom and dad rushed to the hospital, he came out blazing.
Fingers twitching inside those neon-green batting gloves, he’d lock his eyes like lasers on the next base and whoosh! He’d blown past the record for steals, pulled up the bag itself and proclaimed himself the “greatest of all time.”
Set the mark for runs scored, too, sprinting low to the ground and diving headfirst. A blur, he was.
He turned 50 on Christmas Day. “Rickey could still play,” he probably cackled to himself. Maybe he could.
Meantime, the Hall of Fame awaits. He’s all but certain to streak in Monday when voting results from the Baseball Writers’ Association of America are announced.
“He should get 98 percent, at least,” said Hall of Fame pitcher Dennis Eckersley, who closed many of the games Henderson helped win for Oakland. “He’s the greatest player I ever played with, and I played 24 years.”
Henderson already has a foot in Cooperstown, sort of. The Hall has 16 items documenting his career, including spikes, caps, balls and a pair of sunglasses.
Oh, and the stories. Standing naked in front of the clubhouse mirror, repeating over and over “Rickey’s the best.” He always referred to himself in the third person, that was his thing.
Stuffing oodles of cash in his pillow. Blowing kisses to the crowd from the on-deck circle, carrying on conversations with fans in left field.
They’re all true. Mostly, anyway.
Doubled in his first big league at-bat in 1979, singled and stole second the next time up. He left in fitting fashion — his last step in a major league game came when he touched home plate for the Dodgers in 2003.
Henderson kicked around the low minors the next two years. He kept hoping for another try, all the while enjoying the pure pleasure of playing the game and sharing his baseball knowledge with players less than half his age.
He never really announced his retirement, but realized by 2007 that he was done.
“I’m through, really,” he said while watching a game in San Francisco. “It’s just one of those things. I thank the good Lord I played as long as I played and came out of it healthy.”
Sitting in the stands that day, by the way, he caught a foul ball.
Born to run, Henderson once stole 20 bases in a high school doubleheader. He later swiped seven in a Class A game.
He left the majors with 1,406 steals — 50 percent more than Lou Brock, who’s in second place — and scored 2,295 runs. He also led in walks until teams became afraid to pitch to Barry Bonds.
Got his 3,000th hit on the day Tony Gwynn played his final game. Wanted to sit, out of respect to his revered teammate.
Became Nolan Ryan’s 5,000th strikeout victim and wanted to run the ball to the mound to congratulate Big Tex. “If he ain’t struck you out, you ain’t nobody,” Henderson said.
A few years earlier, it wasn’t so cordial. Annoyed at Henderson’s antics, Ryan knocked him down with a fastball underneath his chin. In an All-Star game.
The snatch catch. The stutter-step when he homered — the most prolific leadoff man in history started 81 games with home runs.
A 10-time All-Star, the AL MVP in 1990. A career on-base percentage of .401, he once reached safely in the first inning of 15 straight games.
And once he got on base, look out.
“He didn’t distract. He destroyed the confidence of pitchers,” said Steve Palermo, who became an AL umpire in 1977, two years before Henderson made his debut.
“In those early days, if you were umpiring at second base and he got on with a single or walk, you just got down on one knee and waited for him to go,” he said. “Sometimes, if the other team met on the mound, you’d ask Rickey if he was going to run. He’d say first pitch or maybe the second. If you had time, you’d walk down to the umpire ahead of you and say, ‘Hey, be ready.”’
Eckersley remembered the first time he saw Henderson as a rookie.
“I shouted at him. He was out there in the outfield, checking out how his shadow looked. Stylin’. I was like, ‘What are you doing?”’
Henderson managed just a .226 on-base percentage against Eckersley, his worst showing versus any pitcher he faced at least 30 times.
“He’d start jumping around and I’d be like, ‘Just take the bag, I’m trying to concentrate,”’ Eckersley said.
It’s when Henderson reached second base that he really became difficult.
“I thought it was a lot easier for him to steal third,” former second baseman Steve Sax said. “Even if you held him close and made a perfect throw there, you had to be lucky to get him.”
Sax was playing against him in 1991 at Oakland when Rickey stole No. 939 to break Brock’s record. Henderson made a headfirst dive into third base, yanked the bag out of the ground and held it over his head.
With Brock in attendance, Henderson told the crowd: “Lou Brock was a symbol of great base stealing, but today I am the greatest of all time.”
Standing in the middle of the infield, Sax laughed.
“It was funny,” he said, “but Rickey was right.”
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