A fan’s notes on Rickey Henderson

Blognarian doesn’t delve into sports too often, for which all seven of its readers should be thankful. But today’s announcement of Rickey Henderson’s (somehow not unanimous) selection to baseball’s Hall of Fame got my nostalgia wheels turning back to the heyday of baseball’s best-ever leadoff hitter and run producer.      

I was fortunate that my baseball fandom took off at about the same time as Rickey’s career with the early-’80s Oakland A’s. Well, relatively fortunate. I had the misfortune of thinking all leadoff hitters were supposed to pull off bunt doubles and become walking triples the second they stepped on first base. You could say he threw off my grading curve.

Anyway, I was a regular in the Oakland Coliseum bleachers (2 bucks for a ticket, what a bargain), which means I regularly saw him destroy the psyches of American League pitchers. I also saw my fair share of his record 81 leadoff home runs. That stat still boggles my mind.

The mental images: those wiggling fingers every time he got ready to swipe another base. The clouds of dust that accompanied every fearless headfirst slide.           

And this memory: It’s late summer of ’82, and Rickey is closing in on Lou Brock’s single-season record of 118 stolen bases (which he would go on to shatter by 12). 13-year-old Vognar is in the second deck on a weekday afternoon watching the A’s take on the Tigers, hoping to see a little history. Rickey steals second and third in the early innings, bringing his total to 117. He gets on base in the late innings and everyone knows he’s gonna run. He gets the jump. The cloud of dust. And he’s…out in a bang-bang play.

The whole building is apoplectic. Manager Billy Martin, who would be fired at the end of the season, holds form by running out on the field and blowing a gasket. Hit the showers. Dwayne Murphy, the A’s centerfielder (and one of the best-fielding outfielders I’ve ever seen), follows suit. Rickey would have to get the record in the following series at Milwaukee.      

As an adult I realized Rickey was a tad, uh, self-centered. But I remember him for making my dreary adolescence a hell of lot more exciting.     

Here’s a video of ESPN’s Joe Morgan and Peter Gammons waxing rhapsodic on His Rickeyness. (Photo courtesy of astrosdaily.com).

Basketball as design element

There it was, right behind the Harvard Graduate School of Design: A small, nicely maintained half-court, complete with net (I guess design students don’t go in for dunking or net-shredding). The location makes sense – this town is really into public space, and this mini-court, right at Quincy and Cambridge Streets, sits perched between HGSD’s Gund Hall and an old cathedral. As I shook the cobwebs off my already-suspect game a two-year-old came by with his parents and hoisted up some shots. He beat me in HORSE. Just kidding. I’m just happy to have a neighborhood court; I hear I’m going to gain twenty pounds while I’m in this program, and I don’t want to come back to Dallas looking like former Maverick Oliver Miller (looking relatively svelte in this image).