Before there was Manny being Manny, there was Rickey being Rickey. Rickey Henderson, who is certain to be elected to the Hall of Fame in his first year of eligibility, made an indelible impression with his talent on the field and with his character off the field. Our reporters share some of their favorite Henderson stories.

'Gotta do what he gotta do'

Lou Brock once talked to me about the fear of the bag. Baserunners get their ankles, knees, fingers and shoulders messed up sliding hell-bent into bases and lose their base-stealing edge over time because of their fear of getting so battered.

"The one exception is Rickey Henderson," Brock told me. "He accelerates harder into the bag than anyone who ever played."

I sat in the Athletics' clubhouse during batting practice several times with Henderson during his prime in Oakland from 1989 to 1991. His knees always were taped. So were his fingers. He had elbow pads and ice on his shoulder. "Man," he'd say, "Rickey is in pain."

What amazed me was that he still was one of the best offensive players of his time, a tremendously dangerous hitter despite all the injuries that would force most hitters out of the lineup. "Rickey gotta do what he gotta do," Henderson would say. "But ship me to Boston, hit me third, forget the steals and I'd hit .330 with 35 knocks."

-- Peter Gammons

There's only one Rickey

It was the off day before the start of the '93 World Series. I thought a great angle would be a comparison of the two leadoff hitters. Lenny Dykstra had had a fabulous season and had scored 143 runs, the most by any leadoff man since, who else, Henderson.



So I approached Henderson on the field and started to explain the story. He said, "Who's Lenny Dykstra?"

I laughed. Then I said, "He's the other leadoff hitter."

Henderson said, "There ain't no other leadoff hitter but me."

I tried to keep going with my angle. He didn't see it.

"What's Lenny Dykstra ever done?" he asked.

I started to give the stats. Henderson cut me off.

"Man, why you trying to compare some other guy with Rickey? There's only one Rickey."

And that was that. There was, in fact, only one Rickey. And that will never change. Ever.

-- Jayson Stark

About that guy with the helmet

I had the pleasure of covering Rickey for a couple months when the Mariners signed him in the middle of 2000 -- "People who know me know I'm a great guy to be around,'' he said after he arrived -- a signing that led to the famous story involving John Olerud.



Olerud, of course, always wore a helmet on the field because of a past brain aneurysm, and according to the story, Henderson supposedly went up to him and said, "You know, there was a guy on my last team who wore a helmet all the time, too." And Olerud supposedly replied, "Yeah, that was me." It's a great story, except it never happened. It was started as a joke by a Mets clubhouse employee and just spread from there. Repeat: It never happened. But the beauty of the story, as Olerud said when I asked him about it, is that it sure sounded like something Henderson would say.