Every boy that plays baseball growing up dreams of being in a Major League Stadium and having a Hall of Fame manager tap you on the shoulder saying he needs you.
Back in 1993, that happened to me. Well, kind of.
I WAS in a Major League Stadium and I DID get tapped on the shoulder by a Hall of Fame manager. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t to pinch hit in the bottom of the 9th with the winning runs on base.
“Hey, I need him out on the field,” Hall of Fame manager Tony LaRussa said sternly and annoyed after tapping me on the shoulder.
But this story isn’t about LaRussa, or even me really, but the “him” that LaRussa needed on the field that day: Rickey Henderson.
Henderson, a Hall of Famer himself and one of the greatest players in Major League Baseball history, was the reason I found myself there in the first place. I grew up reading baseball box scores in the newspaper every day. That was the 80s version of SportsCenter.
I don’t remember when or why, but at some point, I started paying attention to Henderson. At first it was a fascination with stolen basses. He had 100 in 1980 and 130 in 1982 (a single season record that still stands today). By the end of the 80s he was an 8-time All-Star and he was a key in helping the Oakland A’s win the 1989 World Series. In 1990 he won the American League MVP and led the A’s back to the World Series.
To this day he is still the MLB all-time leader in runs scored and stolen bases and he is second in career walks. He is also the all-time leader for lead off home runs. He led off 81 games with a home run. For those who are into today’s “advanced” statistics, Henderson’s WAR rating of 111.1 puts him in the top 20 in MLB history.

In 1993, my senior year at Ohio University, I was the Assistant Sports Editor of our newspaper, The Post. I obtained media credentials for the A’s series in Cleveland with only one objective: interview Rickey Henderson.
Standing in the clubhouse that day I was both terrified and amazed. I was awestruck being in a room with baseball legends like Mark McGwire, Dennis Eckersley, Ruben Sierra and Goose Gossage. I was also convinced that the legend I was there to see wouldn’t even talk to me.
The public saw him as an arrogant, selfish showboat. As I stood there waiting for him to arrive, I was worried that his personality would scare me away and I would chicken out.
I’m dating myself with what I’m about to write, but so be it. If you get it, you get it. In my head a scene from “Seinfeld” kept playing, except George wasn’t mocking Jerry about talking to Keith Hernandez, he was laughing at me thinking I was going to get this interview.
“He’s Rickey Henderson. He’s an All-Star baseball player. He won the MVP. He played in the World Series. You write for a college newspaper. Why would he talk to you?”
George was winning in my head, but it didn’t look like it would matter. I had been waiting for a while. Some players had already dressed and headed to the field for warmups, but there was still no sign of Henderson. My mind started jumping to conclusions: he’s hurt, he’s sick, he’s not playing today and doesn’t have to show up, etc.
I asked someone in the clubhouse if I had missed him. He looked at his watch and said, “this is still a little early for Rickey.” I wasn’t sure what that meant, but five minutes later, Henderson strolled in seemingly unabashed about his late arrival.
Anxiety levels started peaking. Now he’s going to be in a rush to get dressed and out to the field and I’m only going to get a minute or two, if I’m lucky.
I was timidly making my way toward him when he noticed me approaching over his shoulder.
“Hey, are you waiting for me?” he asked.
That’s how it started. I have no recollection of how long the conversation lasted but it was a lot longer than a minute or two. I was shocked that he seemed more interested in talking to me than getting to the field. At some point, I noticed that we were the last two people in the clubhouse.
The LaRussa tap on my shoulder came not long after that. “Hey, I need him out on the field.”
I was mortified, and Henderson seemed to sense it.
“Don’t worry about him. Catch me out there after BP,” he said.
I did, and he sat with me in the dugout after doing his pre-game work. He answered more questions than I probably had the right to ask. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it.
There was no Henderson arrogance or selfishness. We talked like old friends, not like a college writer talking to a future Hall of Famer. I couldn’t have imagined it going any better, which is a testament to him and how well he treated me that day. Throughout the years that followed, I always thought of reaching out and trying to get another interview with him. Unfortunately, I’ll never get that chance.
Rickey Henderson died just before Christmas 2024. There was the predictable avalanche of stories remembering both his unique career and personality. I feel remarkably lucky that I’ll always have my own Rickey Henderson story to share. Thank you, Rickey.