We’ve just witnessed one hell of a baseball season.
In a year in which we welcomed Ichiro, Albert Pujols and the AL’s new powerhouse Seattle Mariners, we bid adieu to Cal Ripken, Tony Gwynn and 73 Rawlings official Major League baseballs off the bat of Barry Bonds. Houston found Roy Oswalt, the A’s finally found their stride, and 42-year-old Julio Franco found his way back to the major leagues. The reigning NL champion New York Mets lost 80 games, Carl Everett lost his mind, and Darryl Strawberry got lost (seriously, he got kidnapped). Yet in this year of baseball contradictions and paradoxes, something that we failed to notice has itself become the biggest paradox of all. The excitement and intricacies of an eventful season managed to upstage baseball’s biggest showman.
We forgot about Rickey.
Rickey Henderson, in an uncharacteristically quiet manner, walked, ran and slid his way into the record books this season. Of course, Rickey celebrated his accomplishments (new ML records in walks and runs and his 3,000th hit), but the baseball watching world turned its collective head away.
Explanations for this oversight vary, but revolve around one central point. Baseball fans and the baseball media dislike him. “He’s too arrogant,” people say. He celebrates too much when he wins and whines too much when he loses. He’s in it for himself.
Why can’t he be more like Cal Ripken? Cal Ripken, who goes to work everyday like everyone else in the country. Cal Ripken, who never cartwheels or raises the roof when he hits home runs. Cal Ripken, the working man’s hero. Cal Ripken, the most boring baseball player ever.
In a nation that values hard work, modesty and dedication, I, for one, want more Rickey Hendersons. Who needs players who go to work and work hard everyday like your average American working man? If I wanted to see people going to work everyday, I could sit on the street corner in New York City and watch the miserable masses hobbling dreadfully towards their own personal hells, or, as some call them, their jobs. Jobs are boring. No one pays $35 to go sit at a factory and watch the production line. I don’t pay to see dreary monotony. I pay for pizazz. Baseball is a game, not a job. It should be exciting. Keep your Cal Ripken. Give me Rickey Henderson.
Hey, and while your at it, give me all the obnoxious, boisterous, enthralling athletes in the world in the game I’m going to. I want Joe Namath on the sidelines in a mink coat. I want Vince Carter dunking between his legs. I want European soccer players losing their minds after they score. I want track stars breaking records in gold-plated sneakers. I want Chi Chi Rodriguez waving his putter around like a sword. I want the Ickey Shuffle. I want the Laker girls. Good god, do I want the Laker girls.
Unlike Cal Ripken, Rickey Henderson likely isn’t going anywhere. Like me, Rickey realizes that baseball is a game, an entertainment, not just another job. He’ll surely play until they physically remove him from the field. And he’ll play with the same flair and flamboyance that he has since 1979, the same swerve and verve that have accompanied his entire record breaking career.
So you can cry about Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn retiring from their jobs. Me, I’ll rejoice that Rickey is still playing his game.
