I’d sit on the green corduroy couch, legs crossed, and count — plays.
Runs scored. Stolen hearts. All bases, a part of a story,
Rickey Henderson, one of the greatest players,
performers and writers of sport would tell so well.
A 2009 Hall of Famer, Rickey was a playmaker
destined for frames on television screens
and stadium seats of dreams. From my seat on the couch,
I’d watch, I’d watch greatness in action. Who needs swing
dancing on artificial oak when the wooden bat and authentic turf
offer such a splendid combination of charisma and athleticism?
Of sportsmanship, smiles, and records that played miles, Rickey
charmed as he worked. A player who (somehow) batted right and threw left,
Rickey stitched an unmatched combination of power, speed, ability, and spirit.
On the couch, legs crossed, I remained. Of clean and clear eyes,
in denim cut-offs, I watched the 1990 American League MVP
swing Louisville Sluggers across the big stage.
The ballpark his instrument of choice, Rickey made music
of a diamond and sport. He played and then played on. Always.
Anyone, including myself, could watch greatness in nine-inning parts.
Of course, there’s more. Rickey understood numbers
and nuances of new rules. The locker room a space of novel plays –
the “Man of Steal,” a performer of aces, stitched broken hearts of baseball
memories. Rickey sealed hearts as he stole bases and inspired others to run,
To “Run like Rickey,” the baseball great ever more fine-tuned, and finer
each season, the eight-track plays his song. Keep playing Rickey. Play on.