Close your baseball eyes for a moment. Take a mental picture of the great Rickey Henderson.
Watch as he strides to the plate, folding himself into his signature crouch, ready to torment his opponent. Think of the conundrum you are certain consumes the opposing pitcher: Challenge Henderson around the zone and be liable to give up a patented leadoff home run. Nibble at the corners and end up giving him a free pass to first base instead.
Smile as you know what comes next, the stolen base dance that made Henderson the most exciting player of his generation, a daring duel of pickoff moves versus speed that, more often than not, was won by Henderson. A swipe of second, a swipe of third, a ground ball to the right or a sacrifice fly, and boom, a 1-0 lead. Imagine yourself celebrating alongside him, flipping a bat with ferocity, taking exaggerated wide turns around the bases, or getting dirty like he did, head-first slides worth the price of admission.
Now open your eyes.
Wipe away a tear, if you must.
The baseball world lost a giant when Henderson passed away this week, gone too soon at the age of 65. The greatest leadoff hitter in baseball history, Henderson starred in many of my own most vivid baseball memories. As a Yankee fan coming of age in the 1980s, there weren’t many playoff appearances to relish or any World Series titles to celebrate. It was a strange exception to the franchise’s otherwise title-winning exploits, where honor was found in having the most wins of any team across the decade (854 between 1980 and 1989) but frustration was rampant in being subjected to the whims of trigger-happy owner George Steinbrenner.
It was players like Henderson who made it all worth it. After getting traded East from Oakland before the 1985 season, he announced his presence with authority. His debut season in New York: .314 batting average,.419 on-base percentage, .516 slugging percentage, 24 home runs, 72 RBIs, and, of course, 80 stolen bases. And that was but a slice of his Hall of Fame exploits, nine different teams including Toronto to Oakland to Boston and back to New York (with the Mets), his swagger and style outdone only by his talent and skill. He made the stolen base the most exciting play in the game.
It’s no wonder the memories of Henderson are so alive in our heads, easily retrieved at first mention of his name.
It was that thought that brought to mind yet another reason to appreciate the role that sports plays in our lives, giving us these beautiful, lasting images of athletes at their peak, so particularly powerful in times of sadness, when greats of the past or heroes of the present pass away.
Henderson’s death was but the most recent of a 2024 sports arena filled with loss, deaths felt here locally or across the country’s sporting map, reminders of memorable work done both on and off the field. Thoughts of Luis Tiant, Johnny and Matty Gaudreau, or Larry Lucchino hitting the Boston faithful hard, or those of Willie Mays, Pete Rose, Bill Walton, Jerry West, or Fernando Valenzuela touching the sports world at large.
Think of Tiant and his legendary wind up, the back of his jersey facing the better before the baseball was delivered, or Valenzuela, eyes screwballing to the heavens with every pitch.
Remember West and his artful jump shot release, his movement on the court pretty enough to become the model for the NBA logo. Think of Walton, whose excellence in two careers, on the court and in the television booth, was unforgettable.
Share gratitude for the way Lucchino helped the Red Sox break their curse. Imagine the Gaudreau brothers for eternity so proudly wearing their Boston College jerseys, their pride in playing together in Chestnut Hill matching anything they achieved in the pros.
Flip through baseball’s storied history books knowing you must make stops for entries on Mays’s basket catches and incredible five-tool prowess or Rose and his incomparable batting eye.
They were but a handful of the impactful personalities sports lost this year, so many who made their mark in some way. On the NFL field, where they remain forever young, like the late Vontae Davis and Jacoby Jones. On the basketball court blocking shots with abandon or more importantly off it, building hospitals and living a life of philanthropy and humanitarianism both here and in his native Democratic Republic of the Congo, Dikembe Mutombo’s legacy is secure.
Cancer stole Mutombo just as it stole Stacy Wakefield, her death early this year a mere five months after that of her husband Tim. The Red Sox family will never be the same. Stacy proved it was not necessary to be on the field to make a difference in the world of sports. Think of the voice of James Earl Jones on the silver screen, reminding us of the magic of baseball. Or Carl Weathers joining the Rocky franchise in boxing and movie lore. Or Chris Mortensen pioneering the way his newspaper reporting skills could translate to the ESPN airwaves. Or Bela Karolyi changing the way gymnastics was coached, often for the worse, but just as often for gold medal glory.
Yet it is those moments on the fields of play that truly live on, like signposts along the roads of our lives, connecting us to memories of our own youth or that of the athlete in question. Henderson dancing off the first base bag, driving pitchers crazy. The Man of Steal, no doubt. Johnny Gaudreau streaking around the ice making something out of nothing, as creative a playmaker as you can imagine. Johnny Hockey forever.
Close your eyes for a moment, and you see them again, in all their glory. Open them, and wipe away tears. Rest in peace, one and all.
Tara Sullivan is a Globe columnist. She can be reached at tara.sullivan@globe.com. Follow her @Globe_Tara.
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