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Light Years Ahead Of The Field The Yankees' Rickey Henderson and Tim Raines of Montreal are simply the best leadoff men everBy Peter Gammons Issue date: July 28, 1986
Across the Astrodome, in the American League clubhouse, Boston catcher Rich Gedman looked at Rickey Henderson, who was getting dressed. ''He's built like Superman,'' Gedman said of the Yankee centerfielder. ''When you play against him, you try to say, 'Don't let him bother you,' because there are times there is nothing you can do to stop him from doing whatever he wants to do. He's from another planet. Unfortunately, you can't help thinking about him. We're only human.'' The men who have been accorded legendary status in baseball, those who have inspired movies, candy bars or talk of superhuman attributes, have usually been players who could either hit baseballs 500 feet or throw them 95 miles an hour. As Ruth became the force of the '20s, Gehrig the '30s, Williams the '40s, Mantle the '50s, Koufax and Gibson the '60s, Seaver and Carlton the '70s, so these two microchips have come to dominate this decade. ''I'd rather have Tim Raines or Rickey Henderson than any slugger in the game today,'' says Padres manager Steve Boros. ''That's not to say I'd take the good leadoff man over the slugger, per se. I'm talking about Raines and Henderson. They're probably the two best leadoff hitters who ever lived.'' Raines, 5 ft. 8 in. and 26 years old, and Henderson, 5 ft. 10 in. and 27, have already etched their names in baseball history as base stealers. The gold medallion inscribed with 130, which dangles from Henderson's neck, signifies his record for stolen bases. With an unmatched three 100-steal seasons behind him, Henderson is just 311 stolen bases away from Lou Brock's career mark of 938. Raines is the first to steal 70 bases five times. In this, his sixth season, he's on his way to another 70-steal year. But stealing bases is not their only game. Maury Wills and Brock could steal bases by the century load, and now so can the Cardinals' Vince Coleman. ''Henderson and Raines are in a different class from Coleman or any of the other rabbits,'' says Coleman's manager, Whitey Herzog. ''Henderson and Raines do everything. They can dominate the game out of the leadoff position.'' In researching leadoff hitters, the Elias Sports Bureau has determined that Henderson and Raines are in a class by themselves when it comes to power, speed and the ability to reach base. Look at what they're doing this year. Henderson, batting .280, has 15 homers and 54 stolen bases, an on-base percentage of .376 and a slugging percentage of .489. At his current pace, he will score 151 runs, the most since Lou Gehrig scored 167 in 1936. Raines is hitting .334 with 43 stolen bases, an on-base percentage of .407 and a slugging percentage of .491. The two men are the very embodiment of thunder and lightning. ''When I came up, I thought my job was just to steal bases,'' says Henderson. ''That's how I made my name. But gradually I found out how many different things I can do. Now I'd like to get another medallion with one six two on it, for 162 runs. Base stealing is just part of the job of the leadoff hitter. My job is to score -- score and win.'' Henderson has scored 770 runs in this decade, nearly 120 more than anyone else. Last year he scored more (146) than anyone since Ted Williams had 150 in 1949 and became the first player since Joe DiMaggio in 1939 to average more than a run a game. Raines has scored 568 runs in his 5 1/2 seasons, the most in the National League, and in 1983, when he touched home 133 times, he was three runs shy of being the first player to score 20% of his club's total runs. His run total is down slightly this year, mainly because Andre Dawson, the Expo who most often brings him home, has missed a lot of games with injuries, forcing Raines to occasionally take Dawson's place in the No. 3 spot. Henderson's and Raines's individual run per game averages are unmatched. ''Their run-scoring is self-produced because they get themselves into scoring position,'' says Boros. ''If they get a walk or single -- and they each reach base 40 percent of the time -- they steal. They also get extra-base hits like third-place hitters.'' In his first 87 games this season, Henderson had gotten into scoring position (including home) by himself 93 times; Raines had done it 74 times in 79 games. Over the last season and a half, Henderson has ranked fourth and Raines seventh in their respective leagues in extra- base hits. They are, as Frank Broyles would say, ''athaletes,'' the kind usually associated with the NFL or NBA. Each was better known in high school as a running back than as a baseball player -- Raines at Seminole High in Sanford, Fla., where he averaged 10.5 yards a carry; Henderson at Oakland Tech, where he gained 1,100 yards one season. Raines also set school records in the 100- yard dash, 330 intermediate hurdles and long jump. Raines had more than 100 college football offers, and Henderson weighed football scholarships from Arizona and USC (where he would have been the tailback between Charles White and Marcus Allen). Each realized, however, that his size was a limitation. ''I could have played tailback at Florida,'' Raines recalls, ''but I realized that the further I went, the more my height was going to be a factor.'' Henderson wanted to play football as well as baseball at Arizona, but his mother convinced him otherwise. ''She was afraid that I'd get hurt in football,'' he says. ''I listened to her.'' So in 1976 the 17-year-old Henderson, a fourth- round pick, accepted a contract from the A's and headed off to Boise, Idaho. A year later, Raines took the Expos up on their fifth-round offer and drove to Sarasota. Stealing bases came naturally. Henderson had actually launched his base-stealing career at Oakland Tech, thanks to his guidance counselor and godmother, Tommie Wilkerson. ''I used to work overtime so I could give the kids money and encourage them at the same time,'' says Mrs. Wilkerson, who promised Henderson and a friend a quarter each time they stole a base. (When she held the same job at crosstown McClymonds High School in the '50s, she had her husband put up a basketball net in their backyard to encourage a shy, gangly neighborhood youngster named Bill Russell. She also had a lot to do with the maturing of one Frank Robinson.) ''I started running for meal money,'' Henderson says with his trademark laugh. After 33 steals in 10 games, Mrs. Wilkerson says, ''Rickey left me broke. But I didn't mind because he was special.'' In Henderson's first full professional season in Modesto, Calif., he stole 95 bases in 134 games and so infatuated the fans that a match with a racehorse was arranged at the ballpark. Henderson lost by a stride. Raines, on the other hand, says he ''never gave much thought'' to stolen bases in high school. ''I might have had 23 in 25 games, but they were easy,'' he says. ''But when I got into pro ball, my coaches told me that running was my ticket to the big leagues. So I ran. No one had to teach me. Growing up for me was running and playing baseball. My father was a semipro baseball player and former track star, and my four brothers and I would race against Pop. Three of them were older than me, but I was the first one ever to beat Pop, and I didn't do it till I was 15.'' The running styles of both men show pure athletic skill. Neither takes a long lead. ''Diving back headfirst is too much of a pounding,'' says Raines. ''For both Rickey and me, the jump is more important than the lead.'' Henderson's start is a traditional crossover step, which he claims is nothing more than ''my cut and acceleration in football. My jump's a football jump.'' Raines begins with a unique swivel of his feet. ''All I do is get in position for my old 100-yard-dash start,'' he says. Each is in gear in one stride, Henderson even lower to the ground than Raines, and each reaches the next base in 3.1 or 3.2 seconds. Brock says that Raines ''accelerates into the bag harder than any base stealer ever.'' Raines will dive headfirst only if the play is close; otherwise, he'll slide feet-first so that he can pop back up and proceed to third should the ball bounce away. Henderson prefers to go headfirst. ''I made that slide fashionable,'' says Henderson. ''I learned it in Triple A from a teammate named Michael Rodriguez. I kept being told, 'You can't do it that way,' but I did. Now almost everyone does it that way.'' Henderson's slide is longer than Raines's and so strong that sometimes he'll soar right over the bag and have to catch it with his feet. ''They are built perfectly for their art,'' says Boros, a longtime student of running who managed Henderson in Oakland and coached Raines in Montreal. ''So is Coleman. Having the low center of gravity is important. It's a lot tougher for a Willie Wilson or a Willie Davis to keep it up, year after year. ''Rickey and Tim both downplay how much they study opposing pitchers, but they have great powers of observation, which enable them to read pitchers and time their jumps.'' When they are caught stealing, it's usually because they are picked off. Raines has stolen 434 bases in his career and has been thrown out by catchers only 32 times. He has been nailed by catchers only three times this year, and one of those times he was safe but overslid the bag. In his 1 1/2 seasons in New York, Henderson has been thrown out by catchers just eight times. Raw speed is not the only superhuman trait they possess. They both need tremendous strength to put up with the physical toll of constantly sliding and diving. Raines, surprisingly, didn't suffer his first base stealing injury until July 11 of this year, when he jammed and bruised his knee. Still, he admits, ''My body gets awfully tired and battered.'' Henderson has had jammed and separated shoulders, bruised wrists and arms, numerous stiff necks and an ankle so battered in 1984 that he required foam padding on it for two months. ''Some people knocked Rickey last year for not playing every game,'' says teammate Don Mattingly. ''But he needs days off. He runs around centerfield. The pounding he takes on the bases astounds me. I play first base and don't run, so I don't need days off. But he sure does.'' Henderson concedes, ''I've got to do extra stretching, sit-ups, push-ups and some Nautilus weights for my shoulders just to maintain the strength I've got to have.'' Each has learned to deal with a variety of defensive strategies, some more ethical than others. For instance, two or three teams in each league water down first base, causing runners to get a slower jump. ''The science against stealing has evolved radically in the last four or five years,'' says Boros. ''That has made it tougher than ever to steal. Pitchers have quicker deliveries, step off and quick-pitch, hold the ball. Catchers pitch out much more often. Now you've got pitching coaches with stopwatches timing pitchers' deliveries, while other coaches are timing catchers' throws to second base. Mostly because of these two guys.'' While they made their names running, Henderson and Raines do so much more. ''I won't like it if Coleman or someone else beats my record,'' says Henderson. ''I still want to beat Brock's record and be the first to steal 1,000. But it's different now, especially playing with the Yankees. There's purpose to my stealing. I took more chances in Oakland because we didn't have the same kind of hitting.'' ''If I went out just to steal, I could steal 150 or 170 bases,'' says Raines. ''But I don't steal bases for myself. I'm a situational base runner. When I was young, I could always hit, and that's the way I look at myself.'' Raines takes his hitting very seriously. With a .302 career average, he finished third in the NL at .320 last year, and this season he is third at .334. ''I looked to Joe Morgan as my idol,'' he says of the great second baseman, ''mainly because of my size and the fact that I then was an infielder. And Joe Morgan could hit.'' When Raines played at Denver in 1980, he kept a George Brett picture over his locker, and his devotion to the Charlie Lau school of hitting is evident in his stance -- on his toes in a crouch, bat straight back. ''There's absolutely no way one can pitch to him,'' says Expo reliever Jeff Reardon. Raines's real goal is to lead the league in hitting. ''I think I can get into the .360-.370 area,'' he says. Last fall, he went to the Instructional League to work on his bunting because, he says, ''If I can push a few bunts past the pitcher, it'll bring the shortstop in a step and add that much more to my hitting.'' Henderson, a .294 hitter in his 6 1/2 seasons, last year hit 24 homers, becoming the first American Leaguer to hit more than 20 homers and steal more than 50 bases; with 15 homers and 51 steals at the All-Star break this year, he could become an unprecedented 30-100 man. And, as Henderson points out, ''I haven't gotten hot yet.'' When Boros managed Oakland in 1984, he tried to encourage Henderson to sit on fastballs when he was ahead in the count and drive them for power. Henderson resisted. ''I'd made my living getting on base and running,'' he admits, ''and I didn't understand. I do now.'' ''They're set apart from other great leadoff men in almost every way,'' says Herzog. ''Coleman can run with them but can't hit or walk with them.'' Of other modern leadoff hitters, Mickey Rivers couldn't walk with them, Wills didn't have their power, Pete Rose never had their speed. Bobby Bonds, when he led off for the Giants, comes the closest to them, but he couldn't withstand the constant pounding of stealing bases. ''Henderson can walk, run, steal, hit for average and hit for power and drive the pitcher crazy,'' says Yankee general manager Clyde King. ''I don't know of anything else there is for a leadoff hitter to do. He'll be the first to have 100 walks, 100 steals and 25 homers in a season. To me, he's the greatest leadoff hitter in the game, and of all time. I don't know of one in the past who could do all the things he does as well as he does. When I was with Brooklyn, Jackie Robinson was the master of rattling the pitcher. Jackie had great body control, instincts, coordination, but he didn't have the pure speed Henderson does. Like Jackie, Rickey unnerves just about everybody.'' While there are a great many similarities between Raines and Henderson, they have very different personalities. Raines is one of the most popular players in the game, noted for his engaging batting cage banter. He is also respected for the honesty and grit he showed in 1982 in dealing with his cocaine addiction. Other teams worry about him on the field, but they hold no animosity toward Raines. Henderson, on the other hand, can infuriate opponents. A private person, he has a strut that would make Mick Jagger envious, and his arrogance can be seen in his one-hand, snap catches. ''I used to think he made it hard on himself because so many people want him to fail,'' says Boston manager John McNamara. ''But now I think he's so self-confident, he uses it to his advantage.'' Says Mattingly, ''As soon as he gets into the on-deck circle, all attention is focused on him. Managers yell at pitchers, catchers yell at infielders . . . and pretty soon balls are bouncing all over the place.'' Because of his extreme crouch, which leaves about a 10-inch strike zone, Henderson is, says Ron Guidry, ''probably the hardest man in baseball to pitch to.'' When he fights for that strike zone, Henderson infuriates the opposition. ''He'll drive you crazy,'' says Earl Weaver. ''He intimidates umpires. I guess they don't want to see that show he puts on. I know I'm tired of seeing it. But what are they going to do? If they call a strike on him, Steinbrenner sends a film to the league office and gets a meeting with the president of the league.'' Henderson has also been known to take long strolls after called strikes, but then he says, ''I've got my own clock.'' That may explain some of his tardy pregame arrivals. And he does have style. Nobody wears a uniform the way Henderson does, nobody's wrist bands are more fluorescent, nobody's eye-black is as defiant to the sun. ''All I'm doing is having fun, that's the way I've always done it and I don't care if some opposing pitcher doesn't like it,'' says Henderson with a laugh. Oh, that laugh. ''Rickey can hurt a pitcher more by doing psychological damage than by hitting a homer,'' says teammate Butch Wynegar. ''He's on first base and he turns into a puma -- a laughing puma. He makes all those moves, gets low to the ground, taunts the pitcher. He gets them mad and they think, 'I'm going to get this guy.' Then, boom -- they throw the ball into the rightfield corner and now he's on second base, laughing. A slugger is nothing compared with Henderson in terms of the disruption he can cause. You take a guy who's going to hit 35 or 40 homers, and you know he's going to get you once in a while. But you can pitch to him with some success, and if he gets on base, he isn't going to bother you too much. I'd rather face anybody -- Dale Murphy, Mattingly, anybody -- than Henderson.'' Are Henderson and Raines the wave of the future? With the possible exception of Cincinnati's Eric Davis, who Raines suggests is the next superstar, there doesn't appear to be anyone in their class. ''There's never been anyone quite like them,'' says Boros. ''And until someone comes along and proves me wrong, I'm not sure there ever will be anyone quite like Henderson and Raines.'' Issue date: July 28, 1986
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