Arrogance is the most notable of all pejoratives because it wears the Janus mask – a bad thing in normal society, but an absolute requirement in all the arts. It is never enough to have the gift; you also have to strut it. There’s a lot more money involved in being a guest of honor and a DJ at the same time, although self-promotion has become standard behavior for those who need to pimp their own cars.

That’s why Rickey Henderson, who died Friday at age 65, was not only justifiably arrogant, but the next step beyond mere arrogance. He had the gift, but he also knew that he only had to sell himself to himself because (a) he was his own best audience, as great artists are, and (b) he thought that ultimately Anyone else would have to see it their own way. And in this case he was right.

Do you want to watch someone do things that have never been done before just to bask in the glory of their work? Well, there he is – the leadoff hitter with no predecessor and no successor, no template and no plan to create the next one. Even better, given the length of time he demonstrated his abilities in terms of speed, strength, knowledge and hubris, there was a reasonable assumption that he would eventually play for your team. Like fellow Oaklander Josh Johnson, Quarterback Without Portfolio, he was always able to find work because someone could always use what he could.

But he didn’t roam the room looking for an audience, as most of today’s athletes do. Money wasn’t what it was now, so the need to pay admirers wasn’t as pervasive, true, but there was something about Henderson that radiated, “I’m not telling you how great I am.” I tell myself this because my opinion is the one I trust the most. He didn’t really insist that you say it the way most public figures do; He assumed that his size was at a level that you couldn’t help but notice and that you would come to eventually. Maybe it’s just because he was born on Christmas Day – he was the star in the sky everyone was looking for, so he didn’t have to wave his arms and shout, “Hey!” You! Look! The star is over here!”

Rather, he told himself that, every day. Additionally, he may have been the first major player to never use the pronoun “I,” preferring the more formal “Rickey,” as if he was standing outside his own body and admiring what he saw. The irrefutable story goes that he stood naked in front of his locker every day and chanted, “Rickey is the best,” which is a more graphic version of Ted Williams doing the same thing during pregame batting practice four decades ago (Williams was clothed, in case you know that). my mind whirred in that particular direction). He called himself “the greatest of all time” during the on-field ceremony to celebrate breaking Lou Brock’s career stolen base record, and although in fairness this was more of a malaprop because he was not a polished public speaker than a boast (He once asked a teammate how long it took to drive to the Dominican Republic.) This too is an indisputable fact and is stated as such.

By that point, of course, he had already been named the greatest leadoff hitter of all time, an honor that had never been considered in this regard since the batting order is a fairly fluid standard and no one has ever picked a fight in a bar about who the best No. 3 or No. 6 batsman was. He made you think about the very idea of ​​a lineup position as a measure of excellence, and then he closed all the debates by saying he had already won it. Just another case of Rickey being Rickey.

And there is no published Rickey retrospective worth the effort (notably, there have been several books written about him). Rickey: The Life and Legend of an American Original by Howard Bryant and the autobiography Off Base: Confessions of a Thiefwhich he co-authored with John Shea, may overlook the story of the famous bonus check he received before the start of the 1982 season, which ultimately angered the Oakland A’s accounting department by leaving their books unbalanced. A quick forensic search revealed that the $1 million they couldn’t agree on was the $1 million they paid Rickey to sign, as Rickey didn’t cash Rickey’s check and handed him over instead framed and hung in Rickey’s living room. When asked about his whereabouts, Rickey said, “I’m just looking into it.” Rickey’s logic: There will be more of these to come. And there was – about $45 million worth of 13 teams, if you count the A’s four times, which Rickey did.

So yes, Rickey was indeed arrogant, if that’s the word you need, but in a strangely understated way. He wasn’t interested in painting a golden brick in gold. He had the best product and thought he didn’t need to advertise. Rather, he actually acted, even if he occasionally did so in his birthday suit. He didn’t hire a marketing team, didn’t become a television or streaming icon, or did anything other than be what he knew best: Rickey. Of course, no life is as orderly as this; For this you need Bryant’s help, which is welcome. Above all, he was a self-made man who passionately admired his own work because he knew that the work would attract all the admirers he could wish for. He was not only the griller, but also the steak, the chef, the guest, the restaurant owner and the reviewer all at the same time. He was Rickey, as Rickey was usually said to be. There is no better way to draw circles.