It’s almost too much to bear.

It’s one thing for Oakland to lose its final big league team this year. The reality of this situation is not yet entirely clear, but unfortunately it is not a new experience for the East Bay city.

But that Oakland also loses its greatest son – the man who perfectly embodies the excellence and pride of The Town?

That’s just completely unfair.

Rickey Henderson, the stealing man who aptly told the world he was “the greatest of all time” after setting the stolen base record, died Saturday. He was 65 years old.

The Baseball Hall of Famer scored more runs and stole more bags than anyone in the history of the game and played 25 seasons after breaking into the A’s in 1979. He won two World Series championships, including the 1989 championship with the A’s.

Yes, Henderson was the man, and he would tell you all about it too.

And it was that indelible charm and confidence that represents Henderson’s legacy. The incredible stats don’t tell the story of Rickey Henderson. No, it was Rickey’s character – which forced the man to refer to himself in the third person – that made him popular.

There are many players with great stats (although not as good as Rickey’s), but few players who could attract attention with his style both on and off the field.

Quirky doesn’t even begin to describe the man who slid into home plate after hitting a home run, breaking baseball’s all-time run record, or who missed games with frostbite because he fell asleep with ice-backs, or who did so before stealing -Trying stated “Rickey has to go.”

Henderson wasn’t always popular. Because he carried his swagger everywhere he went, he was hardly a celebrated figure in baseball in the 1980s. His demands for salary increases, initially $500,000, to keep up with baseball’s ever-increasing revenues led to fans and media alike labeling him as greedy. My goodness, how times have changed.

And the outfielder’s relentless competitiveness made him anything but a household name among opponents. Rickey came to win, and that’s a quote from the man himself. Therefore, one of the greatest baseball players of all time remained underrated, even if his greatness on the field was undeniable. Perhaps that’s why he spent much of his career moving from team to team.

Fortunately, the baseball world recognized their mistake – recognizing that Henderson gave the game everything it needed – and so much of what it lacks today – and celebrated him as such. In a sport marred by scandal, Henderson was as authentic as anyone who has ever played the sport. He maximized his natural talents – those he developed from the age of ten in the crucible of athletic excellence in Oakland.

And even though Henderson played for nine teams over 25 years, he always seemed to find his way back home. The A’s traded Henderson twice, but four times Henderson used free agency to return to Oakland.

“They have a very colorful uniform,” claimed Henderson, explaining why he kept returning to the A’s.

Fitting for a colorful man, right?

Even more fitting: “If my uniform doesn’t get dirty, I haven’t done anything at a baseball game.”

Well, that’s the kind of player that’s worth the price of admission.

Henderson wasn’t even close to six feet tall – when we first met, he joked that I, who was almost a foot taller than him, should sit down to do the interview with him (we stood in one Hallway without chairs) – but He was indeed a giant on the field and something close to a great story off it.

Everyone, coast to coast, has a Rickey Henderson story, and we’re all better for it.

My favorite: After signing a new, record-breaking contract with the A’s in 1989, Henderson received a signing bonus of a million dollars, but at the end of the season when the A’s checked their books, they discovered there was a million dollar surplus dollars gave.

Yes, Rickey had framed the $1 million check and hung it on the wall.

But lest you get the wrong idea about Henderson.

The man undoubtedly had a big ego and was after money – that’s for sure – but he always seemed to have time to talk to a fan or a child, even if in recent years he had to explain to the latter who he was. He was a man of the people and had nothing but love for “his people” in Oakland. I think that’s really why he kept coming back, even though the A’s and sometimes the fans never really appreciated him as much as they should.

Henderson’s favorite story from Hall of Fame catcher Mike Piazza tells the true story of Rickey.

Teams that make the baseball playoffs receive a share of postseason revenue; Usually the players split the money. Piazza, a teammate of Henderson’s on the Mets, recalled in his autobiography:

“(He) was the most generous guy I’ve ever played with, and whenever the discussion came up about what we should give to one of the marginalized groups – whether it was a minor league player coming over for a few days or the parking lot attendant – Rickey yelled “Full Share!” We argued for a while and he said, “Fuck it! You can change someone’s life.”

Luckily, that love was reciprocated. His death may be tragic, but at least he received the love, admiration and respect he so deserved while he was alive.

How incredible do you have to be to bounce around like Henderson did — play for the funky Yankees like he did — and be considered Mr. Oakland?

Whatever that threshold was, Henderson easily surpassed it, just as he did with baseball’s stolen base record. (Henderson, who broke the record at age 32, ended up having 50 percent more thefts than the previous record holder, Lou Brock.)

Maybe that’s what makes his death hit so hard today. The man who seemed like he could play forever – he played in the independent leagues after his big league career was over and he was closer to 50 than 40 – is gone long before his time.

And with him goes perhaps the most extraordinary ship in Oakland baseball history.

It may sound strange, but I believe this: Oakland baseball didn’t die when the A’s moved to Sacramento, Las Vegas or wherever this ownership group thinks they’ll end up.

But with apologies to the A’s living greats, it might have died Saturday when Henderson died. From Bushrod Park to Oakland Tech to the Coliseum – whose field was rightly named after Henderson – the man’s legacy is more significant than the team whose (colorful) uniform he graced.

Unfortunately, Rickey had to leave.

But more than 30 years after breaking the stolen base record, Henderson’s words still ring true:

He remains “the greatest of all time.”