Before Rickey says what’s on Rickey’s mind about this Alex Rodriguez nonsense, let’s get one thing straight. Rickey Henderson — AKA The Greatest Of All Time, in case you got hit on the head or died, which are the only excuses you’d have for forgetting that — lived his life, and continues to live his life, clean. Rickey was immaculate, inside and out. Pure as the driven snow that got nowhere near Rickey’s nose. No additives, no preservatives, no fillers, no substitutes. Real Rickey, no gimmicks. Rickey puts the “lean” in “clean,” because Rickey is 100% All Natural Rickey. (Rickey would also put the “c” in “clean,” except Rickey was never anything less than “A+,” and that doesn’t spell anything except maybe “alien” if you’re cross-eyed, so Rickey just kept that to himself.) Instead of calling that overpriced beef “Kobe,” it should be called “Rickey,” because Rickey makes Kobe look like “Benji” or “Mr. Ed.” (Also, unlike some Nutella-eating beaver-teething chumps, Rickey can still dunk without needing his knees scoped every other week.)
When Rickey was busy breaking all those Major League Baseball records, it was because of Rickey. Rickey didn’t need speed; Rickey was speed. Rickey was high on Rickey, which is the most natural high available only to the greatest base-stealer and run-scorer and on-baser that ever jumped into a pair of stirrups and changed the world of sports forever. Everyone else was snorting this or popping that or pushing whatever into wherever, and Rickey just did his push-ups and ran his laps and occasionally prayed to the only greater power than himself to ask Him to make sure his hamstrings stayed strong. (Rickey assumes He had more important things on his mind, like rescuing those less fortunate, or parting some Red Seas, or making Beyonce and Nicki Minaj and my beautiful beautiful beautiful wife (hey girl), when those chump hamstrings acted up.)
But Rickey digresses, which can happen when a subject of such magnitude and greatness is mentioned. The reason for all this dancing around is because of Alex Rodriguez. Straight talk: Rickey has no problem with whatever Alex Rodriguez did or did not in order to do what he does on the baseball field. After all, not everyone can be as naturally gifted as Rickey. And if you can eat or drink something that will help you approach Rickey-like levels of greatness, you do it. If you get caught doing something you shouldn’t, you do your time, and you keep on. If you don’t get caught, you don’t get caught. You’re getting paid to do a job, and if you can do that job better, you get paid better. And, as everyone already knows, Rickey is all about getting paid. And, no matter what kind of smokescreen they try to throw up, that’s all baseball is about, too.
Don’t come waving that “integrity of the game” / “purity of the game” / “cheater cheater protein-powder-eater” hand-jive at Rickey. Baseball’s not “cleaning up the sport.” They’re just moving the mess from the place everyone’s looking to a place no one’s looking. Yesterday’s greenies are today’s PEDs are tomorrow’s science-fiction Rickey implants. That’s what they’ve always done, and that’s what they’re going to keep doing, because that’s what works. And if that didn’t work, they’d do something else that works, because that’s how baseball works, and that’s how everyone in baseball gets paid.
If baseball thought it could make money with a bunch of Terminators and Rocks and Supermans out there hitting balls out of stadiums every at-bat, baseball would hire all sorts of chumps in pocket protectors and taped-up glasses to put PEDs into every damn thing. There’d be PED’d sunflower seeds, PED’d chewing tobacco, Big PED’d League Chew, PED’d colored water, PED’d pine tar, PED’d batting gloves, and PED’d jock straps. They’d put PEDs into the PEDs if they could. Instead, baseball got caught with its pants down and a needle sticking out of its hairy lumpy un-Rickey-like ass, and it pretended like it didn’t actually just jab the needle into that ass not two seconds ago. Like anyone with half a brain (or one-quarter Rickey’s brain) didn’t see through that nonsense.
But, again, Rickey digresses. Because if there’s one thing Rickey can’t stand, it’s some duplicitous backhanded bullshit that keeps a man from getting what’s owed to him. And don’t get it twisted: The stunt the New York Yankees are trying to pull with Alex Rodriguez and his contract incentives is some duplicitous backhanded bullshit. It’s the Yankees fault they put those home-run milestone clauses into that contract. No one twisted their arm. No one forced them to sign a 32-year-old player to a 10-year contract. And it’s for damn sure not an issue about the Yankees not having the money.
In the time it took Rickey to hit the ENTER button on this keyboard — yes, Rickey types these articles up by himself; Rickey’s real middle name is “Nelson Henley,” but his other middle name could be “Mavis Beacon” — the Yankees probably made a bajillion dollars selling some loudmouth chumps in some overpriced Yankee shirseys drinking some sugar-filled drinks out of a Yankee Big Gulp cups some “authenticated” lumps of dirt that Derek Jeter might’ve maybe spit or walked on but probably didn’t. It is downright stupid the amount of money the Yankees make. People make a big deal about Alex Rodriguez’s “overpriced” contract, but he’s not even the 2nd-highest paid player on the team! And they aren’t even sweating that stuff! They have money to hire people to burn all the money they have! And they’re going to sit there with a straight face and say they’re not going to pay a player what they promised to pay him? Shut up with that nonsense.
You can also shut up about that “unmarketable” horsepie. If you’re the Yankees, what would you rather have people focus on: All this stupid yip-yapping about A-Rod hitting home runs and not getting paid, or the Yankees being a triple-digit bust? You want to put the focus back on those chumps at 2nd base and shortstop that aren’t Robinson Cano & Derek Jeter? You want people to ask more questions about Carlos Beltran’s .195 batting average or CC Sabathia’s 5.45 ERA? & don’t give me that “they’re in first place” fart-stuff. The Astros are in first place. Some Nelson Cruz is leading the world in HRs and RBIs. There’s a dude on the Marlins hitting over .430. In other words, it’s early May. Wake Rickey up when September ends. (And not with that stupid boring-ass song by The Green Days. If Rickey wanted to take a nap and throw up at the same time, Rickey would watch a Harry Potter movie while eating a Big Mac that someone hid in their armpit for a month.)
And that bowtie-wearing high-horse-riding bug-eyed nonsense about A-Rod being forced to give bonus to charity? You can stick that pile of gibberish back in the goofy-looking mouth it came from. If A-Rod wants to give his $6 million to charity after he’s paid? That’s his business (unless it’s not). If Yankees want to donate another $6 million to charity after giving A-Rod the $6 million they owe him? That’s their business. If the Yankees want to weasel out of paying a player that helped them win a World Series & sold them a pantload of overpriced swag a contractually-mandated bonus? That’s Rickey’s business, and that’s everyone’s business, because that’s not how you do business. That’s how chumps do business. Only chumps don’t honor agreements. And if there’s one thing baseball could use a lot less of, it’s no-good cheap-ass double-talking dirt-selling chumps.
In conclusion: Pay A-Rod! And give whatever’s left to you-know-who.
Rickey Henderson was elected to the Major League Baseball Hall of Fame in 2009. His current work-out playlist is “Four-Door Aventador” and “Truffle Butter” back-to-back on repeat.