What’s up, y’all? It’s been a long time, but Rickey’s been busy being Rickey – doing interviews, driving around in classic cars, chilling with fine b-tches, riding the bus out to the middle of the desert to act the fool.

Rickey just don’t get it. Rickey Henderson is a finely preserved specimen of physical beauty. Nobody ever talks about that dude David Wells being old and out of shape! But they’re giving him the damn ball. If they gave Rickey the ball, Rickey would throw a no-hitter every game. Rickey ain’t even a pitcher, but the unbelievable greatness of Rickey’s career would be enough. You know how when you look in the sun, your eyes get all messed up? That’s what it’s like to try to hit one of Rickey’s pitches. Rickey could literally blind hitters with his fastball. They’d have to start wearing those LeVar Burton sunglasses and sh-t.

Certain rumors have appeared about Rickey Henderson in the press, which Rickey would like to take this opportunity to debunk.

– Rickey never asked his bats which one of them had hits in them. How many of Rickey’s bats have hits in them? All of them! Rickey could hit home runs with wooden legs and tennis rackets. Rickey was just playing.

– Rickey never asked God why God was doing this to Rickey. Rickey knows that his gifts are the result of God’s greatness and selectivity, and that Rickey and Rickey alone has been chosen to serve as, like, the ambassador of speed, grace, and beauty to the United Nations of baseball. It ain’t God’s fault. God is infallible and Rickeycentric.

So anyway, Rickey’s had some time on his hands. One day, Rickey was managing his rental properties, getting his BlackBerry on, when his e-mail starting blowing up! All Rickey’s people were like, “Rickey! It’s on!”

Now Rickey don’t know nothing about no Deadspin sh-t. Rickey really only reads Dusty Baker, anyway. Dusty and Rickey operate in the same mental continuum – they respect experience and intelligence and character, not little peach-fuzz chumps with “potential.”

Rickey tried to read that Gawker thing once – it was all robots having sex with some Senator’s intern’s cell phone or something. All Rickey knows is this – Rickey don’t want to hear about how much people love Rickey. If you love Rickey, get in the Rickey lover’s line. It’s a long-ass line!

And ain’t no way Rickey’s gonna give you ideas for what to write on your weblog. Rickey ain’t gonna give no one nothing if he ain’t getting paid for it. You hear about Barry Bonds talking to David Eckstein about hitting – ain’t no way Rickey would talk to anyone about nothing if it means they get paid and Rickey don’t get paid!

Rickey and Eckstein fighting for the same stack of cash – damn if Rickey gonna give him the edge that might get him more money than Rickey. David Eckstein is a disgraceful jug-eared midget. David Eckstein looks like that kid from “Home Alone.” If Eckstein wants hitting advice – PAY RICKEY! If fancyass Gawker Media wants ideas – PAY RICKEY! If anyone wants anything from Rickey – PAY RICKEY! Rickey don’t care if it’s dating advice or stock tips or what kind of protein shake – if you want help from Rickey, then Rickey’s gotta get paid. Way it is.

Rickey Henderson appreciates the love. Pay Rickey!