“At 5-foot-10, Henderson was smaller than many big leaguers, but he overcame his size with a combination of horse power, a savant-like ability to exploit deficiencies in pitchers, and an extreme bravado that many players viewed as cockiness.” That’s how Michael Rosenwald described the recently passed Rickey Henderson in an obituary that Forbes publisher Rich Karlgaard correctly described as a “masterpiece.”
To think about Rosenwald writing Henderson’s obituary was to imagine that he had as much fun writing about Henderson as Henderson had playing baseball. Same with George Will in his own column memorializing Henderson. Henderson loved baseball, and those who love baseball are returning his affection to him. This is a big deal not just because Henderson was so special, but because understanding a little about Henderson is a way of understanding a future in which many more people will work with joy similar to Henderson’s.
What was most appealing about how Rosenwald described Henderson was in his focus on the player’s mind. He had “a savant-like ability to exploit deficiencies in pitchers,” while Will’s column was titled “Man of Steal, mind of titanium.” Will wrote that “The cerebral Tony La Russa, who won more games than any manager not named Connie Mack, and who managed Rickey and against him, remembers him even more for ‘his baseball IQ’ than for his legs.” Yes!
That’s the point. Or it should be. Baseball was Henderson’s specialty in the way that piano was Van Cliburn’s, acting is Meryl Streep’s, or physics and math John von Neumann’s. When we’re doing what we’re specializing in, we’re showcasing what renders us uniquely brilliant.
To see why, imagine Streep trying her hand at competitive baseball, Cliburn in physics and math, von Neumann at piano, or Henderson in acting. Four geniuses would appear uncoordinated, dumb, or worse. Thank goodness all four got to specialize.
What should have us cheerful with anticipation is that we’ve theoretically only scratched the surface when it comes to human beings realizing their immense potential in the way that Henderson (and others we think of as geniuses) did. That is so because we’re on the doorstep of technology not just doing for us, but increasingly thinking for us.
What this means is that all sorts of work (yes, jobs) is set to vanish; that, or the vast majority of work done within jobs will soon be taken over by machines. Crucial about these advances is that they won’t replace us, rather they’ll free us to specialize in the workplace in ways past generations (including our own) couldn’t contemplate.
Put another way, the lament expressed by “workers” about rock stars in the Dire Straits song “Money for Nothing” will have everyman qualities as more and more of us get to do for work what doesn’t seem like work to those doing it. Henderson instructs here.
He played baseball well into his forties because he wanted to, not because he needed to. Will notes that Henderson once framed (meaning he did not cash) a $1 million bonus check. As the Wall Street Journal’s Jason Gay put it, “It’s likely no one loved playing baseball as much as Rickey Henderson did.” Precisely.
Please save the various Rickey Henderson obituaries. They’re not just wildly entertaining, they’re a look into the future.
