I decided not to use statistics when writing about Rickey Henderson. We are now bombarded with statistics and metrics. Baseball is our most numbers-driven sport, but I feel like the analytics revolution has stopped too many fans and reporters from talking about how certain players felt watching a game.
It's as if we have to apologize for what we perceive as emotional illogicality. But when I heard that Henderson had passed away, I didn't think about any numbers. I thought about how he made me feel when I was at the ballpark.
Please allow me to take a little detour down memory lane. I hope this clarifies the issue at least to some extent.
Early in my professional career, when I worked at United Press International, the sports department began producing a daily baseball almanac that included items such as the day's games, that day's scores, and so on. Players born and those who died on that day were also recorded. day. It was often written as follows: John Doe, who led the National League in hits in 1913, died on this day in 1961.
