COMMENTARY : Henderson Cries Foul on Fair Deal

Rickey Henderson says it’s simply a question of fairness, and in that, I tend to agree.

The problem is, fairness can be a lot like beauty. What constitutes fairness is usually in the eye of the beholder.

Henderson’s idea of fair turns my stomach.

Less than five months ago, Henderson signed a four-year, $12 million contract with the Oakland A’s. Now he contends that it’s not enough. Not when so many others are making more.

To be fair, he says, the A’s should offer to renegotiate. And if they don’t offer, he intends to bring the salary deficiencies to their attention.

In Henderson’s version, he was fair to a fault with the A’s--about a $3 million fault. That is, he assured them he would not open the bidding to anyone else, as was his free-agent right, if they could swiftly reach an agreement.

Just meet my price, he said.

The A’s did just that. They rushed to pay the sticker price. No haggling. No trade-in. When Henderson -- or, to be specific, agent Richie Bry -- and the A’s settled on the deal last November, it was the richest in baseball history.

For roughly seven minutes.

Which also describes about how long Rickey was happy.

The A’s believed then that by moving forcefully, they had completed a bold agreement designed to serve a dual purpose: cement both their left field and leadoff assignments well into the coming decade; and make a hometown hero wealthy beyond imagination, a sure sign that they wanted Henderson to complete his career in Oakland as passionately as he said he did.

What could be more equitable than that?

Instead, it turns out that the A’s bought a fortune in hurt pride.

In retrospect, that Henderson and the A’s reached their pact early in the signing season probably was to the player’s financial detriment. Both sides were still steeped in World Series euphoria when Bry and A’s vice president Sandy Alderson said, “OK.” Arguably, the player is more vulnerable in situations like that. As a rule, organizations do not tingle.

Further, the market had only begun to establish itself.

On the other hand, Henderson was only the second $3-million player in baseball, at the time, following the Twins’ Kirby Puckett by a handful of days. And the extra year -- four seasons, to three for Puckett -- gave Henderson a history-making arrangement.

Given the owners’ recent history of collusion, there was no great reason to suspect that contracts would grow significantly.

Or so we thought. Indeed, so Henderson thought. At an appearance at a Sacramento sports memorabilia show, Henderson himself allowed that he may have signed prematurely, but he exuded an air of certainty that, for all their aggravation, other free agents would not be rewarded appreciably greater packages.

How much more could he have gotten had he waited? The answer is, obviously, a lot more. However, Henderson’s bliss was a signed contract, a rock-solid future, and no demeaning negotiations.

Who knew then that other owners would go so loopy? Now there are nearly a dozen players with richer contracts than Rickey’s. And none seems as likely a candidate to crack any major-league career records.

Sometime this summer, Henderson should crack Lou Brock’s stolen base record. And he will do so while still in his prime.

Meanwhile, he should hit around .300, score 120 runs and whack about 15 homers. In today’s zany market, those are clearly -- to choose an annual figure -- $3.6 million skills.

So, Henderson argues, if no one else in the free-agent Class of ’90 is as capable of doing as many things as well -- “Put ‘em all together; I’ll take ‘em all on,” he dares -- why should he be paid less than any of them?

Just one reason I can think of: his signature on the bottom line of a four-year, $12 million contract.

To that, Henderson can only offer weak “Yes, but” rebuttals. These arguments come from the same fellow whose feelings are hurt because the A’s haven’t volunteered to present him with a $150,000 Ferrari on the night he surpasses the venerable Brock.

Henderson insists that if nobody got paid to play, he’d still be out there every day “for the love of the game.” And he regards the stolen-base record as an honorable quest because, “What I did, I did 100 percent. It’s why I take all that pounding.”

It is also his ticket into the Hall of Fame. So why all this stuff about a car that he could buy with 1 1/2 weeks’ pay?

“Well, the press blew that all out of proportion anyway,” Henderson says. “Let go of the confusion. Let go of the bull. Forget about the Ferrari.

“Let’s talk about a renegotiated contract. Let’s go where reality is.”

OK, let’s. Reality is a legal document, a sacrosanct agreement settled in good faith.

Henderson argues that it’s business, and those performing at the highest rate of efficiency should reap the greatest reward. He also strongly hints that if the A’s haven’t budged in, say, two years, he’ll pull an Eric Dickerson.

The truth is, Henderson weaved his safety net when the weaving was good.

He got a good deal. Continuing to carp about the market’s volatility won’t win him much fan sympathy. But he says he doesn’t care. And it shouldn’t make the A’s think they are under any moral imperative to re-open the contract.

Henderson, who will be three months shy of his 36th birthday when this contract expires, got security and more money than he can spend in three lifetimes. The A’s, in all honesty, got a bargain.

That’s business. And that’s fair.