UTK Special 12/21/24

Saluting Rickey with Speed

Bill James said that if you cut Rickey Henderson in two, you’d have two Hall of Famers. He was right. Henderson was not only an inner circle Hall of Famer, he was fan friendly and the last of his kind, and the best. He would have been that in any era, but there’s simply no one like Rickey.

I had the honor to interview him once, on the field at Wrigley. (Funny story - I was with Nate Silver, who was super starstruck by Henderson.) Henderson didn’t refer to himself in the third person once and extolled the virtues of stretching as the key to his longevity.

Henderson died at the age of 65 and just shy of his 66th, which would have been Christmas Day. I was shocked to see the news of his death and almost as shocked that he was 65. Henderson never seemed to age on the field and never aged in my mind.

It’s more than fair to say we’ll never see the likes of him again and even with his Hall of Fame election, Henderson never really got his due. Somehow, he wasn’t beloved and his continual trades seemed to make him more a mercenary than one of the most consistent and dangerous players of any era. In a discussion of “greatest living players,” Henderson should have been right in the discussion with Barry Bonds, Greg Maddux, and Ichiro Suzuki.

Somehow, “1,406” isn’t one of those numbers that some fans can recite from memory, but like “2,632,” it’s one of the two most unbreakable records in baseball. (Okay, wins, complete games, and other Cy Young era records are there too.) I just hope that as we mourn his passing and honor his memory, people will remember Henderson as more than the guy with funny stories and a third person reference, but as the era-defining player he was. Go tell your kids you saw him play.

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Henderson’s passing made me think of this:

The Tampa Bay Rays have always thrived on the margins, turning misfits, undervalued talents, and unconventional profiles into major league contributors. With their upcoming season clouded by the prospect of playing in a minor league stadium — one that might even prove more hitter-friendly than Tropicana Field — the Rays face a unique opportunity to embrace their creativity. Enter Chandler Simpson, an age-24 speedster whose profile screams intrigue, if not conventional promise. While his skill set isn’t without significant questions, it’s not hard to see how Simpson might fit into the Rays’ philosophy and inject some much-needed energy into a team that appears primed to scrape for every possible advantage.

Last season, Simpson led all of minor league baseball in stolen bases with 102 between High-A and Double-A. Drafted as an 80-grade speed shortstop out of Georgia Tech, his speed is game-changing, the kind of raw athleticism that forces defenses to alter their approach and pitchers to think twice about every move. This isn’t just a case of being fast on paper — Simpson’s speed translates and he knows how to use it. That alone could be an asset, but the real question lies in whether he can hit enough to make that speed relevant at the highest level. His power is virtually non-existent. By traditional measures, he’s a slap hitter, and advanced metrics like exit velocity confirm the lack of pop. Still, Simpson has demonstrated an ability to get on base in the minors, and the Rays have shown time and again they’re willing to bet on unorthodox players who excel in one or two areas, even if they lack a traditional all-around game.

Johnny DeLuca, the player nominally ahead of Simpson in the pecking order, offers his own set of limitations. A .217 batting average in the majors last year doesn’t inspire confidence, nor does his broader track record at the plate. DeLuca’s ceiling might be slightly higher due to a touch more power, but he doesn’t possess the same game-changing speed. He’s the type of player who fills out a roster rather than elevates it. The same could be said for the collection of other options behind him, a group that, to be charitable, lacks obvious upside. Given the Rays’ circumstances, leaning into a player like Simpson feels less like a gamble and more like a calculated risk worth taking.

The Rays have precedent for turning players with similarly unique profiles into productive contributors. Mallex Smith immediately comes to mind. Like Simpson, Smith relied heavily on his speed to make an impact, and while his major league career was relatively short-lived, he provided value during his time in Tampa Bay. If Smith represents the downside comp for Simpson, that’s hardly a worst-case scenario. At the very least, Simpson would be watchable, bringing a dynamic element that the current roster options lack. Baseball is as much about entertainment as it is about results, and a player like Simpson offers a tangible spark that could energize both the team and the fanbase — even if that fanbase is watching from a very humid minor league ballpark.

There’s also the matter of context. The Rays’ temporary home might play as a hitter’s park, a stark departure from the pitcher-friendly confines of Tropicana Field. This shift could amplify Simpson’s ability to slap singles and use his speed to wreak havoc. Small-ball tactics, which often feel antiquated in today’s power-driven game, might gain new life in an environment that rewards putting the ball in play. Simpson’s game is perfectly tailored to this approach. His defense, while not stellar, wouldn’t necessarily be a liability given the Rays’ ability to position players effectively and maximize their strengths. Besides, defense takes on less importance when a player’s offensive skill set can manufacture runs in unconventional ways.

The Rays’ history suggests they’re not afraid to think outside the box. They were among the first to embrace defensive shifts, the opener strategy, and aggressive bullpen usage. In that context, giving a player like Simpson an extended look aligns perfectly with their identity. He’s not a traditional prospect by any means, but his ability to disrupt the game with his speed and on-base potential fits the Rays’ mold of extracting value from overlooked or undervalued players. It’s not hard to envision scenarios where Simpson’s presence on the basepaths creates opportunities for the hitters behind him, turning walks or singles into doubles and generating runs in ways that don’t show up in the typical box score.

It’s also worth considering the broader implications for player development. Simpson’s age and profile suggest he might not have much more to gain from additional time in the minors. At 24, he’s entering the critical window where prospects either establish themselves or fade into organizational depth. The Rays could continue to tinker with his swing or approach at Triple-A, but the real test will come against major league pitching. If he struggles, the Rays haven’t lost much. If he succeeds, even modestly, they’ve added a dynamic weapon to their arsenal at a time when every edge matters.

In a season that promises to be anything but conventional, the Rays have little to lose by embracing the unconventional. Chandler Simpson may not fit the mold of a traditional top prospect, but his speed and ability to put pressure on defenses make him an intriguing option in a year where intrigue might be the team’s best currency. Playing Simpson now isn’t just about development or potential — it’s about identity, creativity, and the possibility of finding value where others see none. For a team built on defying expectations on the cheap, Simpson feels like exactly the kind of player who could thrive in Tampa.