Across five full seasons and parts of two other seasons, La Russa used Henderson as his leadoff hitter and chief annoyance. Because of Henderson’s crouching stance, his strike zone was as small as a shoe box. He also understood the value of getting on base and creating chaos.  As Henderson patiently waited for a decent pitch, he would often warn the catcher. It was basically a promise to embarrass him in the not-too-distant future.  “If you don’t give me a pitch to hit and just walk me,” Henderson would say, “I’m going to be on third.”  La Russa dreaded managing against Henderson because of how uncomfortable he made things. When Henderson’s team trailed by one run, all he had to do was get a walk or a single to unnerve La Russa. La Russa noted that pitchers should concentrate on throwing strikes when they are ahead, but they labored to do that when Henderson was edging off first.  As soon as Henderson stole second, he made it more complicated. La Russa needed to reposition an infielder to keep him close, had to remind the pitcher to look at second twice and to deliver the ball quickly to the plate.  But by merely reaching second, Henderson was halfway to winning the tussle because he could score on a single or on two productive outs. He could make something from nothing. Henderson was more than a single-and-a-stolen-base player. He had extra-base power and was a strong two-strike hitter, more reasons to dread seeing him at bat.  “One thing you’d try to avoid, if you’re trying to get an out, is distractions,” La Russa said. “Rickey just made it impossible not to be distracted by him.”  Since Henderson was such a threat, La Russa wanted him in the lineup as often as possible. But Henderson hated day games, knew every ache in his body, and liked an occasional rest. La Russa said their only troubles occurred when Henderson did something that “was good for Rickey but I didn’t think was good for us.” After Henderson began communicating his needs for a day off directly to La Russa, not to the trainers, that reduced the tension.  For most of Henderson’s 25-year career, teams focused their strategy on quieting him. La Russa called him “a marked man.” But despite being perpetually singled out like LeBron James in the fourth quarter, Henderson piled up legendary statistics.  “Everybody tried to stop Rickey,” La Russa said. “The feeling was, you stop Rickey and you stop the other club. He never had an easy at-bat, and he still put together a Hall of Fame career. He was amazing.”  Henderson, a nonstop talker, often teased La Russa by saying he would not have a 1989 World Series ring had it not been for Henderson.  For 20 years, La Russa never gave Henderson a minute of satisfaction by agreeing with him. But hours after Henderson sprinted into the Hall, La Russa acquiesced. He asked a reporter to relay a message to Henderson.  “If you get a chance to talk to him, tell him that I finally agree with him,” La Russa said.  When La Russa’s words were delivered to Henderson on Tuesday, he took a few steps to his right, as if he were taking a lead, then cackled.  “Yeah,” Henderson said, “I won that ring for him.”  A version of this article appears in print on , on Page B15 of the New York edition with the headline: Henderson Is an Enigma Wrapped in a Record Book. Order Reprints| Today's Paper|Subscribe
Tony La Russa, Rickey Henderson’s former manager, said the Hall-of-Famer’s combination of patience, speed, power and instincts terrified opposing teams.