Legends are forever

It doesn't feel real that the Man of Steal is gone at the too-young age of 65.

Rickey was the greatest leadoff hitter ever.

Rickey was the superest of superstars.

Rickey was blindingly fast, the Man of Steal.

Rickey was a champion and a gamer.

Rickey had the best home run trot.

Rickey talked the talk and walked the walk (2,190 times), stole more often than the Dillinger Gang (his total of 1,406 steals is 50% higher than second-place Lou Brock's total), and scored more runs than any player in baseball history (2,295).

Rickey even made routine fly balls interesting with his snap catches.

Rickey famously talked about himself in the third person. Rickey's going to have a good day.

Rickey was the most quotable baseball figure this side of Yogi Berra. "If my uniform doesn't get dirty, I haven't done anything in the baseball game." The stories, both real and apocryphal, are attributed to "Rickey being Rickey." Like the story about the uncashed framed million dollar check (true) and John Olerud story (not true, but still great). And a million other stories. The one about him calling Harold Reynolds after Reynolds won the stolen base title is a classic.

Rickey was born on Christmas. How could he not be a gift?

Rickey was fit, flashy and fun at a time when most of the league was none of those things.

Rickey's crouch at the plate meant his strike zone was, as Jim Murray described it, "smaller than Hitler's heart."

Rickey's rookie card in 1980 Topps is one of the few truly iconic cards of the decade.

Rickey broke the all-time steals record on May 1, 1991, ripped the base out of the dirt, held it above his head and pumped his fist in adulation. Later that day, Nolan Ryan threw his seventh no-hitter. Both records are unlikely to ever be broken.

Rickey played seemingly everywhere, from his days with Oakland to New York (Yankees) to Oakland again, to Toronto, back to Oakland, to San Diego and Anaheim, back to Oakland once again, to New York (Mets) and Mariners, Padres, Red Sox and Dodgers, along with stints with the Newark Bears and San Diego Surf Dawgs.

Rickey was synonymous with Oakland Athletics baseball, and it's unfathomable that both he and the team are no longer here. Rickey was so alive. So present. So magic. He'd made public appearances in recent months and still looked great.

Rickey's larger-than-life persona and relative health made it hard to believe the rumors about his death at the too-young age of 65 bubbling up on social media Friday night and Saturday morning. Rickey? No! It couldn't be true.

It still doesn't feel true. Because Rickey was a legend. And legends are forever.