Losing a Friend I Never Knew

11:02 PM ET - It was announced by CNN.com at 8:22 this evening that Hall of Famer, Kirby Puckett, died today.

My eyes are welling with tears because Kirby was easily my favorite baseball player and perhaps the single greatest reason why I am a baseball fan today.

As a 15-year-old who had grown up in the Twin Cities of Minnesota, I bled purple for the Minnesota Vikings and coach Bud Grant, but then talk was swirling about the future of the Minnesota Twins baseball franchise. I had never followed baseball, but I thought I should learn to enjoy my hometown team while I had them--and so I began to follow the Twins in the newspaper, on radio, and television as much as I could, that summer of 1984. After years of sub-mediocrity, the Twins that year battled for the AL West pennant down to the wire, finishing with an even .500 record, just 3 games out of first. It was exciting, and I finally began to understand the fascination people had for baseball, statistics, and sports heroes.


The 1984 Twins were full of good men with raw talent and youth on their side: Kent Hrbek, Tom Brunansky, Gary Gaetti, Mickey Hatcher, Frank Viola, John Butcher, Mike Smithson, and an amazing rookie named Kirby Puckett. Kirby looked like a fire hydrant, but was the fastest player on the team, and the highest leaper, and he was only 5'8". He played the game with exuberance, flair, and a huge smile on his face. He also was fun to watch at the plate, where he would scuffle about in the dirt, before making the sign of the cross. This was my first exposure to this behavior, having grown up safely in my evangelical cocoon.

Puckett quickly became my favorite player--as he was for virtually every Minnesotan who watched him. A few years earlier, Kent Hrbek and John Castino were the hope of the franchise, but Castino was forced into retirement, and Hrbek just couldn't round up the passion we felt for Puckett. Even the public address announcer at the Metrodome was smitten, when center fielder Kirby Puckett would come to the plate, he would announce: "KIRBYYYYYYYYYY PUCK-ETTTTTT!" -- to cheers.

For the first few years, Kirby was a singles hitter, but suddenly in 1986, he was leading the league in homers around mid-season, prompting Bob Costas to rib him about whether or not he could keep it up. Costas' wife was pregnant at the time, and I remember him promising Puckett to name his son after Kirby if the player was still leading the league by the son's birthdate (Wikipedia tells this story with the bet being over Kirby's high batting average, not his home runs). Kirby met the terms, and I remember Costas giving his son the middle name, "Kirby."

I also remember Kirby leading the team to their first world championship in 1987--when I was in college, watching on a little black and white television in my dorm room. Then, in 1991, his heroics (combined with Jack Morris') won the world championship again--and this time--I shared the moment with my dad, as we watched from our home in Auburn, NY.

But what I remember most, beyond his enthusiasm and charm, above his high average, speed, and his doubles and 200-hit seasons, and even beyond his universal adoration by the fans, was my encounter with him after his rookie season of 1984. I had read that he was making an appearance at a baseball card shop in St. Paul, so my dad took me, and we stood in line to have him sign my baseball card. When we got there, he had just about half an hour or so left in his booking, and yet he agreed to stay until everyone had gone through the line--I needed that extra time, or I would never have seen him. He was pleasant and kind when I met him, though not chit-chatty or overly friendly, but it was just enough to make my day. And I remember walking out to our car a few moments later, only to spot his right around the corner. It was a new car, but relatively modest, with "Puck 34" for a license plate, boxes of his cards on the backseat, and all the car doors unlocked--amazing.

Years later, I had the chance to interview him on my radio program, "VocalPoint," which I hosted for 3 years in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. This was September of 1998, and Kirby was in town at a screening for glaucoma, having been forced to retire in 1996 after losing his sight in one eye due to the condition. Kirby talked with me for a few minutes by phone about the importance of being tested--I found him kind of stiff and guarded, but when I went to close the interview by sharing my personal affection for him, my boyhood in Minnesota, and my experience with him at that signing, he opened up and was warm and reflective. I still have the tape from that day, and will try to post some of the audio on myyarn soon.

Kirby was forced to retire far too early, and would surely have played into his forties, knowing his joy and passion for the game--it was very hard to deal with his retirement, as he was one of the few things linking me to Minnesota--11 years after I had moved away. I was delighted when he was elected to the Hall of Fame on his first ballot in 2001, and horrified when Sports Illustrated revealed a few years later that his public persona was an act (allegedly he didn't care too much for the fans who loved him)--I didn't read the story, I couldn't bear to.

And now Kirby Puckett is dead of a stroke, at 45. And part of my childhood has gone with him.