Kirby Puckett died today at the age of 45.
He seemed to be most kids’ favorite player, or at least their favorite player after guys on their favorite team. He always looked like he was having fun, and his round build made it seem like anybody could be a major-league player.
I followed him because I found his rookie card in a big box of cards my grandma got me from a garage sale. His was the only one worth anything, and it’s sad to see a bunch of fresh auctions of his 1985 Topps card on eBay just hours after his death was announced.
His bat is what got him into the Hall of Fame, but when I think of him, I think of him running in on a liner to left and playing the hop off that hard Metrodome turf perfectly. He’d always time those jumps perfectly, and it’d be funny to see his 5-foot-8-inch, 220 pound frame getting some hang time to snag a high hop.
After his glaucoma ended his career, his image was hard to reconcile. I remember a Chicago Tribune article that talked about how he turned his back on his roots – the Chicago projects. While he was known for his charity work around the Twin Cities, he was criticized for never reaching out to the Robert Taylor homes.
Of course, that would be later overshadowed by the domestic abuse charges, the sexual assault accusations and the public urination incident. It’s hard to tell when that seedy side started and if it ever ended (he was supposed to get married again this summer), but it never seemed to fit him.
I don’t want to say what anybody should think of him, but I think it’s fair in this case to separate the man in the uniform from the man who had to appear in court. The man in the Twins pinstripes brought a lot of joy by playing his game, and even after the dark side emerged, it never seemed like pre-glaucoma Kirby was duping anybody. His roly-polyness gave the impression that he wasn't concerned about trying to be something he wasn't. It all seemed genuine, and I hope time will prove that right.
He made everything look easy on the ballfield, but people loved him for his ability to make being happy to play baseball look easy.