Puck

Okay, every blogger in Minnesota is probably writing about Kirby Puckett today, but how can you not? Despite his fire hydrant shape, his recent personal foibles and his sudden, Howard Hughes-like disappearance from the public eye, he still towers over the local sports scene in countless ways. And the universal emotion seems to be great sadness.

There's never been a player quite like Kirby Puckett. He had a squatty build, most like Yogi Berra or maybe the old Houston Astro Jimmy (Toy Cannon) Wynn. But he was a different personality - voluble, friendly, endlessly amusing. And he could do the most amazing things. You never thought he could get to the line drive hit in the gap, or the towering fly ball that would barely clear the center field fence. But he did. And he hit nasty line drives no matter where the pitch was delivered, in the strike zone, over his head, off his shoetops. All the kids wanted to play like Puck. All the kids wanted to have the zest for life that Puck had.

And when the moment mattered the most, when the Twins had their back to the wall, he carried the team on his broad shoulders. Game 6 of the 1991 World Series remains one of the greatest personal showcases of one man in the history of baseball, comparable in legend to the 1932 "called shot" of Babe Ruth, or the 1977 "Mr. October" performance of Reggie Jackson. The most unlikely looking hero of all. But that's who he was. A true life force - happy to be alive, equal to the challenge; when Puck hit the game winning homer that sent Braves hurler Charlie Liebrandt skulking off the field and the 55,000 Twins fans into a frenzy that night, it was just right.

And now he lies near death in a Scottsdale hospital. Only 45 years old, but likely stilled by a massive stroke. And I think a lot of us feel a lot older than that today. I know I do.

Update: Word came last night that Puck passed away yesterday afternoon. Only 45. Our theoretical sadness now turns to the real thing, as we contemplate this loss.

F. Scott Fitzgerald famously said that American lives do not have second acts. It’s easy to misinterpret the meaning of that statement, but in the case of Kirby Puckett, it turns out to be true. As important and special as his baseball career was, he had more work to do, the second act work of raising children, sharing wisdom and leaving even greater footprints. And now that work remains unfinished. As Puck pointed out in his farewell to baseball speech in 1996, nothing is promised in life. And in the end, that may be the best wisdom and the most fitting legacy he can provide to his grieving fans. Meanwhile, I assume he’s busy giving St. Peter and the various archangels and seraphim the needle. And that should make all of us smile.