Kirby Puckett

Kirby Puckett died yesterday, the day after suffering from a stroke. At 45, he is the second youngest person in baseball to die already a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame.

I grew up loving baseball, and I grew up a Twins fan. By the time I was five, I was a die-hard Harmon Killebrew fan, and I could name the starting lineup. Over the years, the highlight of my year was that trip to see the Minnesota Twins with my grandfather at Metropolitan Stadium. The joys of baseball in that ballpark is an essay to itself.

After I left college and started working in Minneapolis, I went to an occasional game, and watched the Twins faithfully on television. When the Twins went into the Metrodome, I even kept attending games as they had horrible seasons and played like a high school pick up game.

But then, the Twins started forming a talented team -- Kent Hrbek. Gary Gaietti. Dan Gladden. And Kirby Puckett.

I don't clearly remember the first time I saw Kirby Puckett. I do, however, remember the first time I saw him hit a home run. A short, squat, powerful-looking player with a goofy batty stance, he hit it into the stands in what seemed to be an afterthought. His swing seemed to say, "I just hit this enough, but wait until I really hit the ball."

His outfield skills matched his hitting. People quickly figured out that no game was ever over as long as Kirby Puckett was playing.

In 1986 and 1987, there were many evenings when my roommate and I would hop the bus and head downtown to a game. We'd buy $3 upper deck seats, get a hot dog and popcorn, and some coffee or soda, and sit in left field. It was cheaper than a movie, even with the concessions. By late summer of 1987, we were buying our tickets in advance. Baseball fever had hit the Twin Cities, because the Twins were on their way to the World Series.

In late September of 1987, the Twins beat Detroit, in Detroit, to clinch the ALCS title. That evening, the Twins organization announced that there would be a free welcome home pep fest that evening in the Metrodome. Doors would open a couple of hours earlier. Armed with our Homer Hankies, we went down and joined a packed house to welcome back the Twins. We learned later that the Twins had only expected, and planned for, two to three thousand people. But denied the chance to be at the historic pennant clincher, we wanted to celebrate.

The Twins' plane was late returning from Detroit, but no one left, and people kept coming. The excitement was palpable, and did not dissapate, even as the hour grew later and later. I think it is the only time I've seen people enthusiastically do the wave multiple times in a row without faltering. Between the organ and the announcer, we were content to wait.

Two hours after the team was supposed to arrive, they finally reached the Metrodome. When they entered the field, it was to a thunderous roar that did not stop. The players, one by one, were introduced to a surge of the continuous roar. But when Kirby Puckett was introduced, it was clear who was the most beloved Twin.

When he was playing, people would ask, "Besides Kirby Puckett, who is your favorite Twin?" Because he was everyone's favorite.

No one played baseball liked Kirby. As a ballplayer, he was the best, and he seemed to make everyone around him better. He was the catalyst in a remarkable team.

I miss Kirby. I just hope that when he arrived, Bob Casey was on hand to announce, "Kirrrbyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Puckett!"