Remembering Kirby

Kirby Puckett died today, and it is only appropriate and entirely responsible to take a moment to remember this man. I don't know how many of you feel about this, or how well you are acquainted with my relationship with the Minnesota Twins. But for those of us who grew up watching Minnesota Twins baseball in the early 1990's, there was no man closer to the hearts of Twins fans than Kirby Puckett. I was raised in a family that practically worshipped Twins baseball, and that love of the game was passed down to me. I can remember distinctly, in 1st grade, watching Kirby hit the home run in 11 inning of Game 6 of the 1991 World Series, sending the Twins to a decisive Game 7. I remember how nervous everyone was. I remember seeing my dad start shouting when he hit the ball, how the room suddenly lit up with joy. But it wasn't only that amazing night that imprinted Kirby onto my heart, it was his entire being. In my baseball playing days in elementary school, I always wanted to pretend I was Kirby Puckett. When the Twins were at their low point in the mid 90's, Kirby was always there with a smile. I remember going to the Metrodome, just wanting to see Kirby hit. And if he would just hit a home run, or make a catch, no matter who won or lost, the night was complete. But you know, it wasn't so much his batting average, or his home run total, or anything. It was the joy with which he played the game. There was never a man who loved to play baseball more than Kirby Puckett, and no baseball player who ever loved Minnesota as much as Kirby did. My relationship with Kirby continued throughout the years. I remeber how I cried when he woke up with glaucoma, and was forced to retire. I remember dragging my mom to the Metrodome 3 hours before a game during the Kirby Puckett Commemorative Weekend, just so I could get a signed baseball card of him. He signed 15,000 cards to give out to fans. Not a copy, he sat down and singed 15,000 cards for the fans. I remember my joy when he was elected to the Hall of Fame, I hung the front page of the sports section in my room. Who could forget Bob Casey's unforgettable introduction?

"Batting next, number 34"
"The center fielder KIIIIIIIIRRRRBBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEE PUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKEEEEETTTTTT!"

I know I can't. And just as I cried when he retired from my beloved Twins, I'm crying right now as I write this. God bless you Kirby Puckett, for a life well lived, a legacy well fulfilled, and most importantly, to the dreams and joy you imparted to this particular little boy, as he eagerly watched you play. Myself and the state of Minnesota say thank you. Thank you so very very much.