I've been keeping this blog strictly to photos, but today I'm going to veer a little off course. (Scroll down to the bottom of this post if you'd rather skip the verbosity and go straight to today's photo.)
Former MN Twin Kirby Puckett died yesterday. If you don't live here--or aren't a fan of baseball fan--you maybe won't won't understand how big this is.
If you read the links, you'll see that he was a tremendous athlete who was inducted into baseball's Hall of Fame in 2001 for good reason: twelve seasons, two World Series, numerous achievements, numerous awards.
But that's only a small piece of it. The guy was sheer charisma, sheer joy. The articles all talk about his exuberance--that doesn't really even come close to describing the way he played the game, both in good times and bad. (The media isn't mentioning this, except maybe as a side note, but the Twins have never exactly been consistent from one season to the next. In other words, before, in between, and after those two World Series were an awful lot of years of lousy seasons and rotten game attendance. I can remember going to games as a kid with my dad and seeing four or five empty seats--or more--for every one that was filled. But whether it was the World Series on the line with a stadium full of screaming fans or just one more game in a big long losing streak in a mostly empty dome, he played the same way. No holds barred.)
But there was more to it than that: Kirby's persona was that of a genuine good guy. Other pro athletes whooped it up, partying and womanizing and everything else, but not Kirby. Oh no, not Kirby. He was a gentleman, see--and that is such an old-fashioned thing to say, but that's how he came across. He loved the game, loved the fans, loved this state, and handled himself with exuberance, yes, but also grace. There was no bad press about Kirby during those years--because there was no bad press to be had. He was Kirby, this kid from the wrong side of the tracks who'd risen to the top and was grateful for what he had and didn't forget where he'd come from, and in love with what he was doing, and on top of all that was also a genuinely nice guy. A gentleman.
Which is why it bit so hard, at least for me, when the infidelity and allegations of domestic abuse and assault came out in 2002. Awwwwwww, man. Come on, Kirby, not you too. You weren't supposed to be like all the other guys. You're Kirby. Kirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee PUCKETT!, as the Twins' announcer used to holler when Kirby came out to bat. Please, no.
That was so much worse than the glaucoma and blindness and early retirement in 1996 (for there is something to be said for going out on top; better that than a long, slow, sad slide into mediocrity). That was a shame. Tragic, even--but he handled it in classic Kirby style, glad for what he'd had, glad for what had been. What a run!
But the 2002 reports of the womanizing, the infidelities, the allegations of abuse and assault...that was a betrayal. You weren't supposed to have feet of clay, man. You were supposed to go on being...Kirby, the gentleman, the guy with the huge smile and heart. Not that other guy. Never him. Because there are already too many of those other guys--we don't need any more of them. But Kirby, the Kirby of 1984 until the reports broke in 2002... we needed him.
Needed him to be more than he was, apparently.
Ultimately, it did become a long, slow, sad slide. Extroverted, exuberant Kirby became a recluse who eventually severed his connections with the Twins and Minnesota and moved away to Arizona, and then died too young of probably preventable excesses.
Who is it that can tell me who I am?
RIP, Kirby.
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