34

I assume then that you have heard.

Nothing official yet, but it seems Kirby will be taken off life support sometime tonight or tomorrow morning.  The doctors have found no sucess in reviving him.

My prayers to his family.

This is quite something, to see a man like this die.  On one hanve, he was my unequivicol childhood idol.  On the other hand, he had becoem difficult to hink about with his more recent life issues.  Still, it is a strange thing to see a childhood idol disapear.  If you told the 7 year-old me this had happened, he would be inconsolable for days.  Now, well, it is different.  We see people die.  We get used to hearing about it on the news.  I hadn't thought about him as much naymore.

But now, he is gone.  One of the most prolific Minneosota figures of all time has disapeared.

Something indeed.

Kirby meant more than his numbers and more than his HoF status to us.  He represented not just the Twins but the state of Minnesota the way no one ever has.  He was a special person in what he meant to the organization and what he meant to me as a child, growing up watching one of baseball's ambassadors.

Whether it was the look on his face at the end of game 6, whether it was the adulation that cascaded down on him on Letterman, or whether it was the billboards and signs asking Pohlad to resign Puckett, you can find endless proof of what Kirby Puckett meant to the state.  He was one of us, and he always will be.

Rest in peace, Puck.  We love you.

First we lose the man who called his name, now the man who's name was called.

You were a great role model for me as a kid Puck. You even signed a baseball for my brother, eventhough he wasn't able to be at the signing. You weren't supposed to...but because of you, he had an autograph just like I did.

When I hear the name Kirby, nothing but positives come to mind. I don't even associate the legal issues with the man I loved as a player.

I have a feeling, that at the moment of his passing...Bob Casey stood up from his seat and said, "everyone, your attention please...I would like to introduce you to Kirbbbyyyyyyyy Pucketttttttt."

Be well Kirby, your smile and positive way of life lives on through all of your fans.

Sixth inning. Saturday night. Fan Appreciation Night. 1992.

The Twins' won't defend their World Championship. The Steroid Boys in Oakland have it all but wrapped.

Puckett bounds a ball to Royals' second baseman Keith Miller. Puck  starts pumpin' those 24-inch thighs. He beats it out. Hit No. 200. It will be his last 200-hit season.

There's a dabble of applause.

33,000-plus there because the Twins are giving away stuff, but other than that baseball season is all over for them. Not for Puckett. Ran like someone sprayed lighter fluid on his ample backside and tossed a match on his pants.

There's a weak bit of applause.

Bob Casey decides to let the folks at the Dome in on the fact it's Puck's 200th hit of the season. His fifth time in the past seven seasons. The Domeizens wake up, give him a standing O, and TK pulls Puck for J.T. Bruett so the ovation can continue. Puck runs off the field and eventually has to do a curtain call.

Puckett had 210 hits that season, so he really didn't have to bust his tail on that one. He had plenty of time to get hit 200th hit another day. The Twins were winning 8-0.

A boatload of players would have coasted on that ball to Miller.

My dad died on my wedding night. Puck had a stroke on my birthday and died on my wife's birthday. Somehow it has the same feeling for me. I never met him, but I idolized him like I idolized my father. We never celebrate our anniversary without thinking about my dad's death. And we'll never celebrate our birthdays without thinking about Kirby's death. In both cases, the celebration is bittersweet.

After my wife's father had a stroke shortly after we were engaged, it took him two years of being trapped inside a body that couldn't move and behind a mouth that couldn't talk to finally starve himself to death. Since then, I've always thought if I have a stroke, I hope it takes me quickly. So that's the silver lining in this cloud. He's in a better place, certainly than he would have been had he lived through a stroke only to be a shell of his former self.

Just a clarification on this post.  Kirby was actually 45, days away from turning 46.  The birthdate of March 14, 1961 is incorrect.  He was actually born a year earlier.  

See here.

Puck taught us Minnesota kids who grew up in the Eighties respect and love for the greatest game ever played.

He taught us to believe in ourselves no matter our size or shape.

He illustrated perfectly that hard work and joy can spring from the same seed, and that the fruit of our labor can indeed be very sweet.

Puck was every kid that ever picked up a ball and glove, dreaming of magical October nights while stuck in less than idyllic surroundings.

My heart goes out to his children.  We lost our Puck many seasons before it was time, but they lost their dad many years before it should have been time.

Kirby, you often talked about tipping your cap.  Tonight, I tip my cap to you once more.  Tell Bob A., Bob C., Earl, and the rest of the Twins boys up North we miss 'em.

My 8-year old son gave up TV for Lent, but he is allowed to watch baseball games if dad has them on. So on Thurday night, he put on all the Twins regalia ha has and sat with me to watch the spring training opener. I asked him, "Who's your favorite Twin?" Without thinking, he said, "Kirby Puckett." I responded, "Who's your favorite existing Twin?" And he looked bewildered. He couldn't think of anyone. "Doesn't Kirby still play for the Twins?" "No son, he had to retire early in 96 because of Glaucoma." "You mean, he retired before I was born?" "Right." 'Well, there's nobody on the Twins like him. So I don't have a favorite Twin." "What about Torii Hunter?" I asked. "He's kinda like Kirby," my son said. "OK, he's my favorite Twin now."

Last night, when he heard the news, he wept, saying, "I don't know if I can watch the Twins anymore Dad," he said. "I think I'll be too sad thinking about Kirby."

This is from a kid who never saw him play. All he has to go on is hgighlight reels and Kirby's children's book. Ultimately, I convinced him to keep watching the Twins because Kirby would want that. He said, "Well now the Twins have another angel in the outfield."

Thank you Kirby, for defining what baseball means to the fans in Minnesota. Thank you for being the face of the franchise. Thank you, for bringing me back to the game after my long hiatus following the Carew trade. And thank you for brightening my son's life.

God bless you.

Growing up and playing Little League on the East Side of St. Paul, everyone wanted to wear number 34 and everyone wanted to play center field.  I was 6 years old in '87 and 10 in '91.  Kirby was my favorite player.  He was EVERY KID'S favorite player.  You could have asked 100 kids who their favorite player was, and you would have gotten 100 "Kirby Puckett"'s.

To say he was the face of the team, the face of the franchise is incorrect.  He was the face of BASEBALL to children growing up in the midwest.  And as a child watching this short, pudgy superhero, you didn't love him as a fan; you loved him as a friend.

It's odd.  Growing up with Kirby as an idol, you didn't really appreciate the World Series.  They seemed commonplace.  Like they'd come naturally with him around.  Now I realize how rare they are.

I don't really remember specific moments from his career (aside from the '91 series); I was too young.  What I remember most is sitting in the upper-deck of the outfield at the dome (that's all we could afford).  Eating helmet sundaes, and watching Kirby in center instead of the pitcher and batter.  Cheering every time he caught a lazy fly ball.  Kirby was the innocence of baseball.  The child with a dream to win the World Series.  We identified with him in a way that we would with no one else.

Losing Kirby is losing a part of my youth.  A childhood friend.  There will not be another Kirby Puckett.  Baseball, specifically the innocnce of Baseball, is lessened by his passing.  He will me sorely missed.