Bitter Stroke

What can you say?

The last time I saw Kirby Puckett was on the Plaza outside of the Metrodome. He and Blyleven were going to a card signing before an afternoon game. We were standing right outside the glass door of the Twins corporate offices, when out comes Kirby. I can't remember what he was wearing, beyond the then trademark dark glasses he's worn since his glaucoma diagnosis. But I remember being shocked at his size...the man had become a whale. Even in his playing days, he was shaped like a fire hydrant -- short, thick and solid. But now...

I remember being in my downtown office when Kirby retired. We gathered around the radio for awhile. Kirby thanked God and told us not to feel sorry for him. He'd had the chance to play the game he loved ... we loved ... so long and so well, there was nothing to be sad about, no regrets. He talked and talked and I don't remember what he said after that because you listed to Kirby back then and you just laughed becasue he had this patter and he was laughing and joking and having fun and you just went along for the ride, like his famous "climb on board" boast to his teammates before Game 6 of the 1991 World Series, where he went out and backed it up as few others ever have.

And I remember telling my friends Back East about becoming a Twins fan and saying that you just had to love Kirby Puckett. Even today, knowing how tarnished his legacy has become here, how that likeability turned out to be a bit of an act, I see him suffer and remember and think, you know, whoever he was to his wife and to his girlfriends and his buddies...to a fan, that act was for us and it made us feel good. It made us proud to be a part of his team. He doesn't have to do it for us anymore.

What can you say?

Good luck, Kirby. We're with you.