Kirby Puckett - we'll miss you

I live in Minnesota, and in this state Kirby Puckett was it. He was as big as they came - bigger than Hubert Humphrey, bigger than Paul Bunyan. As news broke yesterday about the stroke he suffered, and this evening when he passed away, the news programs and talk shows were filled wall to wall with Kirby. He was such a hero that many named their kids (I think Bob Costas has a child named Kirby) and dogs (as in Kirby Puppy) after him. As big as Kevin Garnett is today, Kirby was even bigger just a short decade ago.

The joy he demonstrated while playing the game of baseball endeared him to all. His atypical body made us all think he was one of us. And he was, in so many ways. Including making mistakes in life.

Over the last few years, Kirby drifted away from Minnesotans, many of whom were quick to judge him when he faced marital and legal difficulties a few years back. We had placed him on such a high pedestal, that when he fell, he fell hard. When he struggled, our love was shown to be false, superficial. We called him a typical athlete, spoiled by sport's riches. We said that he felt he was above the law, above proper morals. The vitriolic attitudes and words hurt him. So he moved down to Arizona.

What we failed to do was forgive him. Not condone his actions, but let him know that, "Hey Kirby, we're going to get through this together. You're our brother and we're here for you. You brought us so much joy, the least we can do is stand by your side." And now, it's too late.

We'll all remember 1991, when his Game 6 homerun in against the Atlanta Braves forced a historic Game 7 and an unparalleled pitching performance by Jack Morris. He told his teammates to "get on my back", because he was going to carry them to victory. We'll remember his 6-for-6 game against the Milwaukee Brewers. We'll remember his many leaps to snag homeruns away from the other team. We'll remember that fateful pitch from Dennis Martinez that hit him above the eye, an at bat that turned out to be his last. We'll remember his smile, and his "Hey man" replies.

I'll remember what he shared with the Metrodome crowd when he retired, an apt description for how he lived: "Live, love, laugh, enjoy life." And, in his Hall of Fame induction speech, referring to the glaucoma that prematurely ended his career, Puck said, "I've said it before and I'll say it again: It may be cloudy in my right eye, but the sun is shining very brightly in my left eye." The eternal optimist.

But I'll also remember that we didn't forgive him.

I miss him already.