And Still Mourning

Hall of Famer Puckett was game to play ball

By Ian O'Connor, USA TODAY

He played every game as if an ice cream sundae were the reward for hustling and having fun. Kirby Puckett was a Little Leaguer all grown up, chasing after fly balls as if he could almost taste that cherry on top.

Between the lines, Puckett was the Tom Hanks character in Big.

He was not defined by his bat, his glove or the two World Series championships delivered to the Minnesota Twins. Puckett was best captured by the unmitigated joy he showed in playing a boy's game like few men ever could.

They should show footage of Puckett to every minor league kid in a spring training camp. Show him crashing into the Metrodome wall, running his roly-poly self around the bases and flashing that infectious smile that became the can-do face of happy hinterland ball.

The minor leaguers run into daily examples of why professional baseball is a cold and nasty business. A few clips of Puckett will remind them why they used to tie up new grade-school mitts - balls planted firmly in pockets - and slide them under their mattresses in the hope of breaking them in.

The films don't lie - this was a ballplayer who only needed a uniform, a few bucks in his wallet and a full tank of gas in his truck.

This truth has been scarred beyond recognition in the 10 years since glaucoma shut him down without warning, just stole his career as suddenly as Puckett would steal a home run ball from the other side of the fence.

He woke up one day to discover that he was done, his right eye flickering out like a candle in the dark of night. Puckett would've made Lou Gehrig proud. He talked about how lucky he was, how nobody should feel sorry for someone once told he was too short to play in the bigs. Puckett was the 5-8 son of the Chicago projects who grew into an all-America giant.

"I wanted to play baseball ever since I was 5 years old," he said in his Hall of Fame induction speech. "And I want you to remember the guiding principles of my life: You can be what you want to be. If you believe in yourself ... anything, and I'm telling you anything, is possible."

Anything was possible except the unraveling of Puckett's charmed Upper Midwest world. The stories and allegations would merge into a depressing portrait of an alleged fraud, and soon the only thing larger than life about Puckett was his ever-growing waistline.

His wife would claim Puckett pressed a cocked gun against her skull as she held their infant daughter, and that Puckett tried to strangle her with an electrical cord, and that he once locked her in the basement and plowed through a door with a power saw. A longtime mistress would come forward with allegations of threats and abuse.

Another woman would accuse Puckett of dragging her into the men's room of a restaurant and fondling her breasts, and the mug shot taken by the Hennepin County sheriff's office would reveal a bloated mess of an icon, his right eye shut, his smile wiped clean from his face.

Puckett would be cleared of all charges, but his reputation ended up in a million little pieces. He retreated from the public stage, from the charities he founded and the community relationships he built.

If the superstar athlete betrayed the adoring masses, he wouldn't be the first or last. The media is always too quick to canonize a ballplayer for being available at his locker, for returning a phone call, for extending the simple courtesy of recalling a chronicler's first name.

Truth is, we don't know the people we cover. We only know what they allow us to know, at least until a police report or deposition opens a window they can't keep locked.

Puckett turned out to be a far more complicated figure than the teddy bear he encouraged us to embrace. And Monday night, after the Twins asked fans everywhere to keep him in their thoughts and prayers, Puckett was pronounced dead at 45. He lost the fight for his life after suffering a stroke in his Arizona home.

He doesn't have to fight for his baseball legacy, no matter what personal demons got the best of him in retirement. Puckett appeared in 10 All-Star Games, won six Gold Gloves and hit .318 for his career, the highest batting average for a right-handed hitter since Joe DiMaggio.

But beyond the numbers and his Game 6 heroics in the '91 World Series, Puckett will be remembered for the sunlight he brought to a domed park. In an age when sourpuss multimillionaires act put upon in pursuit of a foul ball, Puckett merrily raced for his ice cream sundae, always giving Twins fans their cherry on top.

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Ian O'Connor also writes for The (Westchester, N.Y.) Journal News

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