Kirby Puckett memories

David Halberstam tells a story about Joe DiMaggio in his book about the Yankees & Red Sox, "Summer of '49." I forget which season it was -- '50 or '51, I think. DiMaggio was old, and his body wasn't holding up. The Yankees had already won the pennant that year, and yet he was out there busting his ass, running out every play. Somebody asked him why he was trying so hard in what was essentially a meaningless game. He replied "There might be somebody out there that has never seen me play."

Kirby Puckett played that same way. There were no meaningless games for him. He always gave it everything. What a joy he was to watch. In later years, it was revealed that he wasn't what we thought he was (in a way, a little like DiMaggio's public image vs. his private life). But what he did on the field is what I choose to remember today.

Everybody writing today about Puckett will, of course, mention Game 6 in 1991. He carried the team, the city, the state, the region, the legions of Twins fans, seemingly everybody outside of Atlanta, on his back into game 7 and the Series title the next day.

I remember the day Puckett signed baseball's first $3 million-a-year contract -- a number that seems positively quaint now. My mother called me to tell me the news. She doesn't call me to tell me news about my own brothers & sisters!

Before the All Star game one year, I saw a little feature on TV. They asked numerous players "If you could be one other player here, who would it be?" Everybody -- about a dozen, I think -- answered "Roger Clemens." So naturally they asked Clemens the same question, and he said "Kirby Puckett."

In 1996 I was passing through the Twin Cities when Puckett announced his retirement. There I sat in the airport, reading the Strib and the Pioneer Press, fighting back tears.

Like I am today.