As a young boy, I can clearly remember the glow in my grandfather’s eyes watching the Minnesota Twins. My grandmother was in the next room along with my aunts cooking the family meal that we usually did when we were younger. Oh how I can smell the ham, stuffing and potatoes that filled the air during those Sunday afternoons…
While waiting for this spread that I so heartily miss these days, baseball was the center of attention on our television. My grandfather somewhat crippled from polio long ago still had enough energy to jump around and praise the Twins every time we got another RBI, homerun, or strike out. What I heard was nothing but praise for a rookie named Kirby Puckett. New to the ball club, he didn’t waste any time winning over the Twins fans of the state of Minnesota. This charismatic young player from the rougher side of Chicago proved himself enough to play in the big leagues. Even so, overcoming millions of odds laid against him to which he stood up and prevailed against.
I suppose I don’t know exactly what to feel after I found out of his passing. There are many mixed emotions that run through my head, because this man was a part of my boyhood dreams. It’s as if those beautiful Sunday afternoons that the entire family spent at my grandparents’ house are all but scraps of distant memories that exist in my own mind. His passing is a reminder that no longer does my family celebrate at the house my grandparents owned. Those times have been long gone, no longer do I have these small innuendos of those good times that my family spent together, we have since been blown into the winds of time. Reading through pages and pages of articles (as opposed to merely articles and articles on only one page) that filled the entire newspaper these past couple days, I’m reminded of the impact that Kirby had on every baseball lover in this country. Supposing I had one wish to write a letter to Kirby now and tell him one last thing before his departure, it may go something like this:
Dear Kirby,
I wanted to let you know a couple of things before you take your leave. You have inspired a nation of dreaming boys who wish they could slug a ball just like you. Not only have you set standards in baseball that are seemingly unmet today, but your charismatic persona won an entire country of fanfare whether they were from Minnesota or not. You’ve never been too rich or too famous for your fans, and you were always willing to lead by example; extraordinary example. People have been writing in from all over the nation, Kirby, expressing their condolences to your passing. As you see, you’ve helped people understand that the spirit of baseball that you have carried on, lives within them because you put it there. An entire generation of boys, teens, and men know who you are; you are the epitome of what baseball was, is and always should be. Free of the envious pursuit of money and power to the good wholesome example of what people should do for their passions. Never give up. Although your physical presence on this Earth was short and sometimes filled with despair, you will not die in my eyes. Legends never die. You’ve won the people (to include me) through your smiles, encouragements, passions, and without a doubt, those majestic leaping catches. People will remember you for many years to come and speak of your good will during your time here.
Thank you for the dreams that you have given to me as well as the realizations that I have made in that the spirit of baseball is not dead. It’s alive through you. Now is the time that you find your place in the ranks of legends such as Ted Williams, Ty Cobb, “Shoeless” Joe Jackson, Lou Gehrig, and Babe Ruth. Hopefully you can knock a couple out of the park to show these guys up. Make sure to tell Ted “Semper Fi,” and let Shoeless Joe know that we all know that he wasn’t in on throwing the 1919 World Series. As for Ty Cobb, ask him why he was such an ass.
Until then my friend, peace be with you. Thank you for everything, Kirby, you’ll NEVER be forgotten.
