"Jump on my back. I'll carry you."

We invest a lot of glory in sports figures, most of it undeserved. And they are paid well enough anyway that it sort of transcends glory. The synthetically dominant Barry Bonds embodies this prima donna ethic, refusing to be formed into anybody's image of an idol but his own. Maybe he doesn't realize that deigning to be a hero, at the worst a nuisance for him, can make a kid's year. What do I know--maybe he is just peachy face to face with fans. But he refuses to allow the media to amplify his potential to inspire.

Kirby Puckett was the consummate sports hero. He led, he cheered, and he performed. In every encounter I read about today, his generosity of spirit shone through; this guy had it great and knew it, and he shared that benefit with seemingly everyone he met while he wore a Twins uniform. One attribute I never saw mentioned, though, was Puckett's clear loyalty to his teammates and fans. More so than his perfectly suited name, his surprising speed, or his tenacity, what made him such a standout was his commitment to one team. He was one of the few athletes, at least since television made heroism astromonical and highly portable, to enjoy tremendous success by staying put for a little less money. If you can't sit back and enjoy sport and be a homer once in a while, what's the point of even tuning in? That's why people loved him, Kirby, the homer.

The quote above comes, of course, from game six of the 1991 series against the Braves, when Puckett famously robbed Ron Gant of a homer and then hit one of his own in extra innings, generating game seven with a single stroke. I was in a bar in Montana's Bitterroot Valley, a major league no-man's land where no loyalty prevails, but everybody seemed to be Twins fans that night and I felt close to home. Similarly, despite his off-field tangles, most everyone revives a fond memory of Kirby Puckett this week.

© 2006 Michael Nordskog