So Long, Kirby

Kirby Puckett died today. He was 45.

I remember being at my friend Greg's house in October 1991, watching the sixth game of the World Series between the Twins and the Braves. Greg was having a Halloween party, and there were about 100 people rocking the joint while I sat alone in the basement watching the game. Atlanta had crushed the Twins, 14-5, in the fifth game, and Minnesota needed to win two straight games to come from behind and capture the Series. Early in the game Puck climbed the wall with an incredible catch to rob Ron Gant of extra bases and kill an Atlanta rally, providing a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, the Twins could pull off an improbable come-from-behind Series victory. Later, in extra innings, he hit a game-winning home run on the fourth pitch he saw from Charlie Liebrandt to force a seventh game that the Twins would eventually win. I'm pretty sure I jumped so high that I hit my head on the ceiling when he hit that homer, and I know for certain that that moment remains one of my most treasured sporting memories.

Puckett was a great player, no doubt. He had more hits in his career than Joe DiMaggio, participated in 10 consecutive All-Star Games, and was elected to the Hall of Fame on the first ballot. He led the Twins to World Series championships in 1987 and 1991, and won a Gold Glove award for fielding excellence six times. But he will most likely be remembered for his beaming smile, infectious love of the game, and the fact that he turned his back on the riches of free agency to remain with the small market team from Minnesota for his entire career.

He wasn't a perfect person - nobody is - but he embodied everything I love about the game of baseball and he was my favorite player on my favorite team.

I'm going to go have a good cry right now while I watch the highlight tape of the 1991 World Series.

Touch 'em all, Kirby Puckett. Touch 'em all.