Kirby Puckett would have been 63 years old today. I was fortunate enough to become a personal friend of the man himself. I think about his homer in game 6 of the 1991 World Series. I was actually on the field, literally, when the ball cleared the fence. I was working on the security team during the series and was the person closest to the door opening behind the Atlanta bullpen. The sound of the ball off the bat told me all I needed to know as I pulled up the door pin and hit the field in full stride. One split second of "what if it doesn't clear the plexiglass?" ran through my mind, but I need not have worried. The cacophony of sound following that hit and the end of game 7 still rings faintly in my ears from time to time. It was an amazing experience. One which I could never have dreamt of as a kid growing up and loving the greatest game ever invented.
My career with the Minnesota Twins, in the front office, began in February of 1996. This followed my having start as an usher in 1989 and topping out as a supervisor in the 1992-95 seasons. The team was four seasons removed from their second world series championship. But hopes were were high as the team looked forward with newly-arrived hometown hero Paul Molitor joining the lineup along with Kirby. We'd struck gold with St. Paul's Jack Morris returning home for one season in 1991, so why not have it happen again? We were also debuting a new red home jersey. A short-lived fashion statement which went the way of the dodo after the team lost nearly every game in which they wore them and ESPN often referred to them as "the Dairy Queen uniforms".
Kirby had been hit in the jaw by a pitch delivered by Cleveland's Dennis Martinez on September 28th of the 1995 season. I remember the moment well. I was standing at the top row if section 102 in the center field seats when he was hit. It was already pretty quiet in the dome as it was the final weekday afternoon game of the season and was not well-attended. But it got even quieter when he hit the ground after being hit. Throughout the offseason there was not much to worry about to be sure. He even batted .344 in the Grapefruit League spring training games in the March of 1996. But then, darkness fell. Literally.
On March 28th Kirby awoke without the ability to see out if his right eye. He was diagnosed with glaucoma and was placed on the disabled list for the first time in his career. Three different surgeries over the next few months could not restore vision in the eye.
Each day we in the front office hoped that the leader of our team would be able to come back to the lineup. But as time went on our optimism began to wane.
On the afternoon of Friday, July 12th, while seated in my office I learned of a press conference which would take place wherein Kirby was going to announce his retirement. Our opponents that night, oddly enough, were the Cleveland Indians. I remember the sad walk that we all took down to the meeting room located just off the loading dock at the Metrodome that afternoon. It was like walking to a funeral. Everyone in the front office was in attendance, as well as many of the players. Kirby tried to make light of it, but we all knew that we were witnessing one of the saddest moments in Minnesota sports history.
Kirby then took a job as an executive vice-president for the team. This is when I got to know the man who meant so much to the state of Minnesota. We'd only chatted in passing from time to time up to that point. I was the office services coordinator at the time, a position which had a number of duties which included designing the team's business cards, letterhead and envelopes to be used in day-to-day operations. My duties also included delivering the daily mail to all of the front office personnel. I would deliver large quantities of items of Kirby's office on a daily basis. Most of them were requests for autographs and the like.
Many were the days that I would walk into his office and he would be signing various items from fans and would usually be on his phone when I did. If he wasn't on the phone our conversation would start by me entering the office, raising my hand and saying, "No, don't get up." and he would laugh at that nearly every time it happened. "I'm not gettin' up for you, man!", would be his usual rebuttal.
One thing he taught me was one of the long-winded handshakes that he and some of his teammates would perform in celebration of something good on the field. I have passed it onto a number of people including one co-worker with whom I share a "shake" the first time we see each other on a given day. We've been doing it for years and he's even taught it to his daughter.
One thing he taught me was one of the long-winded handshakes that he and some of his teammates would perform in celebration of something good on the field. I have passed it onto a number of people including one co-worker with whom I share a "shake" the first time we see each other on a given day. We've been doing it for years and he's even taught it to his daughter.
One thing Kirby loved was bowling. He was quite a good bowler at that. I figured that only having eyesight in one eye would make keggling difficult, but he made it look easy. I asked him how he could average 220 or so with just one eye. We all tried simulating it and failed miserably. He said, “Well, I’m just a natural athlete”. Which caused us all to laugh uproariously. I told him he was 5’8” and 225 pounds, so just stop with that talk. He called me one morning in February 1998 and invited me to join him when he went to buy a new bowling ball at an alley in St. Paul. He needed a new ball before he took off to Ft. Myers, Florida and spring training.The bowling competition on the coaching staff was intense. Most notably with Ron Gardenhire with whom sharing an alley is an absolute comedy treat. So we hopped into his Chevy Suburban (he always loved a big ol' new Chevy Suburban) and made our way to St. Paul. I do not recall the name of the bowling center, but we entered the pro shop and he got fitted for a new ball. The pro shop owner drilled his new ball for him and I thought we were ready to get out and on the road again. But he paused and looked at me. "I've seen that piece of crap ball you roll, Hot Rod. Let me get you a real ball, son!" So he asked the salesman to find something for me, get it fitted to my hand and drill it while we waited.
I got my new bowling ball in a few minutes, and once again assumed that we were on our way out the door. But now he insisted that we try out our new acquisitions on an alley. Luckily, lanes 1 and 2 were available and the owner lit them up for us to use. As we got ready to square off in a game against each other we noticed a gentleman on the next lane over wearing a UPS uniform. Kirby invited the guy over to join us in our game. The look on his face, when realizing who it was, was priceless. His name was Scott and he was on his lunch break. The three of us rolled three games each and then we went finally departed the bowling center. Somehow I won two of those games and still have the scoresheet to this day. Puck and I speculated about how our guest was going to explain his lunch hour spent bowling with Minnesota's most famous athlete and some other guy. Keep in mind that this event predates cell phones, so he wasn't able to take a picture to verify his story to his co-workers.
We hit I-94 on the way back to the dome at a fast rate of speed. He was tailgating the heck out of what I referred to as a two-door Subaru Snirk and I asked him to slow down a bit. He asked me why I was so worried about his driving. At first I said, "Look, man, you've only got one working eye, pal." He laughed hysterically at that. I also told him that no one remembers the name of the guy who died next to Billy Martin when he crashed in his fatal accident. I told him that I just didn't want to become the question to a Jeopardy answer.
He was always great about introducing me to fellow players who were friends of his. He'd call me in my office and say come up and meet whomever was in town that day. Players like Jim Rice, and Eddie Murray would be there and I got to meet them and get autographed balls at the same time. He introduced me to Cal Ripken, Jr. while at his annual 8-ball pool tournament for charity. Cal has such a great memory that on the night he got his 3,000th hit at the Metrodome he not only remembered my name and where we'd met but we talked for about 30 minutes outside the visiting locker room after the game and on the walk to street level where he caught a cab to meet up with his family. (That whole story is in a different blog entry which will show up on Facebook in early April). So he was often very generous to me in giving me great moments to share after his playing days were over.
I asked him about his ability to deliver in the clutch situations over is illustrious career. He said that sometimes before he’d head to the plate he’d remember what the Cowardly Lion said and he’d imitate him by telling himself to have “c-c-c-c-courage”.
Kirby and I did have some serious talks too.
One thing he told me was that in life one needs to make a "life roster". What he meant was that you need to have people in your life who have your best interest in mind when you deal with them. To remember that there will always be people who merely want to take from you and not give back anything in return. He said there was no need to call these people and tell that they no longer have a prominent place in your life. Simply let those relationships fade away. Those people will go on to take away from others, but not you. Get to the point where you don't have to think about answering your phone because you don't want to talk to someone. And even if some of the people whom you send off to "free agency" are members of your family, so be it. Those were draft choices that you didn't make in the first place, fate did. It's amazing how much I have used that since he told me and how many people I've passed this philosophy on to. He also told me that "tomorrow isn't promised to any of us" on more than one occasion. How right he was.
One of our most laugh-filled mornings was shortly after his appearance on "The Late Show with David Letterman" in May of 1997. For the next couple of weeks I would refer to him by some of the names which appeared in the Top Ten list which he read on the show that consisted of mispronunciations of his name. My favorites were Koobey Pickett, Creepy Pockets, The Puckett Formerly Known As Kirby and the ever-popular Turkey Bucket. Every day I would change it up just to see his reaction. I think Turkey Bucket got the best reaction. I know the switchboard phone changed his name for a short time to Turkey Bucket.
One day we somehow got onto the subject of mortality. There was a copy of a magazine which was delivered to him. I believe it was Vanity Fair, but the main cover story was "101 Things To Do Before You Die". He told me, more than once, that he didn't expect to live past age 50, as many males in his family passed away short of that number. He unfortunately predicted that one correctly as he passed away just days shy of his 46th birthday.
On the day he passed in Scottsdale, AZ in March 2006 I was bowling in a Tuesday night league in Lakeville, Minnesota. My teammates and I were watching ESPN on the television above our lane while they discussed his passing. That night I was actually using that same ball which he had purchased for me back in 1998. A surreal moment to be sure. That ball still occupies a spot in my bowling bag to this day.
I was an attendee at his private memorial in Wayzata. As I looked around the church it was like a who's who of Major League baseball and Minnesota sports. I chatted with the likes of Cal Ripken, Jr., Harmon Killebrew, Eddie Murray and Dave Winfield. Seated directly behind me were Bob Costas and Kevin Garnett. I was in the line to walk up to the casket and when I reached it I looked down and said, "No, don't get up." I had a bit of a smile on my face when I looked at A.J. Pierzynski who was standing behind me. He said, "A good memory?", he asked. I nodded in the affirmative and moved on to my seat.
I'd instantly heard his infectious laugh while standing there. I miss that laugh. And if you knew him, I know you do too.
Thanks, K.P.
I'm just sayin'.
