The WGOM

I was talking with Lucy last night about the death of Kirby Puckett and she asked me if I felt bad about it. I said that I did feel bad. I started to reflect on why it is that I felt bad about it.

I don't have a lot in common with Kirby Puckett. He was born in Chicago in a tough neighborhood. He was a black man -- a minority in a country with as yet unresolved racial issues. I was born in a small town in North Dakota. I am white, just like pretty much everyone else from there. My parents didn't have a lot of money, but they were never afraid for my safety if I went down the street to play with neighbor kids.

Kirby grew up to be a world-class athlete. I grew up to be a working stiff. Oh sure, I went to college and got an engineering degree, but I wasn't on the short list of great engineers in the world. And yes, I'm now a lawyer, but I'm struggling to establish my practice just like a lot of new lawyers -- I'm no hall of famer.

Kirby was cheered by millions in this state and millions more around the country. Those of us who are Twins fans celebrate his baseball achievements. His play entertained us. We could feel like we were a part of his and his team's success. When Kirby was struck with glaucoma, we all felt a loss, because we could no longer be thrilled by his athletic exploits.

It was comforting, at least to me, that he seemingly had such a great attitude of acceptance about it. He was going to move on. I think, though, that a big part of Kirby's life ended on March 28, 1996 when he woke up without his vision. He was 36 and his whole raison d'etre was over. He wasn't like a writer, a painter, a singer or other people with great talents who can exploit those talents throughout their lives. He was an athlete. It was over. It's hard to imagine how that feels.

I didn't know Kirby Puckett. I liked him as a ballplayer and he had a nice public image. We should all know by now that a celebrity's public image may or may not be an accurate indication of who that person is. It seems like he wasn't able to handle life after baseball very well. We all know the stories, and to see him balloon up like he did, well, it was sad. To have him living in Arizona, almost in exile, well that was sad, too. It's sad when anyone goes through difficulties like that. I hope that he had resolved some of his problems. I hope that his life with his fiancee brought him happiness and an ability to move on from the past. But, hey, who knows. Maybe he was happy.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that I felt bad not because he was KIRBY PUCKETT, HALL OF FAMER, but that because he was Kirby Pucket, human being. I didn't have much in common with Kirby, but I had that. In the end, it doesn't matter that he was a hall of fame baseball player (except that of course we'd never know who he was otherwise). Call me a bleeding heart, but I felt bad that he'd apparently gone through some really tough times even if some of those bad times were of his own doing. I suspect that he probably had battled with depression and I'm not sure that he was enjoying life. Of course, that's pure speculation. Like I said before, I don't know Kirby. Maybe he was enjoying life and was at peace with himself.

Ultimately, that's what matters most. He brought a lot of joy and happiness to people like me who followed his career and rooted for him and the Twins. Because I have so little in common with him, I can't understand the challenges that he faced in his life. I hope he had joy in his life. I hope that he was able to appreciate his strengths as a human being, cope with his own weaknesses, and be happy with who he was. I hope that he had good relationships with his children and those others who were closest to him. I hope that he came to grips with the end of his athletic career and was able to move on. If Kirby had time to reflect before he died, I hope he had a sense of peace about his own life. Because, if he didn't, that would be the biggest tragedy.