R.I.P., Kirby Puckett.

Man, I'll tell you what. I'm not ready for the sports heroes of my youth to start dying off yet.

Kirby Puckett was Mr. Minnesota Baseball - I doubt that without his heroics during the Twins' dual World Series triumphs, we would still even be mentioning Minnesota baseball in the present tense.

I'll confess. I was never the biggest Puckett fan, since the man did pretty much murder my beloved Cardinals in the '87 Series. But I did give him a grudging respect and admiration as a player - I love those guys who go all-out, all the time, even for the opposing team. And to have a centerfielder who was built like me play the game like Puckett did was pretty cool ... it's just that those danged Homer Hankies and Puckett are forever linked in my mind.

It was sad for Puckett to have to leave the game like he did, forced out by glaucoma; thankfully, the Hall of Fame didn't hold his short career against him and voted him in on the first ballot. And it's a tragedy that his life ended as it did. All of that off-the-field stuff that followed him in the years following his retirement (the lawsuits, the divorce, etc.) probably was at least a small contributing factor to his early passing.

I pray that those troubles and the circumstances surrounding his death don't overshadow most peoples' memories of him playing the game with an infectious, childlike enthusiasm that we could all probably use a little more of.

Update: The folks at Power Line, which is based in Minnesota, offers this poignant tribute to Puckett.