Last night Kirby Puckett died of a stroke. I was never a Twins fan, but I always liked Kirby Puckett. I have this strange attachment to baseball players whose signatures once adorned childhood baseball equiptment. Puckett's name was emblazoned across the palm of my first ever baseball glove. I must have been six when I got that glove for my birthday. I graduated to a Barry Larkin model later on, but that glove served me well at a young age.
So I'm thinking about that leg kick, that flat out ridiculous leg kick of his. How many times did I try to pull that off? I'd toss the baseball in the air and try to get the leg kick off before hitting the ball. When it worked, I was convinced it was responsible for extra distance. My baseball coaches frowned upon the leg kick (quite correctly) and I had a bit of a more conventional swing.
I'm thinking about that World Series victory, when my family pulled for the Twins against those nomadic Braves. I'm thinking about that baseball card I got, with Kirby Puckett and that beautiful leg kick. The death of a childhood hero, who's health failed him. Thanks Kirby, for playing your heart and the memories.
2 comments:
The signiture on my first baseball glove said "Dyral Strawberry" on it. My guess is I will have the oppurtunity to write one of these real, real soon. Although I don't think mine would be quite as possitive.
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