Kirby Puckett

I got an e-mail from a friend last night asking what I'd have to say about Kirby Puckett's death Sunday and I honestly had to tell her nothing.

I cited the "if you can't say anything nice" rule, because I really had nothing to add to the conversation. However, after a day and a half of people paying their respects, I kind of wish I'd known a bit more about the man, because I think I would have liked him.

Sure, he always seemed to be a likeable enough guy, but in my mind, he was kind of interchangeable with Cecil Fielder in that tubby little guy who played like crazy in a town I don't care about. Catching up now, he seems to have been one of the guys to understand what a pleasure playing professional ball can be.

I know it's the difference between the Twin Cities and pressure cookers like Boston or New York, where he could eat a meal with his family or just walk around town without being driven insane, but he seems to have really enjoyed his playing days and I can respect that.

So, while it's a shame that he seemed content to shrink from the spotlight after a string of bad luck, I can't help but respect a man who came to play and did so with quiet respect. I'm just left wishing that he'd made a bit more noise in his life so that more people would have noticed.

(Jim Mone/Associated Press)