A Saint and a Sinner
http://www.atomicsportsmedia.com/articles/229/1/A-Saint-and-a-Sinner.html
Nate Carlile
By Nate Carlile
Published on 03/12/2006
If you were a baseball fan in the late 1980s or early '90s, you were probably upset by the death of Kirby Puckett last week. But columnist Nathan Carlile explains that it's not the media's job to be upset. It's their job to report the truth -- that there was more to Puckett than what he did on the field.
I never had a sports idol growing up. Sure, I’ve had favorites. But being a Cleveland fan doesn’t exactly lend itself to watching greatness – unless it was someone else’s player who transcended the sport (the Browns had John Elway, the Cavs had Michael Jordan, the Indians had… Cory Snider). Whatever the reason, an athlete has never completed me.
Maybe it’s unfortunate I didn’t give myself over to a superstar, to view them through the eyes of an awe-inspired child, or with utter joy that can only be felt when an entire community comes together and says, braggingly, “that’s our guy.”
Kirby Puckett was one athlete I wished I could say was “my guy.” And in the same breath, he makes me glad he was not.
I have a friend who worships all things Minnesota sports, so it should have come as no surprise to me that someone of his age (28) and sports affiliation, would feel a strong connection to Puckett, who transcended the game, saved the franchise, and captured hearts and minds of countless fans and non-fans.
On Sunday night, when news broke that Puckett had suffered a possibly fatal stroke, my friend was despondent, mumbling only that he remembers vividly, as a 10-year-old, meeting Puckett the morning of a game. It was a story I had not heard before. Puckett was eating a plate of eggs at the team’s hotel and my friend and his little brother approached him for an autograph. Puckett flashed his trademark smile and signed a couple items for the two. They wished him luck and later that night were in the stands when Puckett led the Twins to a victory. Later that season he led the Twins to a World Series title, and my friend and his brother celebrated the way only kids can celebrate when faith is rewarded.
In 1987, when Puckett delivered that World Series victory, it was to a city and state that already considered the south-side Chicagoan its adopted son. Five years later, he would paint his masterpiece, leading the Twins from a last place finish the previous year to a seminal victory over the Atlanta Braves for a second World Series title. It was a series that delivered indelible moment after indelible moment. And Puckett – a bowling ball with legs – delivered two of them in Game 6, first taking away a hit while crashing into the Metrodome’s outfield wall and later, in the 11th inning, extending the series with a walk-off home run. For anyone who watched Puckett play with such infectious joy, it was impossible not to be swept up.
On Tuesday, when he died, my friend cried. He was, at that moment, not a sports journalist, but a fan. He cried for Kirby Puckett. He cried for the loss. He cried for his own memories, periods of joy he shared with his dad, his mom, his brother, his friends.
Puckett was the personification of what we look for in a sports hero. To reach the exclusive plain Puckett did, the public has to embrace not only Kirby Puckett the player, but also Kirby Puckett the person.
And today, Kirby Puckett the person is a vast area of grey.
Maybe, because I don’t have that attachment to a player, I callously ignored the sentimentality of Puckett’s memory and immediately asked my friend about Puckett’s past transgressions. I wanted to know how the press should and would treat a luminary figure with conflicting attributes; rare, if ever, has a superstar in our country embodied such a dichotomy of boyish-charm and evil-pursuit.
When I brought up the allegations, in general terms, not mentioning specifically the abuse or assault, my friend ended our conversation. It was unforgivable that I would desecrate Kirby Puckett’s legacy so soon after his death, he said. People make mistakes, he said. You’re not a journalist, he said.
It was a severe response to a hard question. My roommate shared a similar sentiment: “The body is still warm and you’re pointing out those things?”
Sadly, yes.
I’m certain that I should have been more respectful of my friend’s pain. He was mourning, and my words at that point and time were inconsiderate. Just as saying certain things at a funeral are considered taboo; in our culture we eulogize someone by recalling the good in their life. But a eulogy and an obituary are not the same. So, I’m also certain that when writing an obituary column compartmentalizing Kirby Puckett into the hero a fan wants to remember is not the role of the press.
The majority of the media soft-pedaled Puckett’s obituary; those writers turned his winning and his jovial nature into the picture of a man that did not tell the whole story. They largely ignored a darker side, accusations of physical and sexual abuse – and those aspects should be left for each person alone to weigh. Because how can one establish a suitable measurement of character for a man who hit 500-foot home runs and who reportedly hit women? A man who gave to charity and possibly took without asking? What if it were your mother or sister or daughter that made these accusations?
When writing an obituary column for Kirby Puckett, I have to write that he captured the imagination of my friend and countless others. And that Kirby Puckett was accused by his wife of choking her with an electric cord and, in a separate incident, of putting a gun to her head, threatening to kill her as she held their infant child. He played baseball with a combination of joy and skill rarely seen in the game’s 100-year history. He was issued a restraining order after getting too physical with his mistress. He donated his time and energy to the community, giving countless hours to sick and disadvantaged kids. He was reportedly accused of sexually assaulting a Twins’ employee who was then paid by the franchise to keep quite. He retired from the game too young because glaucoma stole sight in one eye. He was charged with sexual assault and then acquitted by a jury of his peers.
Kirby Puckett was both a saint and sinner.
Nathan Carlile is a columnist for Atomic Sports Media. Additionally, he is a reporter for Legal Times and a freelance writer. He received his master's degree from Syracuse University and resides in Washington D.C. Nathan can be reached at nate.carlile@atomicsportsmedia.com.
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If you were a baseball fan in the late 1980s or early '90s, you were probably upset by the death of Kirby Puckett last week. But columnist Nathan Carlile explains that it's not the media's job to be upset. It's their job to report the truth -- that there was more to Puckett than what he did on the field.
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I never had a sports idol growing up. Sure, I’ve had favorites. But being a Cleveland fan doesn’t exactly lend itself to watching greatness – unless it was someone else’s player who transcended the sport (the Browns had John Elway, the Cavs had Michael Jordan, the Indians had… Cory Snider). Whatever the reason, an athlete has never completed me.
Maybe it’s unfortunate I didn’t give myself over to a superstar, to view them through the eyes of an awe-inspired child, or with utter joy that can only be felt when an entire community comes together and says, braggingly, “that’s our guy.”
Kirby Puckett was one athlete I wished I could say was “my guy.” And in the same breath, he makes me glad he was not.
I have a friend who worships all things Minnesota sports, so it should have come as no surprise to me that someone of his age (28) and sports affiliation, would feel a strong connection to Puckett, who transcended the game, saved the franchise, and captured hearts and minds of countless fans and non-fans.
On Sunday night, when news broke that Puckett had suffered a possibly fatal stroke, my friend was despondent, mumbling only that he remembers vividly, as a 10-year-old, meeting Puckett the morning of a game. It was a story I had not heard before. Puckett was eating a plate of eggs at the team’s hotel and my friend and his little brother approached him for an autograph. Puckett flashed his trademark smile and signed a couple items for the two. They wished him luck and later that night were in the stands when Puckett led the Twins to a victory. Later that season he led the Twins to a World Series title, and my friend and his brother celebrated the way only kids can celebrate when faith is rewarded.
In 1987, when Puckett delivered that World Series victory, it was to a city and state that already considered the south-side Chicagoan its adopted son. Five years later, he would paint his masterpiece, leading the Twins from a last place finish the previous year to a seminal victory over the Atlanta Braves for a second World Series title. It was a series that delivered indelible moment after indelible moment. And Puckett – a bowling ball with legs – delivered two of them in Game 6, first taking away a hit while crashing into the Metrodome’s outfield wall and later, in the 11th inning, extending the series with a walk-off home run. For anyone who watched Puckett play with such infectious joy, it was impossible not to be swept up.
On Tuesday, when he died, my friend cried. He was, at that moment, not a sports journalist, but a fan. He cried for Kirby Puckett. He cried for the loss. He cried for his own memories, periods of joy he shared with his dad, his mom, his brother, his friends.
Puckett was the personification of what we look for in a sports hero. To reach the exclusive plain Puckett did, the public has to embrace not only Kirby Puckett the player, but also Kirby Puckett the person.
And today, Kirby Puckett the person is a vast area of grey.
Maybe, because I don’t have that attachment to a player, I callously ignored the sentimentality of Puckett’s memory and immediately asked my friend about Puckett’s past transgressions. I wanted to know how the press should and would treat a luminary figure with conflicting attributes; rare, if ever, has a superstar in our country embodied such a dichotomy of boyish-charm and evil-pursuit.
When I brought up the allegations, in general terms, not mentioning specifically the abuse or assault, my friend ended our conversation. It was unforgivable that I would desecrate Kirby Puckett’s legacy so soon after his death, he said. People make mistakes, he said. You’re not a journalist, he said.
It was a severe response to a hard question. My roommate shared a similar sentiment: “The body is still warm and you’re pointing out those things?”
Sadly, yes.
I’m certain that I should have been more respectful of my friend’s pain. He was mourning, and my words at that point and time were inconsiderate. Just as saying certain things at a funeral are considered taboo; in our culture we eulogize someone by recalling the good in their life. But a eulogy and an obituary are not the same. So, I’m also certain that when writing an obituary column compartmentalizing Kirby Puckett into the hero a fan wants to remember is not the role of the press.
The majority of the media soft-pedaled Puckett’s obituary; those writers turned his winning and his jovial nature into the picture of a man that did not tell the whole story. They largely ignored a darker side, accusations of physical and sexual abuse – and those aspects should be left for each person alone to weigh. Because how can one establish a suitable measurement of character for a man who hit 500-foot home runs and who reportedly hit women? A man who gave to charity and possibly took without asking? What if it were your mother or sister or daughter that made these accusations?
When writing an obituary column for Kirby Puckett, I have to write that he captured the imagination of my friend and countless others. And that Kirby Puckett was accused by his wife of choking her with an electric cord and, in a separate incident, of putting a gun to her head, threatening to kill her as she held their infant child. He played baseball with a combination of joy and skill rarely seen in the game’s 100-year history. He was issued a restraining order after getting too physical with his mistress. He donated his time and energy to the community, giving countless hours to sick and disadvantaged kids. He was reportedly accused of sexually assaulting a Twins’ employee who was then paid by the franchise to keep quite. He retired from the game too young because glaucoma stole sight in one eye. He was charged with sexual assault and then acquitted by a jury of his peers.
Kirby Puckett was both a saint and sinner.
Nathan Carlile is a columnist for Atomic Sports Media. Additionally, he is a reporter for Legal Times and a freelance writer. He received his master's degree from Syracuse University and resides in Washington D.C. Nathan can be reached at nate.carlile@atomicsportsmedia.com.