A lot of thoughts went through my mind when I heard of the death of the enigmatic Kirby Puckett earlier this week.

When I think about watching KP growing up, he was THE MAN. My favorite player on my favorite baseball team. As an 11-year old sports fanatic, I remember running all over my living room after the 1987 World Series victory and thinking how truly great this guy was. As a 15-year old, I absolutely roared throughout the house after his game-winning home run sent the Twins to Game 7 in the 1991 World Series. Puck's heroics were a great source of joy for me.

All my life I had wanted to see one of my teams win a world championship, no matter what the sport. When the Vikings came up short year after year after year, I had already been resigned to that great sense of disappointment that usually is associated with Minnesota sports fans.

But Puck changed all that, with a catch, a home run, and a childish enthusiasm for the game that no one in his era could match.

He was Twins baseball. His 5'8 frame was larger than life as far as I was concerned.

Few events from my adolesence will ever stick with me like the 1991 World Series and the emotions I felt when the Twins won. I still get tears watching the championship highlight video from that season. I can't wait someday to show that to my son, and I'm sure I'll still cry then too- hell, thinking about it now, fifteen years later, still causes me to pause and bring a smile to my face.

Watching Kirby rob Ron Gant of a sure base hit with his catch against the plexiglas still is one of the greatest plays in the field I've ever seen. My cousin Rory, who has an artistic talent that I marvel at, sketched a picture of Kirby scaling the wall to make that catch out of a photo in Sports Illustrated. I had that picture next to my Kirby poster in my room until I moved out of my parent's house several years later. His autographed baseball card that I have was one of my most prized possessions.

As I look at my eight-month old son now, I often wonder if he will ever have a sports hero like Puckett. They just, as the old saying goes, don't make 'em like that anymore.

But consider- Kirby's off-the-field problems that all came out after his retirement and induction into the Hall of Fame. Alleged abuse of his wife. Constant threats to her livelihood. Extramarital affairs that left women battered and bruised. An alleged assault incident in a bar with another woman.

Those of you that aren't parents (those that are will relate to this comment), think about how you would feel talking about Puckett's life to your son. Think about it: Is it possible to honestly sit there and call him a hero? Life didn't stop for Kirby in 1996 when he retired and brought a whole world of problems upon himself.

I never used to think about this before I became a parent, but I sure pause and wonder now. Can I watch old highlights of this man, the greatest baseball player ever to wear a Twins uniform, and really tell my son what a great guy Kirby Puckett was?

The answer, like many things is life, is part yes and part no. Kirby the player- a legend. Kirby the man- seriously flawed.

Those of us that were "Kirby's Kids" growing up are now grown up with kids of our own. And we should think about how we held this man in such regard. For it is a cautionary tale of the modern athlete---and how we as the public can be so wrong about our perceptions.

But one thought is appropriate, whatever you think of the life this man led.

Rest in peace, Puck. We'll never forget you.