Different Paths, Same Destination

This weekend, Major League Baseball will open its most prestigious club to a handful of new inductees, including two who couldn't have been more different in style and stature.

Dave Winfield was an athlete. A tight end. A small forward. A pitcher who played the outfield for just one season at the University of Minnesota (imagine how good a hurler this guy could have been if that's where he would have concentrated his efforts).

He was drafted in all three sports, but that was in the pre-Bo-knows-everything era, long before Deion Sanders had trouble making up his mind on which sport to concentrate his efforts and abilities.

Winfield chose the longevity of baseball and now, 22 seasons with six organizations, 3,110 hits and 465 home runs later, he has to be considered one of the best players of his era. Consider that he is one of only two players to amass more than 3,000 hits without ever spending a day in the minor leagues.

While Winfield was tall, lean and athletic -- a picture of graceful power -- Kirby Puckett was just the opposite. He was squatty and thick, a ball of energy seemingly in perpetual motion, as if stopping would put a halt to the full amount of his momentum, thus making for a difficult restart.

He might not have possessed Winfield's grace, but he was every bit the ballplayer. At 5-9, 215 pounds, Puckett, who escaped the mean streets of Chicago to forge a brilliant career for himself, was a reminder to all of us that hitting a baseball is an art not necessarily reserved for the most physically gifted.

That's not a slam. In fact, it's a compliment -- a testimony to the man's passion and desire to succeed.

Puckett was a tremendous ballplayer, especially when he was on center stage. Will we ever forget the 11th-inning home run in Game 6 of the 1991 World Series that forced a seventh and deciding game, which the Minnesota Twins eventually won?

Sadly, Puckett suffered an eye injury after being hit by a Dennis Martinez pitch in September 1995 -- an injury that ended his career far short of what it might have been.

Had his career continued, he would have already joined or would have been knocking on the door to joining baseball's 3,000-hit club.

Not that it would have mattered to Puckett.

Numbers concerned him little. He played not for money, not for statistics nor for the chase of milestones. Kirby Puckett was a ballplayer for the most noble of reasons: He loved the game.

Kirby Puckett's passion for baseball was as apparent as the huge smile on his face. It was infectious. It rubbed off on everyone who saw him play and made him one of the most beloved players of his -- or any -- era.

He was one of those ballplayers who got it. He understood how fortunate he was to make a very lucrative living playing a game. He never had to be reminded how fortunate he was to put on a big-league uniform each day.

Each day, he was thankful.

His attitude toward baseball, toward life, is something all of us can take and emulate. You would have hoped that some of his traits would have rubbed off on some of the younger players in the game.

Sadly, much of what Puckett stood for now represent a bygone era of the game. Puckett was a throwback, a one-team player much the same as Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn, two other dinosaurs marked for extinction after this season, only to be rediscovered five years later in Cooperstown, N.Y.

Puckett was a guy you could have imagined playing in the 1940s and 1950s, living on the same street as the fans -- playing stickball with the kids on the block before leaving each day for the ballpark.

Alas, times changes, but progress isn't always for the best.

It seems like an eternity ago. Maybe it was. In May 1994, the Kansas City Royals were milking everything possible out of George Brett's unparalleled popularity.

Two years earlier, Brett had collected his 3,000th hit and the team held a pregame ceremony. Brett retired following the 1993 season, but not before taking a victory lap around Kauffman Stadium and culminating the festivities by getting down on his hands and knees to kiss home plate.

Seven months later, the Royals honored Brett again by retiring his No. 5 jersey -- another occasion that featured a pregame ceremony.

However, unlike the previous pregame ceremonies, this time Brett chose to share the spotlight. When it was his turn to speak, after countless others and a long standing ovation from the Kansas City crowd, he looked inside the visitor's dugout and said, "Kirby, this will be you in a few years."

Puckett, as he was known to do, merely smiled -- flattered by the comment, but feeling truly unworthy of the honor.

It was vintage Kirby Puckett.

That would turn out to be a vintage baseball weekend -- one that I will always remember as one of the highlights of my career.

The next day, I tracked down Puckett, whose locker was next to Winfield's. In the previous fall, Winfield had joined the 3,000-hit club -- something Puckett, who had just collected his 2,000th hit, could not fathom.

"I guess I've been lucky to stay healthy and I've been consistent," he said. "That's what I'm most proud of. But 2,000 hits for me is like 3,000 hits for Dave Winfield.

"No one expected me to get this far. If I don't get 3,000 hits, it won't matter. I'm happy to have done what I have done."

Suddenly, Winfield began to voice his opinion, but not before bringing Brett into the Twins' clubhouse, where the three of them -- baseball's past (Brett), present (Winfield) and future (Puckett) members of the 3,000 hit club began talking about hitting for an audience of one.

Realizing I could add nothing to this conversation, this clinic, this comparing of notes, I sat back, turned on the tape recorder and listened. Once the driver of this interview, I turned over the wheel to my three worthy subjects and marveled at the candor and mutual professional respect for one another.

At that point, they had combined for more than 8,200 hits and nearly 1,000 home runs -- and they had done it with all the diversity baseball has come to stand for.

Winfield was a rarity -- a big man, a power hitter who could run the bases and hit for average, Puckett said.

"You look at what he has done as a power hitter and someone who has hit for average and it is amazing," Puckett said. "Dave Winfield is an incredible hitter."

To this day, only Winfield, Hank Aaron, Willie Mays and Eddie Murray compiled more than 450 home runs and 3,000 hits, which places Winfield in pretty elite company.

Winfield in his prime might have been baseball's most lethal weapon. He could beat the opposition in so many ways. Brett and Puckett, meanwhile, were lethal in their own ways -- line-drive hitters who found the fences with regularity.

"Kirby Puckett is a great hitter," Brett said. "You don't get 200 hits a year for nine years if you're not."

Consistency was Puckett's forte. From 1985-93, Puckett averaged more than 200 hits per season by collecting 1,831 hits. It got him to the 2,000-hit plateau quicker than any player in baseball history.

You wonder today how many hits he could have compiled had his career not come to an end prior to the 1996 season.

Baseball is a game of what-if. How many hits might Paul Molitor have collected if he could have stayed healthy? What about Brett, whose gimpy knees caused him to miss a ton of games and hindered his effectiveness late in his career?

Some say that either Brett or Molitor could have made a run at 4,000 hits. Winfield had no doubt that Brett could have.

"He made hitting look elementary," Winfield said. "What I mean is that he was smooth. He was fluid. He was constant.

"His stroke was locked in, more than mine -- much more than mine. I'm bigger, longer. There were probably more deviations in my swing. His was just so smooth."

While Winfield was a can't-miss first-ballot inductee, selecting Puckett for baseball's highest honor is a little less clear-cut. His shortened career can be compared to that of Sandy Koufax, who was at the top of his game before retiring suddenly in his early 30s with arm trouble. Fittingly, only Lou Gehrig and Koufax were younger inductees than the 39-year-old Puckett.

Puckett's career numbers -- a .318 batting average, 2,304 hits and 207 home runs in just 12 seasons -- make a nice argument for the baseball writers who voted him into the Hall of Fame in January despite the abbreviated career.

It's nice to see the voters looked past the bottom line. The fact is that Puckett's induction is something everyone can embrace. Some would say that there are few people who ever got more out of less physical ability than Puckett.

Certainly, no one enjoyed the game more.

"I had a great time and I think my personality had something to do with the Hall of Fame selection," he said earlier this year. "It's going to show a lot of kids to always believe in themselves. Hard word and perseverance do pay off."

It's fitting that Brett, who was inducted two summers ago, will be on hand in Cooperstown Sunday to welcome Winfield and Puckett into the Hall of Fame.

I wonder if they'll take some time to sit down and talk about hitting. To anyone lucky enough to be within earshot, it's something I highly recommend listening to.

Want more Sangimino? Check out his archive of recent columns.

Pat Sangimino is a veteran sports reporter and currently is a senior news editor at TheKansasCityChannel.com. Feel free to send him an e-mail with your thoughts on his weekly topics.