Such people are what we believe them to be. Joe DiMaggio remains the perfect gentleman, even though we’ve been told often enough that he was probably closer to being the perfect cad. Kirby Puckett will remain the soul of the Twins. It was his role in life. It will remain so in death.

That’s as it should be, because few people in sports brought as much joy and happiness to what he did as Puckett. And when he had the chance to turn that into transcendent bliss, he also proved himself to be as fine a clutch performer as there was in the game.

The championship fairy doesn’t make many deliveries in Minnesota — just ask Viking fans. Until Puckett arrived, the state had never won a World Series.

He remedied that, leading the Twins to two championships, one in 1987 and the next in 1991. The stories of his heroics are well documented. I had the privilege and the pleasure of watching him and the Twins win both of those titles. He wasn’t the only hero of those games; he’s just the one we remember best.

He was a 10-time all star in his 12 seasons, and he could have gone elsewhere for more money. But he was loyal to the fans and the city that were loyal to him. He stayed in Minnesota and ended his career there. Five years later, he was in baseball’s Hall of Fame.

A lesser man with similar accomplishments might not have made the Hall, whose electors are often obsessive about big statistics to the point of leaving great players out whose careers were cut short.

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But Puckett was so beloved and had been so great right up until he couldn’t play anymore, that he went in on the first ballot. In his case, brilliance won out over statistics.

He was much rounder when he went into the Hall, but he positively glowed on his induction day, his signature smile lighting up his bullet of a head.

Since that day, those who knew him now say, he kept getting bigger and bigger.

It wasn’t healthy, and he had to know that at some level. Monday, it killed him. But it was the choice he made, and, while we can and will mourn it, we can’t change it.

All we can do is remember the man who played so much bigger than he was, the man who made the Metrodome a grand and special place to be, the man who made Minnesota the home of champions.

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