Back in the late ’80s, I used to walk to work from my South End apartment, and my travels always took me by the Sheraton Hotel attached to the Prudential Tower in downtown Boston. At that time, nearly every major-league baseball team that came to town to play the Red Sox stayed at that hotel, and each summer day I passed by the Sheraton’s entrance, I wondered if I would have the good fortune to run into a professional ballplayer. In June of 1986, on my way to work, I passed the hotel and quickly calculated that Minnesota Twins were in town for a mid-week series, which was disappointing because at that time, the Twins were bad, and I would have a difficult time distinguishing their top player from their batboy were I to encounter him.

The only one I figured I might recognize was the player I had just read about in Sports Illustrated the weekend before. He was a third-year outfielder for the Twins, and was tearing up the league at a .350 clip, hence his being featured that month in SI. Yet he was recognizable not for his handsome good looks and his tall, lithe body; instead, he was a 5’8", 210-pound roly-poly bowling ball of a man, squat and rotund, yet capable of great things on a baseball field. Add his bald pate to the mix (which was long before the MJs and Barry Bonds of the world made it fashionable), and you instantly had an identifiable head-turner of an individual, not only (improbably) as an athlete, but as a human being. Yep, I would know Kirby Puckett if I saw him.

Coincidentally, later that afternoon I stopped by the Ground Round restaurant then situated in the Pru, and who should be dining in the same eatery but the inimitable Puckett. He was the first active professional player that I had ever encountered in my day-to-day routine, but I was polite and respectful of his privacy, waiting for him to finish his meal before stopping over to his table to wish him well. He was cordial and friendly, and my visit with him was brief, albeit thrilling for a kid unaccustomed to such brushes with greatness.

I guess I became a Kirby Puckett fan that day, and gained even more admiration for him in the years to come, particularly the following season when he led the surprising Twins to a World Series title over the St. Louis Cardinals. Four years later, he hit an electric game-winning home run in extra innings in World Series game six against the Atlanta Braves, a victory that allowed Minnesota to pull even in the Fall Classic and set the stage for the game-seven clincher the next night.

Puckett was beloved in the Twin Cities, not only for his baseball heroics but also because of his philanthropic efforts, his happy-go-lucky manner, and the fact that he made his home there year-round. He married a local girl, raised a couple of kids with his wife, Tonya, and ultimately became the highest-paid baseball player in the land by 1989. In 1992, Puckett became a free agent, and Minnesota fans reportedly did not begrudge him the money, as a remarkable 81 percent of those polled told Twins management to pay him whatever his asking price was. Despite a brief courtship with the Red Sox and a couple of other teams, Puckett ultimately did re-sign with Minnesota, even accepting a "hometown discount" to remain with the team.

While Puckett never again led the Twins to the World Series, he did collect more hits in his first 10 seasons than any other ballplayer in the 20th century, won six Gold Gloves, 10 All-Star berths, a Branch Rickey and Roberto Clemente award for community contributions outside of the game, and a career average of .318 through the ’95 season.

Everything changed on the morning of March 28, 1996, when he woke up for another day of spring training unable to see properly. It was later diagnosed as glaucoma, and Kirby Puckett hasn't played another major-league baseball game since that day.

It was a sad day for baseball fans everywhere when Puckett had to hang ’em up prematurely, particularly for fans in the Twin Cities, who had embraced him like no other athlete before or after. Puckett himself handled things with grace and dignity, though, acknowledging the bad luck but admitting how grateful he was for the 12 great seasons (including the two championship years) with which he had been blessed. And five years later, in his first year of eligibility, Kirby Puckett was elected to Baseball’s Hall of Fame, getting enshrined in August of 2001 as his wife and children watched.

Happy ending to a sad story, no?

Unfortunately for Kirby Puckett, the fairy tale is over, and the image he worked for years to cultivate and uphold has been shattered by accusations of marital infidelity, domestic violence, and, most recently, sexual-assault charges, an accusation that he will face in a Minneapolis courtroom on March 24th.

While being idolized by millions of baseball fans throughout his career, Puckett was reportedly living a double life. Esteemed writer Frank Deford writes about Puckett’s downfall in this week’s edition of Sports Illustrated, and the details of the former Twin’s deceptions are mind-boggling. According to Deford, prior to and during the course of Puckett’s 16-year marriage, he was carrying on an affair with a woman named Laura Nygren, and had additional flings with many, many others. In addition to rekindling the relationship with Nygren just seven weeks after his 1986 wedding to Tonya, Puckett was later accused by his mistress of fathering her son, who is now 15.

Many athletes carry on affairs and have not been seriously damaged in the public eye, with Michael Jordan and Magic Johnson being two of the most notorious. But for Puckett, SI reports, it was much worse. Puckett was cheating not only on his wife, but on his mistress on a regular basis as well, and was also being cited for violence in the home. The article quotes Tonya Puckett accusing her husband of attempting to strangle her with a telephone cord, of locking her in a basement, of holding a gun to her head in a threatening manner, and of using a chain saw to cut through a door when she tried to lock herself in a family bathroom. His supposed mistress, Nygren, alleges that Puckett would urinate in broad daylight in public parking lots, would ask her to have sex in public places and in his office at the team’s Metrodome offices, and would speak disdainfully of visiting hospitalized kids (Nygren claimed she once said, "That’s great, you get to make that kid’s day. That must make you feel good," but Puckett allegedly responded, "I don’t give a s — . It’s just another kid who’s sick.").

Granted, these are all tabloid accusations and are coming from scorned women, but the latest and most serious of Puckett’s troubles occurred last fall. According to police reports, Puckett visited an Eden Prairie, Minnesota, watering hole on the night of September 5, 2002, with a cop friend of his. Witnesses say that at around 12:30 a.m. Puckett grabbed a woman who was standing near the restrooms and dragged her into the men’s room, where he allegedly forced her into a stall and fondled her. Only when a friend of the woman screamed into the bathroom did he allegedly halt his advances. Nonetheless, Puckett was arraigned and charged with false imprisonment, which is a felony, and a misdemeanor fifth-degree criminal sexual-assault charge — accusations that he will defend on March 24. He faces up to a year in the Big House, along with probable fines and community service, if he is found guilty.

Hero worship is a dicey thing, and fans throughout the world are guilty of holding their athletes in such high regard that it is difficult for anyone — much less wealthy athletes who are coddled from an early age and subject to temptation at every turn — to live up to these lofty expectations. Many athletes, notably former NBA star Charles Barkley, sniff at the notion that they should be held up as role models, and he is right. Sports superstars are not the ones who should be the ones providing guidance, parents should, and for kids who idolize distant athletes, it’s Mom and Dad who should be held to a higher standard. And while surly sports personalities like Barry Bonds are often criticized for their lack of manners to the media who cover them, no one has ever criticized Bonds as a family man, and that is where is responsibilities are most important. He is not there to raise your kids, he’s responsible for raising his own kids, and he seems to be doing a pretty good job at it. And that’s all that should count.

Nonetheless, Kirby Puckett, who was loved by millions for his on-field and off-field endeavors, has without a doubt let a lot of people down. It is apparent from the SI article that he cared little about the kids whose days in the hospital he brightened; he cared little about the woman that he married, or even the woman with whom he cheated; he cared little about all the good he was doing in the small world of the Twin Cities and the bigger world beyond. Fans shouldn’t have held him up to a higher standard, but they did, and he reveled in it, and by that affirmation he acknowledged that he was a figure worth emulating.

Now we evidently know the truth. If what is written is true, we are now seeing that this fine young former ballplayer was in truth a bully, a cheat, a liar, a fraud, a man who would menace a woman with a gun or with threatening words, and perhaps even a convicted felon. This from a man that all of America once rooted for.

Today is Kirby Puckett’s 42nd birthday. For a man who once seemingly had it all, this is unlikely to be a happy birthday for the athlete inducted into the World Sports Humanitarian Hall of Fame just two years ago.

For the rest of us who thought we knew the Kirby Puckett he put forth every day, and thought the world a better place with him in it, it’s a most unhappy day.

Sporting Eye runs Mondays and Fridays at BostonPhoenix.com, and Christopher Young can be reached at cyoung[a]phx.com