Kyle: He Lives to Play

They would make demands. They wouldn't be great examples for our youth. If you asked them for autographs, they would brush you off.

In other words, they would act like our modern-day professional ball players.

Not Kyle Magnusson.

Maybe, it's his Minot, North Dakota background.

Magnusson shies away from the bright lights. He is happy just playing ball in an empty practice field.

He is the first one to practice and the last one to leave. For him to miss batting practice is like committing a moral sin. If you'd ask him, he would pass out the towels. Or fix his teammates' gloves.

His motor is always running. He plays the game like he trying to make the team, not lead it. But at the sametime, he's so quiet that his teammates ask, "Where's Kyle?."

He lives to play.

All he does is hit for a .346 lifetime average, and cross the plate for nearly 90 runs a season.

At first glance, you'd think he was a human bowling-ball. Magnusson is five-foot-nothing, and weights 200-plus. You'd wonder if he rolls to his second base position.

But no one call measure his heart. No one can measure his greatness. No one can measure what he means to the Larry H. Miller Toyota's fastpitch team.

Still, when you talk in those terms, he'll just shrug and mutter, "that's all flattering. But I don't need it."

So, enough of that talk. Magnusson doesn't live for any individual honors. Nor does he care to be recognized as one of the game's stars. He has been ISC All-World, and ASA All-American in his five years with Miller Toyota.

He lives to play.

This North Dokota native is softball's answer to a gym rat. He's the guy you have to chase off the field every day. He can't get enough of the game. When he isn't busy practicing, he's talking the game with his roommates and teammates -- Chip Ehlers and Dwayne Dyck.

Although, Kyle holds a college degree in business, nothing else has a chance. He's a softball junkie. He was born to play the game. He eats, drinks, and sleeps the game.

He is truly enamored with the game. It's not work for him. It's fun.

His appetite for the game is to be the best. And he has a voracious appetite for the game. That's an important trait to have.

If he doesn't get a hit, move a base runner, or just help his teammates win, you'll find him talking to himself. He isn't perfect. He is no angel. He is driven to succeed. And sometimes when his team doesn't win, he takes it personal. He hates to lose. But who doesn't?

Still, he doesn't create waves.

He lives to play.

He is dependable. He's polite to everyone. He is so consistant with his play, he's often taken for granted like the U. S. mail. You only notice it when it's not there.

He thinks a date is having a beer and chicken wings with the guys. Quietly.

In 1996, Kyle played the game so much shoulder pain, it would make grown men cringe. He could hardly lift his shoulder to hit or field. But he managed. He didn't want to let his teammates down. His batting average dropped to around .300. But he'd probably do that blindfolded.

Really, he doesn't care about his batting. He wants to count pennants. And the ISC World Tournament championship has eluted Miller Toyota since its inception, 1979. Of course, in 1995, the club came within an
inch or whisker with one huge swing off a Brandon Burt bat.

But it wasn't to be.

Magnusson and his teammates are still working towards that goal.

Because you guessed it, he lives to play.

Editor's Note:
DAN PATTISON has been a sports writer and columnist for over 30 years with The Deseret News, Salt Lake Tribune, Las Vegas Sun, The Sporting News, Basketball Times & USA Today.  He is currently enjoying his association with men's major fastpitch and as an ISC Commissioner.