Lima’s Time
Posted: May 23rd, 2010 | Filed under: Baseball, Essays | 69 Comments »
The image of Jose Lima that will stick with me forever comes from the Kansas City Royals clubhouse in the moments after he had pitched a beautiful baseball game. Lima had gone nine innings, allowed just five hits and one run to the Detroit Tigers. He had tipped his cap to the crowd as he exited the field. As he sat in front of his locker, he had this big grin on his face and this big cigar between his fingers — a cigar he had just pulled out of his humidor. It was the look of a man contented. Alexander wasn’t this happy when he conquered the Persian Empire. Matthew Webb wasn’t this triumphant when he swam across the English Channel.
To complete the image, though, there are three other things you should know.
1. Lima and the Royals had lost the game 1-0.
2. The loss was the 15th in a row for the Royals.
3. Lima was having perhaps the worst pitching season in baseball history.
Well, if you are the type, you may draw certain conclusions here. You may draw certain and logical conclusions about a man who would contentedly smoke a cigar and feel proud of himself with his team in the midst of a historic losing streak … but conclusions were never easy with Jose Lima. And conclusions were never the point. There was nobody quite like him.
After all, if you are the type to draw conclusions, you would think that Lima was talking to himself on the mound throughout his up and down and always staggering baseball career. After all: There he was on the field, muttering, shouting, stomping, threatening, laughing, singing. You could see him do it. And no one else was around him. He had to be talking to himself. But, he would say, no. He was not talking to himself. He explained that he was talking to a little Jose Lima, a miniature version of himself, a mini-me, who traveled with him everywhere. When Big Jose pitched badly, he yelled angry words at Little Jose Lima. And when Big Jose pitched well, he reminded Little Jose Lima that he was the greatest pitcher in the whole wide world.
“Does Little Jose ever talk back?” we asked him because there were not many things in sports more fun than getting Jose Lima talking.
“Sometimes,” Big Jose told us. “Sometimes he tells me that if I don’t quiet down and pay attention this next guy might hit a home run off me.”
“And what do you say?”
“I say: I’ll handle the pitching around here, man.”
Draw conclusions about Jose Lima? You would be more likely to figure out the secrets of the wind. He did not want to become a baseball player, you know. He grew up poor in the Dominican Republic, the son of a hard-working baseball player … and unlike more or less every boy he knew, Lima did not dream of baseball. He wanted, instead, to become a star. He started singing in night clubs when he was 11. At 13, at a huge festival in the Dominican, he belted out a song from the Opera “Magdalena,” and won something like “Dominican Idol.” No, he did not want baseball. He did not want to share applause with teammates. He wanted the stage to himself.
It was his father, Francisco Rodriguez, who pleaded with Jose to try baseball. “You have a gift for pitching,” the father said to the son. Lima’s gift, unlike most young pitchers, was not a high-speed fastball or a dazzling slider but, instead, a change-up that took longer to reach the plate that hitters expected. Lima idolized his father. So he pitched. At 16, he signed with the Detroit Tigers. At 21, he made his first start in the big leagues against Kansas City. The sixth batter he faced, Gary Gaetti, mashed a long three-run home run to left field. The seventh batter he faced, Dave Henderson, hit one even longer.
And it went that way for a while … Lima never did anything halfway. His first four seasons in the big leagues, he was 9-22 with a 5.92 ERA. He showed an early knack for giving up the home run — when he threw a hanging change-up, the ball would dangle in the air long enough to pose for pictures.
Still, despite all available evidence, he seemed entirely convinced that he was the best pitcher in the whole wide world — just like he told Mini Jose. He was a star. He was just waiting for the rest of the world to find out. And then, suddenly, instantly, the world did find out. That was 1998, when he went 16-8, walked just 32 batters in 233 innings and helped Houston win 102 games, still the most in team history. He was even better in 1999. Lima was chosen for the All-Star team, he finished fourth in the Cy Young voting, he won 21 games, he had a 187-44 strikeout to walk ratio … and he made hitters look silly, and he made batters despise him. He danced on the mound. He sang out loud. He celebrated himself. And he announced to hitters, “If you don’t like it, hit the ball out. Then you can dance around the bases.”
Well, he had not come to the Major Leagues to blend in. He called himself “Lima Time.” Or maybe it was his act that he called “Lima Time.” Or, perhaps, the whole era was “Lima Time.”
Whatever, the keeper of Lima Time could not be ordinary.
“I’m not trying to make anybody else feel bad,” he would say. “I’m only trying to make myself feel good.”
Lima’s pitching magic disappeared just as suddenly. In 2000, he had one of the worst seasons a starting pitcher has ever had. He allowed 145 runs — most in the last 30 years.* He allowed 48 home runs, which is the most ever by a National League pitcher. He went 7-16 with a 6.68 ERA.
*Pedro Astacio also allowed 145 runs — that was in 1998 — but he pitched more innings and pitched half his games in Coors Field when that was one of the most extreme hitters parks in baseball history.
The most amazing part of that season: It was not Jose Lima’s worst as a pitcher. That would come a few years later. But it was certainly Lima’s hardest. He found out early in the season that his father was dying of throat cancer. He also figured out that many people were taking great joy at his baseball failings … they did not take his antics in the spirit of fun. They thought he was trying to show people up and embarrass them.
“I can tell you this with all my heart,” he would tell me once. “I never wanted to hurt anybody in my whole life. I just wanted to make people feel good.”
“Do you blame people for not liking you?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “They should see my heart.”
Lima could not get his baseball powers back. He had some arm problems, like pitchers do. His change-up and fastball began to look an awful lot alike. He went back to Detroit and watched hitters crush his pitches again and then he was released, and it looked like he would never pitch in the big leagues again. He went to pitch some Independent League baseball because, as he said, you never know when a miracle might happen.
And … a miracle happened. In 2003, the Kansas City Royals signed him. You would not expect the words “Kansas City Royals” and “miracle” to appear in the same paragraph, but, hey, that was an odd year in Kansas City. The Royals had gotten off to this crazy start — they were 16-3 after 19 games — and their young manager Tony Pena had players believing in the impossible (the players even wore these Pena-designed T-shirts that said “Nosotros Creemos” — “We Believe”). This sort of illogical luck hovered around that team.
And then, absurdly, they signed Lima. It was absurd because they did not even scout him. They did not see him pitch even once. No, the Royals grand old scout Art Stewart had heard through his inexhaustible grapevine that Lima was throwing a decent fastball for a club in Newark. The problem with Lima — the Royals had decided — was that he had lost his fastball, which made his change-up all but worthless. But if he had regained his fastball …
“What do we have to lose?” Stewart asked Royals general manager Allard Baird. The words “our dignity” hovered in the air.
But it was a desperate time — the Royals had given back their hot start, they were about to fall out of the race, and their starting pitchers kept getting hurt. They didn’t have time to go see Lima for themselves. They just signed him and planned to throw him in Class AAA as insurance. Only, it didn’t work out that way. The Royals’ Sunday starter got hurt. So, without even making a single minor league start, Jose Lima returned to the big leagues. He threw six competitive innings, allowed four runs. And the Royals won.
Next time out, Lima pitched a little better — 5 1/3 innings and two runs. And the Royals won. The next time out, he pitched seven innings. And the Royals won again.
It was insane. He beat Cleveland the next time out. He beat Detroit the time after that. He threw seven shutout innings and beat Texas. He beat Seattle with a gutsy effort. He threw five shutout innings and won in Detroit. He was 7-0 with a 2.17 ERA. And the Kansas City Royals were all alone in first place in late July.
Miracles. Lima was trying harder not to show up hitters. He seemed a bit more aware of how people viewed him. But, yes, it was still Lima Time, he was still Lima Time, and he could not help that. He danced and sang and said the craziest things. His teammates absolutely loved him and were entirely annoyed by him in equal measure. Reporters hovered around him because he was always good for something.
“I’m going to enjoy every minute,” he said. “I know how quickly it can be taken away.”
Yes, well, as if on cue he pitched poorly the rest of the year. But he was able to sign on with the Los Angeles Dodgers, and he won 13 games, and he threw a five-hit shutout against the Cardinals in the League Division Series — that was the only game the Dodgers won. That game — and the brief burst of inspiration he had brought to a stagnant franchise — sparked the Royals to bring Lima back to Kansas City for an incentive-laden deal. By then, though, the magic had been drained from the Royals and from Lima. The entire league hit an almost impossible to believe .314 against him. With two outs and runners in scoring position, the league hit .446.
It might be the worst season ever for a starting pitcher — he went 5-16 with a 6.99 ERA. It is … well, you probably need to see a chart to appreciate the full gravity of the Lima career. Here are the five worst ERA for pitchers who made more than 25 starts in a season:
1. Jose Lima (30 starts), 2005: 6.99.
2. LaTroy Hawkins (33 starts), 1999: 6.66
3. Jose Lima (33 starts), 2000: 6.65
4. Darryl Kile (32 starts), 1999: 6.61
5. Eric Milton (34 starts), 2005: 6.47.
At some point during that 2005 season — like he had before — Lima called himself the worst pitcher on earth. He had been the best and worst, all in the same career. Well, like Frank Sinatra, Lima had an over-acute capacity for winning … and losing. He finished out his baseball career with four losses for the New York Mets in 2006.
A friend of mine said that he saw Lima in the Dominican Republic once after that. It was in December, a non-baseball month, and he and Lima pulled into a parking lot at the same time. Lima stepped out of the car … and he had a complete Kansas City Royals uniform on. The complete uniform — jersey, pants, socks, hat, the whole thing. My friend asked Lima where he was going … Lima said he nowhere special. He was just reliving good times. There’s an old ballplayers line about how you don’t give up the jersey until they tear it off your body. Lima, being Lima, wore his even longer.
Word passed around on Sunday that Jose Lima died of a massive heart attack. He was not yet 38 years old. They had a moment of silence for him at the stadium in Kansas City, before the Royals-Rockies game, though I’m not sure that in this case that was quite right. It probably should have been a moment of music — Lima never cared for silence. They could struck up a mambo band — maybe played one of his most popular lyrics as relayed by Sports Illustrated’s Kostya Kennedy: “Parate a batear que te voy a limar.”
Step up to the plate. I’m going to strike you out.
And I thought about that image of Jose Lima, smoking his cigar, smiling happily, telling stories, all in the aftermath of his own loss and the Royals’ 15th straight loss. Over time, most of the people around baseball came to understand that Jose Lima was just having fun. That’s all. Baseball was fun. Life was fun. As he would say to friends and strangers and kids who wanted autographs: “What time is it?” The correct answer was “Lima Time.”
Even if you lost, it was still Lima Time.
“Man, if I see a guy with his head down, I know I’ve got him,” he told me that day in the clubhouse. “We can’t put our heads down. We can hurt, man. But we’ve got to hurt on the inside.”
In my memory, then, he took one more puff of his cigar and blew out the smoke and smiled. In show biz, they say, “The show must go on.” In the clubhouse, Lima said: “That’s what baseball is, man. You hurt on the inside. On the outside, we’ve got to win some games.”
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Great article, Joe. Was very sad to hear the news today. Everyone should pour out some Jose Cuervo in his honor.
Wow, great memories from “Lima Time” in KC. Feels like much longer than 7 years ago. RIP Jose.
A beautiful tribute.
Lime Time, forever.
What a lovely elegy. I never appreciated Lima while he was around, and now I realize the loss was mine.
Jose Lima had the 6th worst ERA+ of any pitcher with 160 innings in a season with 63 in 2005.
The top 5 all came in the Deadball era with the top being a 53 from Rube Bressler in 1915.
Only two pitchers have had ERA+ at 65 or lower and 160+ innings since World War II, Lima and Jack Lamabe in 1964.
A season for the books.
I was in high school during that 2003 season. Lima and that team really re-energized me and made me fall in love the Royals. He was so much fun to watch. He had such a great outlook on life, a true inspiration to us all.
Joe,
Absolutely brilliant tribute to Jose Lima- honest and moving, well done.
Lima Time! I love the full uniform-in-the-offseason story. And he must have signed more autographs than any player in the last 20 years.
The Astros went from the cavernous Astrodome in ’99 to Enron Field in 2000 … which no doubt accounted for some of Jose’s problems. But that is quite the downfall.
Great and beautiful tribute. Well written as usual you do it best Joe.
RIP Lima Time, you had a fun spirit you would share with fans. Just think a couple of nights ago in Dodger stadium they gave you an applause and you smiled so brightly. Signed autographs for waiting fans who were happy to see you. May 21, 2010. Your smile was so bright and happy. Never did anyone think it would be the last time we saw that smile.
Loved me some Lima Time. Great post, Joe. RIP Jose.
Living in Houston, I remmber when Lima Time meant one of the top pitchers in the league. And then all of a sudden, Lima Time meant one of the worst, done in by the Crawford Boxes. But he always seemed like a good guy, whether he was an All Star or getting hammered. He will be missed.
RIP Jose. I remember the summer of 05 seeing him pitch, it wasn’t a good game, saturday afternoon, 4 or 5 innings and back to back bombers that gave the other team I believe 8 runs, 8-4, after we had just tied it up 4-4. He came out and the crowd was booing. He was extremely upset and tipped his cap on his way into the dugout. We were sitting three rows back from it and I saw tears streaming down his face. It upset me that he was being booed as well. He did his best and I think he always went out there trying. Just hope he went peacefully, was very sad to hear he passed away
I loved the part about him wearing the Royals uniform, saying he was just reliving good times. It got to me because that year was so special in Kansas City, even though the Royals fell short of the post season.
I remember being at Lima’s first start in KC. We were watching batting practice, and I did a double-take on the scoreboard because of what the pitching matchup said.
I was thinking, ‘is that THE Jose Lima’?
And he really was the spark the Royals needed that season. We had just fallen below .500 after the hot start. I remember we beat the Giants that day on a Mike Sweeney two-run double in the bottom of the ninth. Before we knew it, it was the All-Star break, and the Royals had a seven game lead in the AL Central.
He will be missed.
Check out my blog on the Royals here.
Among players who qualified for the ERA title, Lima had the fifth worst (2005) and eighth worst (2000) ERAs in history. The worst was a fellow named Les Sweetland, who Joe has blogged about before, who posted a 7.71 in 1930.
I was 13/14 during that magical Royals season. It brought me back in to being a baseball fan and I was lucky enough to see Lima Time pitch one of his best games for us, that was a hell of a time to be a Royals fan. Lima made that season fun, he made baseball seem fun then. Even when we lost he still had that energy and drive. I was sad he wasn’t resigned by the team during that offseason, before I had the baseball knowledge I have now. Lima will be missed. That story about him reliving the good times made that thing in my chest ache just a slight bit. We all had some good times then.
Great, article as usual though except for this. As good of guy as Jose Lima must of been. If you are going to compare Frank Sinatra with a baseball player it ought to be Joe Dimagio or Stan Musial or somebody. Not Jose Lima.
Perfectly written. Well said.
“…wearing a full Kansas City Royals uniform….”
That made me really laugh.
As a Dodger fan, this is the game I remember:
http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/LAN/LAN200410090.shtml
He was not letting the Dodgers get swept. They would lose the next game, but I still remember the look in Lima’s eye that night.
Not often, but sometimes, in baseball, statistics be damned! Viva Lima Time!! Thank you Jose for bringing joy and excitement to a Royals team.
During the winter, Jose kept Lima Time alive by attending Houston Rockets games, always sitting in the front row across from the Rockets’ bench. And always wearing such garish clothes, bright orange and red and blue (sometimes with his hair brightly colored, too), that Craig Sager would have been embarrassed to wear them. He’d yell at the refs, and clown with the mascot, and high-five the players, just generally make sure everyone had a good time. RIP, Jose.
He provided anything you could want out of a sportsman. If you love seeing someone win 21 games on sheer guile and desire, he gave you that. If you’re fascinated by the worst statistical seasons ever, he provided a few of those as well. And he danced and sang and swore to himself all the while. The man was truly an entertainer. Lima Time ruled.
Sad. So young. One of my favorite pitchers.
My lasting memory of him is when he popped out the champagne after the Royals ended that long losing streak in 05′. That was hilarious. He will be missed.
[...] in peace, Jose Lima, who checked in with a few of us during one of the best summers [...]
“The words “our dignity” hovered in the air.”
Bravo, Joe, bravo!!!
When I heard the news about Lima, I was hoping you’d write something about him, Joe. Thanks for not disappointing and thank you to Mr. Lima for the good times.
I’ve never heard “alimar” for “to strike out”, so I can possibly surmise that he was telling batters he was going to Lima them. Very appropriate for a confident free spirit. RIP.
I will always remember Lima for that crazy 2003 season. I loved going to the ballpark with that stupid Lima Time song he made.
This Presidente Beer is for you Jose… Lima Time will be always remembered.
“Lima’s pitching magic disappeared just as suddenly. In 2000, he had one of the worst seasons a starting pitcher has ever had. He allowed 145 runs — most in the last 30 years*…
*Pedro Astacio also allowed 145 runs — that was in 1998…”
–
Apparently Lima was remarried, and to Pedro Astacio’s ex-wife. I guess giving up a lot of runs didn’t bother her too much…
It’s a treacly song, but Chaplin’s “Smile” could have worked.
Well written Joe, I loved watching Jose pitch and I loved his personality even when times were bad. He was always smiling and trying to cheer his teammates up.. and never told anyone no when asked for an autograph.
Well played life Jose… sit back and smoke one with the greats… You’ll be missed.
Joe, can you do a post on your favorite athletes from the standpoint of a beat writer? From your description, Lima seems like a one-of-a-kind locker room presence, but are there others you would place in a similar category?
Joe, Along the same lines as Travis, if there was a Hall of Fame for quotable athletes, who would you put in it?
What I remember most about Jose Lima was the improbable playoff game he won, when he shut out the Cardinals. He was always his best on the biggest nights in front of the biggest crowds, but that was his pinnacle achievement. He came out of the dugout twice for curtain calls, but what made it even funnier was that nobody was asking for one the second time around. The Dodger crowd, being a Dodger crowd, had stopped cheering, but Lima came out of the dugout again, like a singer doing an encore, to whip up a second round of applause. And after what he had just done, he deserved it.
Ah, Jose Lima. I remember being at the beginning of the end of his streak of success with the Royals. It was August 1, 2003, and I was visiting Kansas City for only the second time since I moved away in 1999. I was excited because the Royals were actually in contention for once, something that never happened since I started following baseball in 1995. And Jose Lima, with his 7-0 and 2.17 ERA, was starting. Of course, it was too good to last. He allowed 5 runs in 2 innings. He got attacked by a line drive. And he left because of an injured groin. And the Royals ended up losing to the Devil Rays 9-6.
Nevertheless, I would never forget the energy that Lima brought to the team as I watched batting practice. RIP, Jose Lima. Hope you and the Devil Rays starter that day (Joe Kennedy) would be pitching against each other in the Great Beyond.
I remember a time when Lima was doing his second stint with the Tigers and they were in Kansas City that Lima, literally, jumped into the stands and started signing autographs. He signed for everyone and talked to anybody who wanted to talk.
What I have always loved about Jose Lima is that you could tell that he loved what he was doing and he wanted everyone else to hav as much fun as he was.
A great loss. More players should realize the joy of playing a game for a living. It may be a business to some, but Lima knew that it was mainly a fun game.
Very well written and very moving. I’m an Astros fan and Lima was always one of my favorites.
Thanks for this.
[...] On Jose Lima by Joe Posnanski [...]
A lovely piece, Joe. Thank you for sharing this. Lima Time will truly go on forever in our memories.
One of the strange parts of growing up in the sports video game generation, if there is such a thing, is that the games have a way of skewing my perception of players. I used to love All-Star Baseball 2001 (based on the 2000 season) for Nintendo64. As I remember it, Jose Lima’s ratings in that game were pretty horrible, probably because he was so terrible in 2000. But for whatever reason, I fell in love with him. No matter which team I controlled, I would always trade for Lima, striking out virtual batters and saying, “It’s always Lima Time” to myself. In 2003, when he was tearing it up for KC and I was in high school, I looked up Lima’s statistics and couldn’t believe he hadn’t been outstanding for his whole career.
[...] Posnanski has written a great article about Jose Lima. I know Jose Lima didn’t have a ton of fans, but you don’t need to be a Lima fan to [...]
I don’t mean this to sound morbid, but I regret that Joe Posnanski won’t be around to write Joe Posnanski’s obituary some day.
I had the chance to spend some time with Lima and everything you’ve been reading on the blogs and in this piece about ‘bigger than life’ and “always smiling,” is absolutely true.
The guy was electric. And no way in hell did he get shortchanged in life. Full speed all the time.
And he was a hell of an entertainer.
[...] mаkе sure tο read Joe Posnanski's appreciation οf Lima. Posnanski captures Lima's magic οn аnԁ οff thе [...]
With Lima with the Royals, I was at the K and sitting through what seemed like a 2 hour rain delay. About an hour into it, there was Jose Lima, sitting on top of the Royals dugout, with his feet in the stands, signing autographs for anyone and everyone. The only Royals player to do that…sit through the rain and sign autographs until the delay was over. Lima Time, Believe it !
The everlasting image of Jose Lima I’ll have is him wearing a rally cap and cheering on his teammates.
[...] hope that when I die Joe Posnanski writes my obit. His piece on Jose Lima is pure gold. Larry Stone dug up one of his old Lima Time [...]
@19 Viva Lima Time, indeed!
Rest well, Mr. Lima, we’re gonna miss you down here.
The thing that stands out most to me about Jose Lima is how much he loved interacting with the fans. I can honestly say I have never seen a guy enjoy himself more in the pre game warmups. I was in the bleachers in St. Louis for that Cards-Dodgers series, and he was laughing with everyone, signing autographs for kids (and adults) and just seemed to be having the time of his life. Many athletes sign the autographs, but not many seem to enjoy it. I don’t blame them, I wouldn’t either. But Lima clearly didn’t view that stuff as just a part of the job. To him, it seemed like a feature not a bug.
[...] of Jose Lima; nobody is better at seamlessly fitting a eulogy into the game action than Scully (Joe Posnanski, Sons of Steve Garvey) var a2a_config = a2a_config || {}; a2a_config.linkname="Links of the Day: [...]
As usual, Joe, great stuff. For me personally, this is a good personal little piece on his magical playoff win in L.A. and the meaning to fans there: http://bit.ly/93uVc3
That playoff game against the Cardinals was one of the most electric evenings in Dodger Stadium history. The crowd just fed off of Lima’s energy and his remarkable performance. This was during the peak of the ‘Game Over’ era with Gagne and I was just sure Tracy would pull Lima after the 8th inning in favor of Gagne. I was hoping against hope that Lima would get a shot at finishing the game. Thankfully Lima was given the chance to finish the game and did so with flair…..and heart.
A few weeks ago I was at Dodger Stadium to see the Dodgers play the Pirates. As we walked through the parking lot we approached a large crowd that had gathered. Camera flashes were going off and there was a jovial spirit among the crowd. As I got closer I noticed that there was some sort of celebrity in the middle of the crowd. It was Lima Time!!! RIP
Beautiful piece, Joe. Lima was one of a kind. My heart goes out to his family.
Great writing, Joe.
Great post, Thanks, Joe.
Lima Time!
Believe it!!
a fitting tribute to the guy who brought color to that magical summer of 2003. i will never forget the headline of the kc star sports page going into the all star break…”Royals sweep Texas, grab BIG central lead”.
Having never seen Lima Time in person, it used to be the radio voice of Jim Rome that would keep folks like me up to date w/Jose Lima and his antics, etc. Now, the Pos obit takes over. I’m saddened to think that a 38 yr old is dead but heartened to think of how much joy that man provided.
Also, I heartily agree with Boog @ #41.
I recall Lima singing the national anthem as a Dodger … and he was accompanied on the field by his “gravity-defying” wife.
Quirky dude … during his prime, one of all-timers in the 10-cent-head-million-dollar-arm category. But certainly on the short list of athletes I’d like to toss back a dozen pints with.
Baseball’s a little less fun without Lima.
Larry Dierker said about him once that if you don’t have Jose Lima’s autograph, you haven’t really tried.
And I heard a story on a sports talk show — wish I could remember the details (or even if it’s really true) — about a High School science class in Houston or Fort Bend ISD. The teacher had taken the day off, and he got Jose Lima to go in and sub for him. They said the kids came in, whispering to each other if that was who they thought it was.
Lima’s postseason career line: 1.080 WHIP, 2.16 ERA, 1 CG and shutout. And they say Jack Morris was a clutch post season pitcher.
[...] the man pitch, back when it was simply a miracle he was still pitching, let alone getting guys out. Joe Posnanski – as usual, just bookmark this guy – eulogizes Lima Time as he should be remembered. My [...]
[...] to get too morbid after referencing that rather dark Cardboard Gods series, but I think this recent piece that followed the death of Jose Lima is a perfect example of why you should read Joe [...]
Barely knew Jose Lima. But your writing’s impressive, Joe. Nice tribute. Sure his and your name will come up in our next Royals outing.
[...] was easy to make fun of his hot-dog bravado in the face of historic incompetence, but ultimately you had to admire the irrepressible joy he took in the game. He made plenty of money but was still willing to go to Edmonton to pitch in the low minors, getting [...]
[...] * Joe Posnanski eulogizes former MLB pitcher Jose Lima. [...]
Found a link about a game of Lima’s I attended that was the shortest MLB game in something like 20 years. Great quote from Lima about being able to get a date after the game.
http://news.google.com/newspapers?nid=110&dat=20020725&id=QJQKAAAAIBAJ&sjid=_UsDAAAAIBAJ&pg=6712,2835357
Republic of Korea for his appearance on the show were the best. Republic of Korea today, the team would have the best left-hander left the shutout victory of the day he was dedicated to Lima
[...] any subject matter, Pos can pen a column that’s pitch-perfect. Just last night, I was reading his excellent homage to Jose Lima, thinking to myself, “Jeez, SB Nation should probably just link every single thing he [...]
[...] Matt Gagne in the Daily News about their old friend. And, echoing Jason’s sentiments, please read Joe Posnanski’s remembrance of Lima Time. That, too, will be time well spent. 3 comments [...]