I feel sad when one of our ex-mates nears his last act. And it sure looks like the final Jose Veras Time.
I always questioned his age. He sure didn't look 30. He sweated like 50. No lead was safe. And yet... the guy had "stuff."
Remember that Angels game when he and Edwar Ramirez teamed up to surrender about 10 runs, before recording one out? That was the stuff of genius.
Remember how he always... always... walked the leadoff batter? Legend!
Let's turn the Wayback to June 10...
IT'S JOSE VERAS TIME
When all our pitching turns to slime,
When every fielder’s lodged some crime,
Our deficit’s too tall to climb,
We shout, “It’s Jose Veras time!”
When everybody's past his prime,
Our chances, they’re not worth a dime.
That’s when Girardi’s voice will chime,
“All right, it’s Jose Veras time!”
The Yankee death knell creeps, sublime,
Our tortured souls interred with grime,
It even sucks to write this rhyme,
When trapped in Jose Veras time.
Farewell, old bean.
He did sweat like he was 50. Excellent observation. (Nice poem too.)
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