FIFTY THOUSAND MOONS
Friday, November 2, 2012
Posted by el duque at 7:18 AM
You'd think a flake like Perez would end up in jail or rehab. Remember his nickname? "1-285?" It came after he missed a start because he couldn't figure out how to get off the the I-285 interstate around Atlanta. Remember the cocaine busts? (Ohhh, the eighties!) Or how he checked runners at first by looking between his legs? Or his eephus pitch? All that jewelry? The gold tooth? How George touted him at first, then wanted to kill him when he failed the spring training urine test? After the Yankees, he pitched in China. China!
In some ways, he was dead to the Yankiverse before this week. He was never going to jog out in an old-timers game. He was never going to have a Yankeeography. He was just another ex-star who served out his final days in pinstripes, searching for a glimmer of the talent he pissed away. There's a boatload of them. But damn, th was only 55, and that's too young. And nobody should die, shot in his home, for a pension check.
Listen: I have a soft spot for old Yankees. I don't care how bad they were in 1988, as long as they don't cost the taxpayers $100 million, after lecturing us all about the need to cut government spending. Rest in Peace, Pascal. I can't help but think right now, he's checking out old George, waving to him, bent over like Gumby and peering through his legs.