You probably don’t know Jose Lima. I don’t really know him, either.
Lima is a professional baseball player. Ten years ago, he started with Detroit and in 1997, he moved to the Houston Astros. After five big-league seasons, he had won nine games (an above-average starting pitcher can easily win 10 games in a single year).
Then in 1998 and 1999, something happened: Lima went from washout to superstar, winning 37 games for the Astros.
But in 2000, Lima was a washout again: He won seven games and lost 16, and the Astros gave up on him. He returned to Detroit in 2001 and was on the way to another horrible season when I first saw him at a Texas Rangers baseball game.
Those few of you who attend Rangers baseball games, or any professional sporting events for that matter, know how difficult it can be to obtain a player’s autograph. Most players, even the mediocre ones, spend their time before and after a game as far away from fans as they can get.
To a certain extent, the players’ attitude is understandable, because some of the fans border on the obsessive. But to many young people (and a few older ones, too), personally obtaining a professional athlete’s autograph is a once-in-a-lifetime treasure.
Yet two years ago, in the midst of that disappointing, humbling point in his career, Lima happily plopped down next to the stands and began signing autographs. Soon, so many people swarmed around him, it looked as though the less-autography-savvy among us at the end of the crowd would never see the beginning of it.
But for more than 30 minutes, Lima cheerfully signed everything put in front of him: gloves, balls, game programs, napkins, checkbook covers, T-shirts, even a hot dog wrapper. Finally, he said “hello” to my son and signed his baseball. And when the last person in the line was satisfied, Lima stood up and walked away.
Lima’s career took an even worse turn the following two years. At the beginning of this season, he wasn’t considered good enough to play for any major league baseball team.
But in June, the Kansas City Royals brought Lima back for one more chance. So far, he’s winning games again.
And when the Royals were in Arlington the other night, the Jose Lima I remembered was there, too. Lima sought out people in the crowd, laughing and talking with them, occasionally tossing them a major league baseball, including one that wound up in my son’s baseball glove.
And once again, Lima began signing autographs. Thirty minutes later, the crowd was gone, and then so was Lima, looking like a guy just happy to be there.
Like I said before, I don’t know Jose Lima. But I like what I know of him.
