From SoSH: Re: 10-20-04 Sox make history (Pt.4)

It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.

1. “If man is 5, if man is 5, if man is 5, if man is 5. Then the devil is 6, then the devil is 6 then the devil is 6 then the devil is 6. And if the devil is 6, THEN GOD IS 7, THEN GOD IS 7, THEN GOD is 7!!!” Surely, the Pixies of Boston must have been anticipating this situation when they wrote those words in “Monkey Gone to Heaven.” In game 5, our Boston Red Sox overcame the limitations of men with their superhuman performance. In game 6, they overcame the 55,000 bloodthirsty devil worshipers in the Bronx. And tonight, in game 7, they have but to embrace the deity, to pursue oneness with God, to seek peace and enlightenment. So give Kevin Youkilis a hug. He is the only god in the stadium and he is on our side…in fact, he’s under contract.

More on last night: Jose loved the sight of NYPD Blue manning the field after the Yankees fans went mad with rage over MLB Blue’s decision to make two correct calls.

“How dare they judge us fairly?” thought the Yankee partisans. “Are we not still the New York Yankees? Why should we suddenly be subject to the rules of the game? If we wish to strike a pitcher than we shall. If we think the oppositions should play with only five fielders is it not our divine right? The slap was but a just and righteous punishment for interfering with his social betters.”

The conventional explanation of the police in riot gear is that they were there to protect players and umpires from the whims of an animalistic and potentialy violent crowd. That is a lie. The constabulary in riot shields, armed with nightsticks and nine millimeter handguns had not come to protect the Red Sox from the fans. Why would they need to? Twenty-five Red Sox are men enough to whoop the entire city of New York if needs be. No, they fuzz was there to protect the Yankees from the Red Sox. Why? Because only the force of arms, only the full and fearsome power of the state could even hope to deter the Red Sox colossus.

Yes, Gary Sheffield was right when he called the Sox a “walking disaster.” The Red Sox are a volcano erupting with fury, liquidating all that stands before them. The Red Sox are a hurricane, battering and brutalizing the Yankees, pausing for a moment before the onslaught begins anew. The Red Sox are a tidal wave, washing away everything in their path. The Red Sox are a meteor strike, coming out of nowhere to lay waste to the land.

In fairness, the Yankees are a disaster to—they are a tornado. They emit a lot of wind, but in the end they mostly just suck.

2. At this point it appears that a certain DLowe the Paranoid Android will be starting game 7 for the Red Sox. One imagines that the Yankees sluggers must be rubbing their hands together with glee in anticipation of DLowe’s seemingly inevitable short circuit. This is good. Jose loves surprises.

You see, there’s a funny thing about robots—they change. With human beings, what you see is what you get. To quote legendary boxing trainer Cus D’Amato by way of Ron Borges, “A man born round don’t die square.” Kevin Brown will always be Kevin Brown. He came out of that goat a yokel with a tendency towards implosion, and he’ll die a yokel with a tendency towards implosion. ARod will always be ARod, a scared little girl who would be happier brushing her hair and looking in the mirror, than contributing to here team. And Jason Giambi will always be Jason Giambi. No, wait. He completely changed who he was with chemicals. Bad example. So let’s substitute this one. Gary Sheffield will always be…no…he doesn’t work either. One more. Tanyon Sturze will always be Tanyon Sturze, the shame of Worcester, a natural born Devil Ray who expects to lose and then ensures that he does.

Robots, by contrast, are never just robots. Robots can be born round and reforged so they are square or rhomboid or whatever. They change; they upgrade. They are deconstructed and rebuilt. What you see is never what you get. When the Yankees go to bat in the bottom of the first tonight, they will be looking for a neurotic little droid; they will have prepared for a neurotic little droid, but they will not find him. Instead, they will find a robot transformed. DLowe will be Megatron, ready to transform into a gun and launch bullets across the corners of the plate. DLowe will be Voltron, ready to combine five other robots into an invincible power. DLowe will be the Iron Giant, a visitor from another world who to quote Sam Melendez “may fall apart but always comes back together.” It is game 7 of the ALCS, and the Yankees feel safe behind their impenetrable Maginot line.

3. Immediately after Keith Foulke’s game ending strike out of Tony “Nice Guy Finishing Last” Clark, Jose made two phone calls. The first was to his brother.

“Sam,” Jose said. “Jose thinks he is going to write about 800 words tomorrow on A-Rod’s mincing, limp-wristed slap that even a ten-year old girl would have been embarrassed to dispense.”

The second call was to Jose’s friend Jamie.

“Jose,” Jamie said. “The best analysis I heard of tonight’s game came from my girlfriend Sara. As soon as they showed the replay of the A-Rod play, she remarked ‘You know, A-Rod runs like Phoebe from friends.” Poof, the 800 words was completely gone. What could Jose say, how many volumes would it take for him to capture the perfection of that characterization? (Note: Maybe A-Rod didn’t know he was doing something wrong? Maybe he just thought that slapping is what “slap hitters do.”)

I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.