Saving Souls, Saving Games

Buy the KEYS 2006 Book Or Anger J.C. Romero

It’s time for Jose Melednez’s KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.

1. Lets’ talk about God. Lots of other people are talking about him/her/it these days. Yes, with wars of religion on the rise, with madmen claiming to know the word of God and taking lives, there is more and more discussion of the nature of the big G. Sadly, there is still little review of the question circuitously raise by XTC in the song Dear God—What is God’s impact on the price of beer. Instead the question posed far more often is whether, with so much evil being done in the name of the Deity, so much violence, so much intolerance, is God even worth having?

The answer is yes. See, theology is easy.

The problem is not that there is a God, rather it is that we simply haven’t found the right God yet, a chill, down to Earth God to whom we can relate. (Note: Sacrilege ahead.) Yahweh is too vengeful, Vishnu is too much like Dr. Octopus, Jesus is too skinny, Buddha is too fat (note: and too not technically a God), Thor’s comic book is too boring, the Scientology God is too vague and too silly, and Allah is… well Jose has nothing bad to say about Allah, and Jobu is too weak against the curveball.

Yet despite their weaknesses, all of these God’s have great strengths as well. The solution to the God problem is to combine them, to create sort of Frankenstein’s monster of a God, combining the best aspects of other gods and reanimated from the death proclaimed by Nietzsche.

After carefully weighing all of the gods out there, Jose has concluded that the best possible God would be a human man walking the Earth among us who merged the infinite love, grace and forgiveness of Jesus Christ with the competent utility play, and gentle, non-threatening bat of Ed Romero. Thus, the right God for the post modern world, the best God, if you will, is new Red Sox reliever J.C. Romero.

Rather than hanging from a cross like the old J.C., the new J.C. will be hanging curveballs, which while still painful, we can all agree, is a marginal improvement. Progress!

As for the credible infield play, J.C. Romero is a pitcher, so it is not quite the same, but let’s be honest, the name brand matters and J.C. Romero’s got it. Like you wouldn’t worship Charlie Zeus or seek wisdom in the teachings of Jimmy Buddha? (Note: Apologies to Father Guido Sarducci for sort of imitating his legendary “Billy Christ” bit.)

Yes, we have our new savior in J.C. Romero, and Jose, for one, looks forward to watching him end wars and save souls, if not end games and save wins.


See, you didn't buy the book, and now he's pissed.

2. Jose loves unwrapping presents, and nearly without exception, Jose is able to be gracious and show enthusiasm upon opening even the most absurd, kitschy and useless of gifts. But some gifts, even the magnanimous Jose could not abide. For a few, he could not muster a forced smile or cock his head towards the light to contrive a twinkle in his eye.

One such gift was advertised in the Boston Globe this morning. Imagine waking up on Christmas morning, slinking into a robe, shuffling into a pair of slippers and thumping down the stairs to sit before a Christmas tree, fragrant and blinking. You unstuff your stocking, finding delights one after another among whimsical little do-dads and sweet Christmas chocolate, perhaps even with a nip of brandy hidden for later. Your stocking empty, you move on to the gifts. Your mother opens a waffle iron, your father also opens a waffle iron, and your wife opens something shiny. Perhaps you even have children, in which case this all happens five hours earlier. Then it is your turn. Your wife, your loving, loyal, affectionate wife hands you a box. You peel off the paper, crinkling the delicate snowflakes that decorate it, and tear back the tissue paper to reveal—a Boston Dirt Dogs long sleeve t-shirt as seen in the Boston Globe.

“Don’t you love it?” a voice asks. You don’t know whose it is; you don’t want to know. “I know you love the Red Sox, and I heard this is the best Red Sox blog, so I thought it would be perfect.”

And your smile wilts into a frown. You choke back the tears and clamp down on your tongue drawing salty Christmas blood.

You were ready for disappointment. You really were. You could have lived with a vintage Carl Everett jersey, a framed copy of the Margot Adams Penthouse spread or even an album of standards recorded by Michelle Damon.

But Dirt Dogs gear? It is the lump of coal, the cold carbon reminder that you are wicked and sinful.

And then, suddenly, the Calvinist impulses take over, you remember that you are sinful, you are fallen.

You recall that really, all self-delusion aside, you are a borderline racist who is prone to boasting and fabrication and who loves Trot Nixon completely out of proportion to his OPS, and quickly but oh so surely, the Dirt Dogs shirt starts to seem like an awfully good gift.

3. Who the hell does Jimmy Carter think he is?

What in the name of J.C. Romero gives him the right to rip off Jose? Sure, he was President, but only for like one term. That’s only one term more than Jose. And Jose doesn’t go to bed every night with nightmares of stagflation.

And yet Carter goes ahead and writes an op-ed about his new book Palestine: Peace not Apartheid in today’s Boston Globe called “Reiterating the keys to peace”.

Carter will probably hide behind the old “I didn’t write the headline” excuse, but come on, that’s like refusing to blame Grady Little for Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS just because he didn’t pitch, catch or hit. Both Carter and Little created the context for bad things, and thus are responsible.

So let’s make a deal Mr. Carter. You stop ripping off Jose, and Jose will pull publication of his new book Pal ‘a’ Stein: Peace not Apartheid, a story of the interracial collaboration between George Steinbrenner and Yankee GM Bob Watson that brought the Yankees back to the top, before Watson got sick of George and left for a cushy MLB job giving disproportionate suspensions to Red Sox players.

I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.