Not Down on Cocomo

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

1. Cocomo, the dubious centerfield combination of Rococo Crisp and Wily Mo Pena finally got in gear last night with two hits each (note: though Pena was technically playing right), including a monstrous 450 foot blast to center field by Pena. In light of this achievement, Jose though they deserved a musical tribute in the style of The Beach Boys.

‘Gainst Texas, Toronto, get some base hits pronto,

The Angels, Seattle, let’s put up battle,

The night time, the day, baby why don’t we play

Center field?

In between left and right,

There’s some guys called Cocomo,

If they can’t hit, we’re gonna blow,

and will not play in the fall.

Sliders slide away,

For a fastball having to pray,

Because you can’t hit the curve.

Another sad hitting display,

Down goes Kokomo.

‘Gainst Texas, Toronto, get some base hits pronto,

The Angels, Seattle, let’s put up battle,

The night time, the day, baby why don’t we play?

Ooo and in the field that Cocomo,

One guy is fast,

While the other’s slow,

But the fast one cannot throw.

Down goes Cocomo.

Hamate. Finger. Injuries that linger.

Diving for the ball,

Playing caroms off the wall,

Cannot track off the crack of the bat, the defense tends to appall.

Hitting seven or eight,OBP that’s not too great,

That dreamy look while pitches go by,

Is gonna make us cry.

Down goes Cocomo.

‘Gainst Texas, Toronto, get some base hits pronto,

The Angels, Seattle, let’s put up battle,

The night time, the day, baby why don’t we play?

Ooo and in the field that Cocomo,

One guy is fast,

While the other’s slow,

But the fast one cannot throw.

Down goes Cocomo.

Jacoby Ellsbury, get here in a hurry.

Every pitcher knows,

Don’t throw heat to Cocomo,

Breaking stuff is the way to go,

If you must face either one.

Down goes Cocomo.

‘Gainst Texas, Toronto, get some base hits pronto,
The Angels, Seattle, let’s put up battle,
The night time, the day, baby why don’t we play?

Ooo and in the field that Cocomo,
One guy is fast,
While the other’s slow,
But the fast one cannot throw.
Down goes Cocomo.

2. Jose is not sure what to make of last night’s incredibly weird start by Mr. Matsu. The righty absolutely cruised for three innings and then completely fell apart in the fourth after missing a borderline strike three call, a borderline play at first and a borderline error by Julio Lugo. It’s not just that he stopped being able to get people out, it’s that suddenly he turned into Rick Ankiel, skipping balls in like a cricket bowler and sailing pitches high above the catcher.

This alone would be weird, but certainly not unprecedented. Sometimes pitchers are going along fine and then they completely lose it. It happens. What is exceedingly odd, however, is that Mr. Matsu recovered completely in the fifth and sixth setting down all six batters he faced and striking out most of them. Who the hell falls apart and comes back together so quickly?

Jose knew he had heard about something exactly like this before, so he did some research. Was it Tom Seaver? Nope. Fernando Valenzuela? Uh-uh. Perhaps Senator Jim Bunning? Not him either. And then he found it. It’s Captain Marvel. Duh. Jose heard the editors of Gone and Forgotten, one of the links featured on this very page talking about it on This American Life some time ago. Captain Marvel (note: not to be confused with Captain Marvel) was an alien robot sent from his dying planet to preserve peace on Earth who had the power to fall apart by yelling “split”—literally, head legs and feet flopping everywhere-- and then to come back together by yelling “Xam!” Apparently, he draws this power from something called Element X. And here’s the funny thing. Right before he struck out Royce Clayton in the fourth, the first indication that he had gotten himself back together, Jose could swear he heard Mr. Matsu yell “Xam.” Or maybe it was “Bam” and he was doing a tribute to Emeril or the late wrestling great Bam Bam Bigelow. (Note: Does Element X count as a performance enhancing drug?)

So, the way Jose sees it, it appears that Daisuke Matsuzaka, rather than being Japanese at all is, like Captain Marvel, an alien robot from a far away world sent here to protect humanity. That’s the simplest explanation for what happened last night. This means that the Japanese press can all go home, and Fenway can start making accommodations for the alien press. You know, replacing the sushi in the press buffet with entire cows, replacing the grounds crew with alien crop circle machines, that sort of thing.

Matsuzaka in the fourth last night.

3. Over the weekend, Jose had a conversation with his friend Jamie and Jamie’s brother, legendary SoSHer RomeroRomine about the unique place Manny Ramirez holds in American sports. A couple beers in, RomeroRomine posed a fascinating question: Will this be the year that Manny finally starts to fall off? Wait… that’s not fascinating. It’s terrifying. Sorry.

The fascinating questions was: Has there ever been a hall-of-fame caliber baseball player who was so spacey, so prone to inexplicable lapses of concentration and yet was so universally beloved?

After much thought, the only one we could come up with was Yogi Berra. (Note: Though the more Jose thinks about it, the more it seems Babe Ruth might fit. Couldn’t you see Manny being caught stealing to end a World Series?) Of course, Yogi went on to manage an actual major league team… well, he went on to manage the Yankees anyway, and Jose has a very hard time imagining Manny managing even a little league team.

If even a smart guy like Gabe Kapler can, as reported by the Globe, inadvertently render a pitcher ineligible to play by failing to change his lineup card after a rain out, can you imagine what Skipper Manny might do?

Jose imagines you would see him calling for shifts to right against left handed hitters, ordering pitchouts to leadoff hitters, and of course positioning the left fielder inside the left field wall or possibly at a car show in Atlantic City.

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