Ask a Stupid Question…

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

1. When Jose switched on sports radio this morning, the primary topic of discussion was whether it had been appropriate for Dolphins GM Jeff Ireland to ask Oklahoma State wide receiver Dez Bryant, eventually drafted by the Dallas Cowboys, whether his mother was or had been a prostitute. Now, this particular host, maybe it was Colin Cowherd, was arguing Ireland had every right to ask the question, as there was huge money at stake, but Jose thinks that’s utter nonsense. Jose doesn’t want to live in a country where someone can be denied a job just because his mother is a whore. That’s like saying Debbie Clemens shouldn’t be able to sell weird sequined pillows on the Internet just because her husband is a statutory rapist.

But now that the proverbial can of cats had been opened out of the bag of worms, it seems like perhaps it’s fair game to ask anyone affiliated with professional sports anything. Here are the questions Jose would really like to ask.

To Derek Jeter: Who did you get herpes from? Who did you give it to? (Note: This is not to stigmatize those with herpes, which is really not big a deal, according to an infectious disease specialist who yelled at Jose the last time he made fun of Jeter’s herpes. Jose just thinks that if Jeter was spreading herpes simplex around, it may be indicative of bad judgment that could harm his play as he ages.)

To Manny Ramirez: What city to the Los Angeles Dodgers play in?

To Pedro Martinez: Now that Sandra Bullock is single, will you pursue your life’s ambition of ing her?

To Mike Lowell: When Adrian Beltre took a liner in the groin and had one testicle swell up to the size of a grapefruit, did you consider asking him for half?

To Adrian Beltre: You really don’t wear a cup? Are you out of your mind?

To Kevin Youkilis: Why is this night different from all other nights?

To DJ Dru: When you think about your swing, does it excite you sexually?

To Theo Epstein: Does DJ Dru’s swing excite you sexually?

To Allan Embree: Are you aware of data linking chewing tobacco to mouth cancer?

To C.C. Sabathia: Would you like another doughnut?

To Bill Hall: You suck.

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

Running Mates

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

1. As Jose has watched Senator Barack Obama stretch out the vice presidential search process, it has made him think about some of the issues in his own life, namely, the fact that it will end. Someday Jose will die, and he needs to think about succession planning for KEYS. If something were to happen to Jose, what would happen to KEYS and all of the people who depend on it? What would become of poor Tiny Tim?

As a result Jose has gone through a lengthy vetting process, for identifying a nominee for Vice Blogger. Here are the leading candidates.

Manny Ramirez
Pros: Funny, beloved, understands the Red Sox, sure thing Hall of Famer.
Cons: Possibly retarded.

Dario Veras
Pros: Obscure Latino relief pitcher, understands what it is like to fail as a Red Sox, cool first name.
Cons: Only second best obscure Veras in Red Sox history.

Grady Little
Pros: Also lives in North Carolina, folksy, no competition for his services.
Cons: Possibly retarded

Gov. Bill Richardson
Pros: Red Sox fan, Tufts alum, savvy diplomat, popular Governor.
Cons: If he’s not good enough for Obama why should he be good enough for Jose?

Gov. Mitt Romney
Pros: Telegenic, charismatic, from Belmont.
Cons: Might only be claiming to be a Red Sox fan in order to get the job, less military experience than Tim Johnson.

Alex Cora:
Pros: Genius, likely to be unemployed next year.
Cons: Should never get time over Jed Lowrie.

Dodgers Owner Frank McCourt
Pros: Must like KEYS since it used to be good and has something to do with the Red Sox.
Cons: Parking lot attendant (note: thanks Plaschke) inadequate training for writing blog.

So as you can see there are a lot of appealing, yet flawed candidates. If you want to know who Jose selects, just sent your number to Obama for President and Jose will be sure to text you as soon as he makes a decision.

2. Jose would like to make (note: gasp) a correction. Well, more of a clarification (note: smaller gasp).

In the previous KEYS, Jose told a story about Derek Jeter having herpes, which some readers may have interpreted as a suggestion that having herpes is shameful. A colleague of Jose’s who works in public health pointed out that this was wrong and inappropriate. Herpes is a very common, non-fatal disease, and people who have it (note: or any other sexually transmitted infection) should not be stigmatized. Except for scabies. Scabies is gross.

What Jose was attempting to do in the piece was not to suggest that people with herpes deserve to be stigmatized. Rather, he was attempting to suggest that they should NOT be stigmatized by the fact that they share a disease with Derek Jeter.

So please allow Jose to be as clear as possible: Just because someone has herpes DOES NOT MEAN that they have no range at shortstop. There are many people with herpes and other sexually transmitted infection who have excellent range to both their left and right.

Jose hopes this corrects any confusion.

3. After pitching brilliantly last year, Clay Meredith has struggled in Boston and has again been send back to Pawtucket. While this is regrettable, Jose thinks it is ultimately for the best. Not only, can he work on his pitching, but with Bartolo Colon there rehabbing, there is the possibility for Buchholz and Colon to form a fat man/thin man comedy team, along the lines of Laurel and Hardy, Spade and Farley or Hatch and Kennedy.

While one drawback to this plan may be that there is no particular evidence that either of the pitchers is funny, Jose is pretty sure that watching Buchholz stand next to Colon will, at the very least, be way funnier than watching him stand on the mound in Baltimore.

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

Enema of the Mind

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

1. This will be Jose’s last KEYS of the regular season. Jose doesn’t write on the weekends, out of respect for Jews, Christians and the labor movement, and he’s not going to start now, at least not without overtime. (Note: Though two times zero dollars is still, lamentably, zero dollars.) So Jose thought this might be a good time for him to put everything that’s been building up in him over the course of the season on the table, to purge his system, to perform a high colonic cleansing of the mind and the soul before the playoff run.

First things first, Jose cannot tell you how delighted he is to not be writing a eulogy for the 2007 season in this space. Writing eulogies is an art, to be sure, but it is a gutter art, like needlepoint. Fueled by sadness and the icy void of loss it is easy to write, so, so easy. After all, art flows almost mellifluously from tragedy. But to write when one is happy, to create out of joy rather than out of sorrow, that is the jackpot of artistic creation.

And throughout this season watching this team has been a source of happiness far more often than it has been a source of pain. True, Jose does not love this team like he loved the 2004 squad. There is no jovial Pedro or wisecracking Millar, and the team only has one Jew. But there are things to rejoice in as well. While the team got less Jewish, it got more Japanese. Ramiro Mendoza will not see any playoff innings. There is a zero percent chance of Dale Sveum getting Papi thrown out at the plate by 25 feet with no outs. Perhaps, if the season drags on to the brink of November, Jose will learn to truly love this team. Like a couple in an arranged marriage, Jose and this team may learn to love each other simply by being required to stay together far longer than they would if they’d met in the wilds of the bar scene.

But there are more things Jose needs to clear from his soul. He might have been wrong about wanting Papelbon to stay in the rotation. He might have been wrong about loving the DJ Dru signing. Jose may have been in error about thinking J.C. Romero would be a splendid fit. Out go the toxic ideas, the festering thoughts of the season leaving Jose free clean and at peace for the start of the post season.

And with his soul pure and his mind relieved of fallacies past Jose has room for new ideas. He has built the proverbial birdhouse in his soul and is waiting, just waiting for a chickadee of wisdom to move in. And he is now ready to accept truths that were once unacceptable, concepts that once would have been heresy. So as the season concludes and the post season commences, Jose offers you these few sweet thought of Zen.

• What is the sound of an Eric Gagne 1-2-3 inning?
• Coco Crisp is a funny name, but it is not nearly as funny as if Boog Powell and Sean Berry had a child and named him Boog Berry.
• Wily Mo Pena may have been as bad defensively as Pete Incaviglia, but he was much better looking.
• If Jessie Ventura was covering Red Sox games he would insist that Tito Eurona’s real name was Chico and he came from Tijuana just like he did with Tito Santana.
• Joba is a really stupid name.

These are pearls of wisdom. It is your choice whether you string them into a necklace, whether your rub your teeth over their smooth yet barely irregular surfaces to test for authenticity or whether you cast them before swine, which is apparently also a popular custom.

See you in the playoffs.

2. At the game last night, a couple of people sitting behind Jose were talking about the Red Sox bullpen cop, who they affectionately called Chief Wiggum, and commenting that he must have the best job in Boston.

“Think about it,” one of the fellows commented. “He gets to stand there watching every game and hanging out with the relievers and he probably gets what? $50 per hour? $70 per hour?”

Jose thought about it. He pondered whether this was indeed the dream job he had been looking for, easy, lucrative and fun. But then he realized something, something ghastly.

“You shouldn’t dismiss the difficulty of the job,” said Jose. “In fact, Jose is not sure that they pay him enough. The man has to sit there in the bullpen every night, with a revolver at his side, and he has to not shoot Eric Gagne. That’s hard work.”

3. Jose heard an interesting analogy on, of all places WEEI, yesterday. A caller suggested to Herald scribe Steve Buckley that perhaps Eric Gagne was a lot like Scott Williamson circa 2003. As you recall, Williamson struggled after being acquired by the Sox mid-season and yet settled into a nasty groove at playoff time.

So far Gagne has completed the first part of the challenge, struggling in the regular season. He also, like Williamson, has a history of grotesque arm problems. But will he start to look like Williamson in the post season? Who knows? But the first sign that he is truly Williamson-like will be if he develops the enormous cold sore, the festering lip ulcer that gave Williamson the strength for his playoff run.

Jose’s theory is that the cold sore was so painful that Williamson could no longer focus on the pain in his arm, thereby allowing him to cut loose for the first time all year. If Gagne is going to be successful, he needs that cold sore. But there are disturbing indicators. Jose cannot recall ever seeing a cold sore on Gagne, so if we want him to develop one in time for the playoffs he either needs to go make out with Scott Williamson or possibly perform certain sexual acts upon allegedly herpetic Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter.

Alternatively, Papelbon could just kick him in the nuts. That might work too.

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

If Jose Had a Hammer

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

1. Some call it the greatest rivalry in sports, the Red Sox and the Yankees.

But not everyone.

There are people out there, shady and mysterious, who do not agree. They claim that it is no more a rivalry that the relationship between hammer and nail, or hammer and window, or hammer and the kneecap of a ratfink or hammer in the hand of an exceedingly dumb person and screw.

They argue, these linguists from the Bronx, that with the Red Sox on the losing end so often the word rivalry is simply inappropriate. Perhaps, they claim, the Red Sox and the Yankees are far more like hammer striking nail than two swords clashing. The Yankees are a hammer. The Red Sox are a nail. But maybe, these pinstriped professors of English do not truly understand the relationship between hammer and nail?

They imagine that the hammer, since it strikes the nail repeatedly, pounding it, crushing it with leaden blows, is the superior in the relationship, that the nail battered and abused is subject to the hammer’s steel will. But is it really? Think about the ultimate purpose of a nail, to fasten, to hold, to bind. A nail’s duty, its raison d’etre is to defy gravity. And how does it oppose such a fundamental force? By drawing strength from the blows of the hammer.

Imagine hanging a picture. If you simply hold a nail against the wall and then let go, the nail and with it the picture will crash to the ground. But what happens when you strike the nail with a hammer? With each blow, the nail gains power, with each heavy strike, the nail’s ability to defy gravity increases. Swing after swing after swing, the hammer lands heavy on the nail, its brute force increasing the strength of the nail, increasing its ability to hold up the picture, to fulfill its destiny. And when the final blow is struck, the nail reaches the zenith of its power, firm against the wall and immune to further blows. The hammer can strike the nail again and again, but the nail will not go any further, it has its position, and it will hold it no matter what.

Yes, the Yankees are the hammer and the Red Sox are the nail. And for years they have struck us, brutalized us, but the final blow was struck in 2003, Aaron Boone set the head of the nail that is the Boston Red Sox flush against the wall and when Mariano Rivera tried once again to swing the pinstriped hammer in 2004, it was powerless. The hammer had given too much strength, too much holding power to the nail, and the nail would yield no more.

So where are we now in this battle, this true rivalry between hammer and nail? We are at the end game of all clashes between hammer and nail, the hammer can do no more and the nail is at the peak of its might, guaranteed, forever, to hold up that picture frame we call the division lead.

2. As the Red Sox and Yankees head into the weekend series that will end the Yankees division championship chances, there are dozens of crucial questions swirling. Is Roger Clemens healthy? Can Mr. Matsu pull himself together? But none is more important, more hotly contested than this: If the 2007 New York Yankees were a 1980s sitcom which one would they be?

The nominees:

Silver Spoons
Similarities: About an incredibly spoiled rich kid learning life lessons. The Yankees are incredibly rich, and they’re about to be taught a lesson.
Differences: No train going through Yankee locker room yet. Jason Bateman—not a true Yankee.

Webster
Similarities: Brooding father figure named George. Bad haircuts (note: Ma’am’s) prominently featured.
Differences: Yankees have noticeable lack of loveable black orphans.

Mr. Belvedere
Similarities: Catchy theme songs.
Differences: Bob Uecker much better defensive catcher than Jorge Posada.

Perfect Strangers
Similarities: Yankees feature loveable immigrant (Wong) and nervous guy (A-Rod).
Differences: Balki already a well-established Red Sox icon.

Charles in Charge
Similarities: Olive skinned man tries to manage a bunch of idiots.
Differences: No one on Joe Torre’s staff is as smart as Buddy Lembeck

The Golden Girls
Similarities: Geriatrics always looking for sex.
Differences: Roger Clemens is older than Rue McClanahan and Derek Jeter is not quite as manly as Bea Arthur.

See. There are a lot of good comparisons but nothing is quite perfect. Maybe the best analogy is Rosanne, like the rotund actress, the Yankees are a disgrace when they appear on a baseball field.

3. Jose is going to miss the last hour of tonight’s game, as he has a social obligation, but he’s not going to videotape it. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, it’s just that he can’t really deal with a $500,000 fine right now.

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

You might feel a slight sting. That's pride fu**ing with you.

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

1. One would not expect to find much to be proud of in a 12-2 drubbing at the hands of the Josh Fogg and the Colorado Rockies. Jose would have been happier if the Sox had been shut down by “The Velvet Fog” Mel Torme, and yet Jose has left few games with a greater feeling of pride.

There are two kinds of pride, three if you count PRIDE fighting. Jose is quite familiar with feeling the first kind as he struts down Yawkey after a victory. It’s the kind of pride that comes from seeing a foe vanquished by one’s champion. The second kind is more elusive, both in life and in the old park in the Fenway. It is the kind of pride that emerges from seeing a friend or ally stand up for someone weaker, from witnessing an act of right in the face of, perhaps not might, by at least general jerkiness. No, Jose is not talking about Tito’s selfless defense of the increasingly indefensible Julio Lugo, but rather about the actions of one Sam Melendez.

As the margin in last night’s contest swelled from large to insurmountable, one particularly loudmouthed fan, who looked for all the world like a drunken law student, began to seek refuge in harassing a visiting Rockies fan. The young aggressor began to bellow at the Rockies fan, a portly woman in her mid-30s, for committing the unforgivable sin of being the least bit pleased that her awful baseball team was winning. “Go back to Colorado” he insisted, as he demanded that she “stop cheering for such a sh*tty team.”

This was not some Yankees fan vaingloriously inviting taunts, beer and abuse, but rather one of those pleasant mountainfolk, earnestly cheering her thin air heroes.

And still the abuse persisted. “BEST F*CKING RECORD IN THE MAJORS,” he harangued. “BEST F*CKING RECORD.”

“Hey,” came the interjection. It was a different voice, Sam Melendez’s gravely mumble. “I just want you to know that all Sox fans aren’t *ssholes.” The victim smiled, reassured that someone cared.

It was a profound truth. We’re not all *ssholes are we?

But the drunkard was out to prove Sam wrong.

“I’m just cheerin’ fer my team,” he slurred loudly. “How duz that make me ern azz hole?”

“This lady’s just supporting her team. Leave her alone,” replied Sam, barely concealing his growing irritation.
“Yer a bad fan, you should be supporting yer team, and she should GO THE F*CK BACK TO COLARADO!”

“Your mother must be so proud,” Sam retorted. Not the most original comeback but a valid comment.

“She is. You want talk to her?” He pulled out his cell phone.

Maybe his mother was proud. Maybe there are women out there who imagine that one day their sons will grow up to be drunken louts. But Sam was not prepared to ask her directly.

“That’s it we’re done here *sshole,” decided Sam

And with that Sam and Jose stood up and walked down to much better seats as the law student shrieked “BAD FANS LEAVING EARLY,” at us.

But Jose was proud of Sam, really proud, first for standing up for a visiting fan who was taking unreasonable crap, and second for refraining from beating the holy hell out of the law student. A sense of justice and a sense of restraint are two qualities that go together far too infrequently.

2. While last night’s game may have seemed like one more near meaningless interleague contest lost in the ether of a lengthy season, it should have a special sting for the many Red Sox fans who truly hate the Yankees.

This is because among last night’s victors was Rockies catcher Vorvit Torrealba, who as you can tell from the last name, is the love child of Yankees manager Joe Torre and Actress Jessica Alba. Torre had sex with Alba, known to be dating Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter, in the locker room after an early season game. The crusty Torre was able to fool the actress by wearing Derek Jeter’s “Driven” cologne and bringing “intangibles” to the encounter.

When asked to explain the indiscretion Torre stated “she was invisible, so I thought she was my wife.” When it was explained to Torre that Alba only turns invisible in her Fantastic Four role as The Invisible Woman, Torre responded “Does that mean I’m not The Thing then, and I’m always going to be stuck looking like this?”

3. After last night’s appalling five inning six run performance, Curt Euro appeared this morning on WEEI’s Dennis and Callahan program and announced that he would accept a one year $13 million contract extension if it were offered.

In other news, President George W. Bush, following news of record low approval ratings declared that he would stay on for another term if elected. Also, Kevin Costner announced that he would star in a sequel to The Postman if asked.

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

Better Late...

It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE TO SPRING TRAINING,

1. Manny is late. Well, not yet, but he will be. We know because Julienned Tavarez told us so, and why would he lie to us? And as usual people are going to make a big deal about it. Jose, however, will not be one of them. You know why? Because being late just isn’t that big a deal—unless you’re Bridget Moynahan. (Note: Zing!)

Since Manny’s late arrival and the former Tom Brady gal pal’s late period are the two biggest sports stories of the day, Jose thought he would explain all of the reasons why the tardy sloughing of Bridget’s uterus (note: due to impregnation) is a far more serious story.

• Manny didn’t wait three months to tell anyone he was late.
• These nine missed periods will change Bridget and Brady’s life, Manny’s lateness won’t change a thing.
• Brady actual broke up with Bridget. Manny despite his best efforts is still with the Red Sox.
• No one has characterized Moynahan having her ex’s baby as “Just Bridget being Bridget.”
• Manny’s tardiness is unlikely to have an adverse impact on a future bid for Senate.
• No one is suggesting that Manny’s lateness is a result of “skipping pills.”
• No one has blamed Bridget’s lateness on her mom having surgery.
• Dan Shaughnessy regards being a day late for camp as a far graver sin than having a child out of wedlock.

See. Now is Manny being late really such a big deal? No. It’s not like he’s contributing to the breakdown of the family and ultimate collapse of western civilization like some other people we could mention.

2. Other major Red Sox spring training news comes not from Fort Myers, but from the Indians camp, wherever the hell that is, as former Red Sox closer Keith Foulke took a break from watching Canadian junior league hockey to announce his retirement. The news came as elbow pain replaced knee pain and back pain at the top of Foulke’s “reason’s I’m pitching like sh*t” list.

Jose is not prone to weepy goodbyes, but in Foulke’s case, he will make an exception. Foulke’s overwhelming workload, and his overwhelming brilliance in the 2004 post season is, with the possible exception of David Ortiz’s heroics, the single biggest reason the Red Sox were able to end their 86 year World Series drought. And it may have cost him his career. Sure, we have no evidence that Foulke’s astonishing post season pitch count led to his injury problems, but we do know that he was dominant through the 2004 post season and disasterous thereafter. So let’s give the benefit of the doubt and assume that he sacrificed his body, his career, to save the season.

One of the popular writing tools in the new sports journalism is to compare players to girlfriends, Manny is the dumb blond you keep around because the sex is amazing, Mark Bellhorn is the charming deaf/mute and Roger Clemens (note: as characterized by Bill Simmons) is a cheating, treacherous so and so. So what is Foulke? Given how many members of Red Sox nation saw fit to boo Foulke for his miserable performances even after what he did in 2004, Jose would say Foulke is the girlfriend who jumps in front of pail of hydrochloric acid flung at her boyfriend thus saving him from disfigurement at the cost of her own beauty. He thanks her profusely, and waits on her hand and foot while she’s in the hospital. But then a few months pass, the reconstructive surgery doesn’t go so well, and he gets frustrated that she doesn’t want to have sex because she’s insecure about her appearance. So he starts telling her she’s ugly and a lousy girlfriend who’d rather watch hockey than make love. She responds by saying that she would rather join a convent, then have sex with some Johnny Burger King. And the next thing you know she’s gone off to date some guy in Cleveland who figures the scars will heal with time. But they don’t so she throws herself into the Cuyahoga and burns to death or drowns, whichever comes first.

So does the guy she saved send flowers to her grave? He’d better. Jose doesn’t want to be the guy who doesn’t, and neither should any of you, so let Jose offer the following oratorical funeral wreath.

Thank you Keith Foulke for what you did in 2004, for pitching brilliantly when you had nothing left, for catching Edgar Renteria’s come backer to end the Series and even for giving up that double to Papi in Game 4 of the 2003 ALDS. Also, you were great on that episode of Lost.

3. Over in Tampa, the Yankees training camp seems to be in turmoil as Bernie Williams has declined to show up because he has to compete for a roster spot, general partner Steve Swindal is dealing with the fallout from his DUI, and Alex Rodriquez has addressed his deteriorating relationship with Derek Jeter.

While conceding that his once close relationship with his “blood brother” Jeter was no longer so close, A-Rod offered a deal to reporters. "Let's make a contract,” said the third baseman. “You don't ask me about Derek anymore, and I promise I'll stop lying to all you guys."

Following the comment, Rodriguez’s agent, Scott Boras, told reporters that such a “not lying” contract, would demand compensation of upwards of $25 million per year for the next 10 years.

I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO SPRING TRAINING.