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.

This Is Not A Test

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


1. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPP

THIS IS AN ANNOUNCEMENT FROM THE EMERGENCY BLOGING SYSTEM. PLEASE REMAIN INDOORS FOR YOUR SAFETY. DO NOT GO OUTSIDE UNLESS ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY, BECAUSE THE SKY IS FALLING.

THE YANKEES HAVE CLIMBED TO 9.5 GAMES BEHIND THE RED SOX AND ARE NOW ONLY ONE GAME BELOW .500. CLEARLY, THIS IS 1978 ALL OVER AGAIN, AND WE EXPECT THAT BIBLICAL PLAGUES WILL BE ARRIVING ANY MOMENT, FROGS, BOILS, CATTLE DISEASE, DON ZIMMER, ALL OF THEM.

PLEASE REMAIN INDOORS UNTIL THE YANKEES ARE NOT BEATING UP ON THE TWO WORST OFFENSES IN BASEBALL AND EVERYONE NOTICES THAT THEY ARE STILL A BAD TEAM WITH MEDIOCRE STARTING PITCHING AND AN AWFUL OVERTAXED BULLPEN.

PLEASE REFRESH YOUR BROWSER EVEY FIVE MINUTES AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

2. With former Maine Senator George Mitchell leading baseball’s performance enhancing drugs investigation, Jose has to ask the question: Is this going to become a trend? Is Major League Baseball, ever time there is a scandal, an imbroglio or a catastrophe, going to get a former or current Senator to take charge of getting at the truth?

It makes sense, actually, as there is little Senators do better than offer unenforceable recommendations. And why would you go with Senators rather than Congressmen? Simply, the Senate, with its venerable tradition of delaying maneuvers, filibusters, holds and the like, is far more attuned to the game of baseball, with its stepping out of the batters boxes and conferences on the mound. Congressman, who like to conduct votes on actual policy issues rather than holding votes on whether to hold votes on policy issues, just wouldn’t get the nuance of the game, it’s elegant lethargy.

Thus, Jose offers a few humble suggestions for Senators current and former who could investigate some of the most pressing issues facing the game.

Assignment: Investigate the drunk driving death of Cardinals reliever Josh Hancock, reassess Major League policy on alcohol.
Chair: Sen. Ted Kennedy (D-MA)
Rationale: Expert on drunk driving, resulting deaths

Assignment: Run committee on family values, dealing with adultery and sexual misconduct on Major League teams.
Chair: Sen. Hilary Clinton (D-NY)
Rationale: Duh.

Assignment: Lead investigation excessive contracts for low value players.
Chair: Sen. Ted Stevens (R-AK)
Rationale: $200 million bridge to nowhere still a better investment than contracts for Jason Giambi, Johnny Damon, Kei Igawa, DJ Dru, Julio Lugo and others.

Assignment: Lead investigation of crying in baseball
Chair: Sen. Ed Muskie (D-ME) Retired, Deceased
Rationale: Expert of impact of crying on performance.

Assignment: Lead committee on race in baseball.
Chair: Sen. Trent Lott (R-MS)
Rationale: Understands historical importance of Negro leagues, long time advocate of restoring them.

Assignment: Design more equitable revenue sharing system.
Chair: Sen. Bernie Sanders (S-VT)
Rational: Only socialist in Senate, likes redistribution of wealth.

Assignment: Lead committee on free agency
Chair: Sen. Joe Liebermann (D-CT)
Rationale: Expert on switching teams, betrayal.

Assignment: Lead Committee to honor Mordecai “Three Finger” Brown
Chair: Sen. John Tester (D-MT)
Rationale: Jealous of Brown’s third finger.

Assignment: Lead Committee on Keeping Baseball America’s Pastime
Chair: Sen. John Cornyn (R-TX)
Rationale: Committed to keeping out immigrants who take jobs from hard working American pitchers and batters, keeping reggaeton out of clubhouses.

3. For all of those saddened by the Red Sox recent decision to designate for assignment left-handed reliever J.C. Romero, Jose says fear not. Jose has done some careful calculating and computation, and he is pretty sure that today, the third day after he was DFA’d, J.C. will rise and resume his place on the Major League roster. And even if he doesn’t, Jose figures we can, at the bare minimum spent the next 2000 or so years waiting for J.C. to return and save all the Red Sox bullpen. It’s really the least we can do. Remember J.C. was DFA’s for the sins of the whole bullpen… well, for that and his inability to throw strikes, but we owe him at least a couple millennia of fidelity for that.

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

Like Triangle

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

1. Lots of observers have commented on the curious fondness of Julienned Tavarez for Mr. Matsu. It’s funny and kind of endearing to see the effusive (note: read insane) Tavarez fawn over the Japanese pitcher, who while he seems to be touchy feely by Japanese standards, is still unsure what to make of his Dominican non-so-secret-admirer.

Still, today’s Globe Red Sox Notebook wherein Tavarez says “I told [Matsuzaka] I think you’re one of the greatest pitchers I’ve ever seen,” is embarrassing in its mushiness. It reads like a sixth grade mash note. But it gets worse. Jose recently uncovered this transcript of a locker room conversation between the unlikely friends.

JULIAN: Hi Daisuke.

DAISUKE: Oh hi Julian.

JULIAN: How’s it going?

DAISUKE: Umm… okay. Still getting used to life here. How about for you?

JULIAN. (Slyly) Good… Hey, I really liked watching you pitch the other day.

DAISUKE: Oh thanks.

JULIAN: It was just so exciting, the way you exercised such, such command over all of your pitches.

DAISUKE: (looking uncomfortable) Uh… yeah, I had my good stuff.

JULIAN: You sure did, and you knew exactly when to use it. You knew right when to use the hard stuff, and the perfect time to go with something a little more… subtle.

DAISUKE: I… I guess I try to mix it up.

JULIAN: I guess it’s just your grip. You’ve just got these amazing hands. Strong, supple.

DAISUKE: I’m feeling really uncomfortable.

JULIAN: Do you mind if I touch your hands? I want to feel where the magic comes from?

DAISUKE: Uhhh…(looking for a way out) I not speak Engrish.

JULIAN: Los manos, los manos lucido.

DAISUKE: Umm… I also not speak Spanish?

JULIAN: Just let me touch them. Please?

DAISUKE: Julian you’re cool and all, but I don’t want you coming on to me. I don’t like you that way.

JULIAN (Punches him in the face) What?!? What the hell is wrong with you all I say is I want to feel your rugged manly, magical hands and you make it all dirty?

DAISUKE: (On the floor clenching his jaw) Ughh…Crap… Sorry, must be a cultural misinterpretation. Would it help if I taught you the cutter to make it up to you?

JULIAN: Teaching me the cutter is a start, that and some sex. Lots and lots of sex.

DAISUKE: But I thought—

JULIAN: Cultural differences!

See, incredibly awkward and uncomfortable. Jose even felt uncomfortable transcribing it. It’s not that there’s anything wrong with a pock marked Dominican lunatic prone to violent outbursts falling in love with a Japanese colleague, and making awkward, clumsy passes at him. Not at all. It’s just that Tavarez seems to be aiming a little too high. Let’s be honest, Daisuke is out of his league. If he’s got an Asian thing, he should focus on Okajima. Though he might be getting out of Tavarez’s league too. Maybe we could get Wendell Kim to hang out with him.

2. Speaking of Okajima, when he was originally brought to the Red Sox, there was rampant speculation that he was signed as much to provide friendship and companionship to Mr. Matsu as to pitch. Of course, little did the Red Sox know that Julienned Tavarez would be providing Mr. Matsu with all the friendship he could stand. Thus, with his primary purpose gone, Okajima has been forced to focus on his lesser role of pitching brilliantly.

But don’t be fooled. No, don’t be tricked into thinking that Okajima’s original role was to be a lights out set up man. He and Mr. Matsu are, as some SoSHers have suggested, BFFs, best friends forever, and not even Tavarez can tear them apart. You want proof? You say it’s kind of BS to assume that just because two guys come from the same country and work at the same place they’re BFFs? Well, the proof is in the necklace. You know that necklace that Okajima wears to every game. With Jose’s years of training in the arts (note: and crafts) he can tell, with 95 percent confidence, that that is an authentic gimp friendship necklace made at a summer camp sometime between 1983 and 1989. And Jose has every reason to believe that necklace came from Mr. Matsu. Of course, there is one other possibility. Jose has been hearing rumors that Tavarez has been making friendship necklaces for everyone, just so he can tease J.C. Romero, saying “I have 23 best friends on this team, and you have none. Loser.”

3. But you don’t want to hear any more about Julienned Tavarez’ creepy Japanese fetish. No, you don’t come here for that, you come hear for insight on tonight’s match up with the Oakland Athletics and the return of Lenny DiNardo. Jose hopes that the fans treat him right. Jose has heard that the Red Sox are preparing a video tribute of Lenny’s greatest moments to play pregame, you know, like they did with Pedro last year. Jose thinks it will include that one pitch where his fastball hit 86 mph, and maybe that time when he didn’t get shelled. Hopefully they’ll also do a retrospective on his Rule V induced trip to the disabled list in 2004.

But let’s not get lost in the drama. This Oakland As team is far more than just Lenny DiNardo. It is the retirement home for formerly great hitting, badly broken down catchers with both Mike Piazza and Jason Kendall on the roster. And Jose is holding out that they may sign Todd Hundley before game time.

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

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.