The Man is Dead--Long Live the Joke

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

1. Jose is not sorry that George Steinbrenner is dead.

Of course, he’s not happy either.

For the most part, Jose feels what he does whenever any moderately below average human being whom he does not know personally dies—not much.

Sure it would be fun to rant and rave about how loathsome Jose finds the departed, how he was bad for baseball, a convicted felon and even, Jose has heard, a lousy shipbuilder. But that would give the man too much credit.

Instead, Jose prefers to reflect on the comments of an African man in a class for which Jose is a teaching assistant. As Jose mentioned to a friend that George Steinbrenner had died, the African interjected “He was a real guy? I only knew him from Seinfeld.”

To Jose that captures Steinbrenner perfectly. When one takes the measure of the man, sums up a lifetime of debits and credits, the sum, in this case doesn’t matter. The essence of Steinbrenner was neither philanthropist nor felon, industrialist nor instigator. He was a joke. He was a punch line ranting about eating a soup in a bread bowl for lunch every day on Seinfeld. He was the word David Letterman put before “sucks” to get a cheap laugh in the days before Joey Buttafuoco. He was someone who could be played by the tremendously unserious Oliver Platt.

Yes, Steinbrenner was bad for baseball. Yes, he did give a lot of money to the Jimmy Fund. But no, he is not deserving of much celebration or scorn as he returns to the dust. He was just a man, and today he is just a man who died. But the joke, the joke lives on.

I’m Jose Melendez, and that is my KEY TO THE ALL-STAR GAME.

How a Blind Man Sees the Red Sox

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

1. For the past few weeks Jose has been away from the Red Sox, isolated far away from his beloved Boston on a continent that both begins and ends with the letter “A.” (Note: Sorry Europe, everyone else stays in the game.) While being away has its share of hardships, being unable to attend games foremost among them, it is not without its advantages. Most notable Jose has the rare opportunity to view this Red Sox team with fresh eyes, or more accurately, no eyes.

Remember the parable of the blind men and the elephant? A few blind men are feeling up an elephant and they each get a dramatically different idea of what an elephant is based on the part of the beast they are fondling.

The man feeling the elephant's flank says, “Ah, an elephant is like a tree.”

“No, no,” says the man feeling the tail. “An elephant is like a stalk of wheat.”

“You’re both wrong,” says the man touching the trunk. “The elephant is like Ron Jeremy.” (Note: Kapow.)

While Jose, as a general rule is no better than equal to one blind man or two deaf-mutes, at this level of remove, Jose has the opportunity to equal at least three blind men, making him the equal of an entire NBA officiating crew, but without a gambling problem.

So how would a group of blind men see the 2008 Boston Red Sox at this juncture, you know, assuming that they actually weren’t blind at all, but were just really, really narrow minded so they could only see part of the team at a time.

The first blind man, let’s call him Ray, would feel up Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz and say “Ah, the Red Sox are like a locomotive, powerful and right on track.”

The second blind man, named Stevie, would grab hold of Jacoby Ellsbury, Rococo Crisp, and Julio Lugo and say “The Red Sox are like a Dalmatian that mated with a brown-haired thoroughbred horse, black white and brown and fast as hell.” Stevie does not have a great grasp of speciation.

A third blind man, called Usher (note: Doesn’t some African-American musician have to learn to play piano and then go blind once Stevie is gone, or maybe even now, since Ray is gone. Aren’t they like the Sith, there are always two, no more, no less? And you know it won’t be 50 Cent, unless he gets shot in the eye. Who already plays piano?) would grab hold of the middle relief and say, “No, no, you’re wrong. The Red Sox are like a vacuum cleaner, they do nothing but suck.”

But then a fourth sightless companion would come along, let’s call her Helen. Helen would grab hold of the starting rotation. She’d run her hands carefully over Beckett, Dice, Lester, Bartolo, Clay and Wake. Somewhere, Derek Lowe would be watching, lamenting his Sox days gone and wishing that the hot blind chick would be running her hands over him. And then Helen would pause thoughtfully and, twinkle in her glassy eyes, offer the true essence of the Red Sox. “Mmphellesss,” she would sagely state. “Mmmmphelless, waaaattaaahhhh.”

And that friends, is what the 2008 Red Sox, truly are.

2. Okay, that’s great. Now that Jose has made a Helen Keller joke the day after sending a link to KEYS to a prospective employer, he will have plenty of time to write. Good thinking Jose!

In the country where Jose is currently stationed, let’s call it Freedonia, there was recently a failed coup attempt and the former president alleged to be involved, let’s call him Groucho, was sent off to jail. While Jose is, as a matter of principle, deeply opposed to the overthrow of democratically elected governments, he does kind of wish that this sort of “Freedonia model” might be exported to Major League Baseball.

Yes, Jose knows that Buddy Leroux tried it once before, but he made a fatal mistake, he failed to get the army behind him before overthrowing Jean Yawkey and declaring himself Owner. If Buddy had stormed Yawkey Way with three highly trained and loyal divisions, there is no way, Mrs. Yawkey could have taken the team back. She was just a little old lady. There’s no way she could have handled more than two divisions.

But just because it failed once, doesn’t mean that it will fail again. Jose, of course, does not wish to see a coup in the Red Sox organization. We are blessed to be ruled by a benevolent triumvirate that keeps us up to our necks in wine and orgies. Well, keeps the players up to their necks in wine and orgies anyways. Or maybe, Jose was just thinking about Derek Lowe again. (Note: Apologies to DLowe the Paranoid Android, there is no evidence that he ever cheated on his wife with more than one woman in a single sitting or that he was a wine drinker. DLowe always seemed like more of a vodka drunk.)

No, Jose would kind of like to see a coup inside the Yankees organization. The way Jose sees it going down is that former Yankees GM Bob Watson using the armed divisions he must get as MLB’s discipline czar, would overthrow Brian Cashman and Hank Steinbrenner and appoint himself GM for Life, President of the New York Yankees, First Citizen of Yankee Nation and Lion of the Bronx. Then for a façade of legitimacy, he would replace Hank as principle owner with Hank’s own father, the recently deposed George Steinbrenner.

George would call a press conference to declare his dramatic return. As he looked directly into the camera, a twinkle in his glassy eyes would offer the true essence of the Yankees. “Mmphellesss,” the senile old man would sagely state. “Mmmmphelless, waaaattaaahhhh.”

3. Jose would like to offer a hearty thank you to Hillary Clinton. Yes, Jose has been kind of tough on her these past few months, but he now wants to put aside the bitterness and offer a heartfelt thank you.

Thank you, Hil-Rod (note: remember you said wrestling fans can call you that) Thank you, thank you. Hil-Rod. Thank you because by comparing the Democratic Party’s refusal to recognize the votes in the meaningless, non-sanctioned Florida and Michigan primaries to Jim Crow and Mugabe’s Zimbabwe, you have now made it totally acceptable for Jose to compare any event in baseball’s preseason to historical events such as the siege of Sarajevo and the massacre at Katyn.

Just as your husband made it socially acceptably to receive oral sex from interns under a desk, you have made it acceptable to trivialize monstrous events in human history by comparing them to contests that don’t count.

Thank you so much. Already, Jose is writing the story explaining how Julian Tavarez punching Joey Gathright in the face in a preseason game a while back is the same as the Darfur crisis.

Again, thank you for this wonderful contribution to our public discourse.

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

Count all the Games

It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO SPRING TRAINING.

1. March 5, 2008

Jupiter--New York Yankees President Hank Steinbrenner today called on Major League Baseball to count all preseason games toward the Major League Baseball Standings.

"The people of Jupiter will have their voices heard," screamed Steinbrenner. "We will not allow the tens of thousands of fans who have attended these games in good faith to be told they wasted three hours of their lives."

When asked why the Yankees had reserved their position prior to the pre-season that the games would not count, Steinbrenner responded angrily.

"These are the games that matter. You cannot win the AL East without taking games against important rivals like Toronto. How could a game against Toronto not count, while regular season Red Sox wins against unimportant teams like Kansas City and Minnesota be allowed to count?"

Critics responded harshly to Steinbrenner's claim.

"Hank Steinbrenner wants to change the rules when it suits him," said Red Sox CEO John W. Henry. “He didn’t favor this change until it gave the Yankees a 1.5 game lead over the Red Sox.”

Steinbrenner also, reportedly has been lobbying heavily for the inclusion of “supergames” games that would not be won on the field, but would be determined by a complex formula.

“The supergames should be free to send whoever is the best American League prospect for November,” insisted Steinbrenner.

2. When Jose first posted the press release above, someone suggest that it was from The Onion. Immediately, Jose got incredibly paranoid, because he goes to great lengths to avoid plagiarism. He is the sort of guy who footnotes excessively, and feels obliged, when mentioning batting averages, to point out that he is not the guy who invented the stat.

But that’s how it is these days. With the proliferation of the internet and large numbers of idiots writing at great length, it is exceedingly difficult to write anything that has not been vaguely mentioned somewhere or conceived by someone else.

As a result, Jose gets paranoid, very paranoid. He gets paranoid not least of all because it is often unclear exactly what is plagiarism and what is not. Sure, it’s plagiarism for an academic or a journalist to use someone else’s words or ideas without attribution, but is it when someone in a different profession does effectively the same thing?

Is it plagiarism when someone throws a circle change without thanking Frank Viola for the pitch? Every time Bartolo Colon puts on a pair of 64-inch waist pants this year, should he have to acknowledge Rich Garces for developing the idea of pants with a 64 inch waist?

When an ump calls a phantom tag, shouldn’t he have to cite Tim Tschida? When a pitcher loses a playoff game to Jeff Suppan, shouldn’t he have to cite Roger Clemens?

These are serious issues, and Jose demands a Congressional inquiry.

3. Quick question: Do Hank Steinbrenner and Serb Prime Minster Vojislav Kostuncia have the same speech writers? Let’s compare:

Steinbrenner: "Red Sox Nation? What a bunch of (nonsense) that is. "That was a creation of the Red Sox and ESPN, which is filled with Red Sox fans.”

Kostunica: “For the citizens of Serbia, for Serbia, there is no and will never be a fake state of Kosovo on its territory”

Steinbrenner: “This is a Yankee country. We're going to put the Yankees back on top and restore the universe to order.”

Kostunica “We must focus on decisions of historic importance and annul once and for all any act of the separatist Albanians and confirm that Kosovo is an integral part of Serbia"

It’s not precisely the same, it’s just that if Kostunica had said “"The Republic of Kosovo? What a bunch of (nonsense) that is. That was a creation of the U.S. and Europe, which is filled with Albanians.” Would it have sounded odd to anyone?

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

The Ethicist

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

1. Following yesterday’s heartbreaking 5-0 loss that completed the utterly meaningless sweep at the hands of the Yankees, Jose was asked to way in on an ethical question.

Now, you folks out there in internet land may be surprised to hear this, because you just think of Jose as the sort of fun loving faux Puerto Rican who entertains you day in day out by making keen observation such as the fact that tonight’s match up pitches Tim Wakefield vs. the First Lady of Wrestling, the lovely Miss Elizabeth. (Note: Reader City of Rosie Palms insisted that Jose include this because the Orioles are starting a guy named Liz, and let it be never be said that Jose does not pander to his audience.)

But Jose is so much more than that. As a person obsessed almost to the point of madness with being good and doing good, Jose is constantly asked questions about the thorniest ethical issues of the day. Thus, Jose is proud to rip off the New York Times Magazine’s Randy Cohen, with KEYS’ new feature The Ethicist. (Note: Ethics lesson one. Because Jose said he was ripping off Randy Cohen it’s not plagiarism or unethical, it’s an homage. Keep this in mind. Under the same principle, if you tell a store owner you are going to steal a television set from him and then do it, it’s not stealing—it’s a homage to his fine wares. Unless it’s Best Buy where stealing from them is always okay because they’re jerks.—sub note to scummy Best Buy lawyer— Jose is not actually encouraging people to steal from Best Buy even though they are jerks, so don’t get all litigious. Similarly, since everyone knew Dave Roberts was going to steal in Game 4 of the 2004 ALCS, he is not actually credited with a stolen base. Rather, he was credited with an homage to Rickey Henderson.)

On to this week’s question. One of Jose’s softball teammates, let's call her Bettor In Cambridge (BIC), made a wager on the outcome of the Red-Sox Yankees series. She and a Yankee fan friend agreed that if either team swept the supporter of the losing team would be required to wear the winning team’s T-Shirt to an upcoming softball game. They do not play on the same team or live near to each other, thus verifying the payoff is difficult.

Here is the ethical quandary. Is BIC obligated to follow through on the wager? Could she just send a picture with a Yankees shirt on and then not wear it to the game? Could she ignore the thing all together?

It is a tough nut to crack and must be approached from several angles.

First, Immanuel Kant’s categorical imperative would dictate that she must fulfill the terms of the wager. The categorical imperative, in the simplest terms, insists that any behavior that would screw up the world if everyone did it, must always be avoided regardless of circumstance—no exceptions. If she did not wear the shirt, Kant would argue, Presidents could lie about wars, CEOs would lie about corporate finances and civilization would end. Ergo, Kant is a total *sshole.

In a criticism of Kant, Swiss philosopher Benjamin Constant pointed out that the categorical imperative was total BS by citing the example of a murder looking for the person he is trying to kill. If a murderer asks you where the person he wants to kill is, Kant would say you have to tell him. Constant would point out that that is crazy and that at most you should say “Manager’s Decision.” Jose would argue that the Yankees shirt example is analogous. Fulfilling one’s commitment will lead to great evil. Kant would say that moral value does not derive from the expected consequences, but rather from following the imperative so do it, but what does he know. If he’s so great, why is he dead?

So what is the right course of action? Jose has thought and mulled on the wisdom of the sages and concluded that the most ethical action is to go double or nothing. This avoids deception and thus a violation of the categorical imperative and also creates the distinct possibility of not having to wear the f’ing shirt. Now, what if she loses on double or nothing? Keep going on with double or nothing for ever and eventually the law of averages will save the day.

Next up: Jose will rip off William Safire’s “On Language” column and explain how “there,” “their” and “they’re” are basically the same word so people should stop sending Jose emails about his crummy usage.

2. Perhaps the decisive moment in yesterday’s game came when the Red Sox had men on first and second, no outs and DJ Dru at the plate. Dru grounded to third but Kevin Youkilis ducked under A-Rod’s tag and was called safe by umpire Earl Hebner. A-Rod then completed the throw to first to get Dru. The result was runners on second and third with one out, a prime scoring opportunity. But something was amiss. While A-Rod, Derek Jeter, and Yankees manager Joe Torre screamed at Hebner, keeping away from the action, as best Jose could tell, Yankees General Manager Brian Cashman came out of the stands and tore off his suit to reveal an umpire’s shirt. Cashman then made the out signal, changing the ruling and killing the rally, before jumping back into the stands.

Though Jose will confess it is possible that it didn’t go down quite like that. It is conceivable that somewhere during the conference of umpires, Earl Hebner was knocked out and replaced by his twin brother Dave, who everyone knows is in George Steinbrenner’s pocket. The upside of this scenario is that even if the Yankees somehow go on to win the championship they will surrender the title to The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase in return for fistfuls of cash.

3. When Jose got home last night he had a reply in his inbox from Todd Kehoe, the Weekend Editor at the PostStar in Glens Falls who did the terrific write up on KEYS featured in KEY 3 yesterday.

The reply read

Well, now I’ve really made it. My name on Jose Melendez’s blog.
I, too, hope Hacksaw can read and now is a devoted fan of your site.
And don’t worry about the dry cleaning. The Yankees remain a flawed and self-destructive team.
Todd Kehoe

Jose has decided that he is sufficiently interested to email Mr. Kehoe and try
to do an impromptu interview. Jose sent this email this morning.

Dear Mr. Kehoe:
Congratulations on having really made it. You have now joined presidential candidate Mitt Romney and superhero Rocket Racer among the dignitaries featured in KEYS. It is not quite as good as winning a Pulitzer or a Slammy, but it is significantly better than winning a daytime Emmy or God forbid an ESPY.

Jose would like to put the shoe on the proverbial other foot and ask you a few questions. How do you like that Mr. Reporter?

1. How many people does the PostStar have on the Hacksaw Duggan beat? Jose guesses four. A full time reporter, a night shift guy, a weekend reporter and then a Hacksaw Duggan editor.

2. How did you discover KEYS and why would people in Glens Falls care? Is it one of those weird random pockets of New York where the Sox broadcasts are stronger than the Yankees broadcasts?

3. Do you ever see Rachel Ray walking down the street? If so, how many times do you kick her?

4. Does the Iron Sheik ever visit Hacksaw Duggan up there? Jose knows
they’re friends because they got busted together with drugs in their car once.

That’s about it for now.
Thanks.
Your pal,
Jose

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

Jose's Secret Love

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

1. Jose has a secret.

It’s not a secret that he readily admits to family and friends, and sometimes he even has a hard time admitting it to himself. Deep down, Jose sort of maybe possibly thinks that he might love the Celtics more than the Red Sox.

Jose would never have guessed it. He certainly doesn’t watch the Celtics religiously like he does the Red Sox, and he would never blog about them incessantly, and yet there is real evidence that he loves them more.

In 2002, when the Celtics made their return to the playoffs, Jose had more anxiety from their first round series with the Sixers than he did for any of the Red Sox playoff games. (Note: Which, as anyone who watched a Sox playoff game with Jose knows, is saying something.) Why would he have that kind of stress, that kind of agony, about a first round series by a team that was certain to not win a championship? Love. Sweet love.

When Jose was a kid, his father introduced him to Johnny Most’s coffee and nicotine ruined larynx, and at the age of five Jose listened to the Cs come back from down 3-1 to the hated 76ers and then beat Houston for title number 14. He changed his favorite color from red to green, because red may have been a Red Sox color, but it was a Sixers color too. He prayed for playoff wins and for unspeakable tragedy to befall Tree Rollins who had bitten his favorite player—a fiery, yet strangely incompetent two guard named Danny Ainge.

In recent years, Jose’s love has ebbed and flowed, and as the tragedy of decades wore on him, he went from being a fan who went to six games in the Szabo-Hamer era, to a fan who could not pull himself together to walk three blocks to the Garden for a game a single time last year.

And then came last night. The Lottery. You know how they say buying lottery tickets is not an investment strategy? Well, the same holds true for the NBA Draft Lottery—maybe you’ll get lucky, but if winning the lottery is your plan, you’re probably screwed. On the upside, it could have been worse than the Celts finishing with the fifth pick. Though Jose’s not sure how. The only lottery he can think of with a more ominous result was the one in the Shirley Jackson short story, though who wouldn’t enjoy seeing Danny Ainge in that Lottery today, waiting to see if he’ll be stoned to death.

Does Jose really love the Celtics more than the Red Sox? Maybe not, but all he know is that on a night when the Red Sox beat the Yankees and the Celtics lost the future, Jose’s heart bled. Perhaps the love of a sports team is more like loving one’s children than like loving a spouse. Even when one feels the joy of one child, it cannot drown out the pain of another. And while Jose felt the Red Sox joy last night, they weeping of his beloved Celtics is what sat, heavily, in his heart.

2. On cheerier subjects, the Yankee team’s brief try at metaphorical sobriety ended last night, as they fell off the wagon. The return to figurative alcoholism was due largely to Mike Mussina throwing 85 mph fastballs with the obvious difficulty of an alcoholic handing a shot of Jack to a pal while waiting for his seltzer with a twist. Say what you want about amphetamines in baseball, they are clearly not a problem for Moose.

But while drugs are not the problem with Yankee pitching they may be the problem with Yankee bats. In his story today, barbiturates,” the Yankees have an even bigger problem, as barbiturates are central nervous system depressants that “produce a wide spectrum of effects, from mild sedation to anesthesia. Some are also used as anticonvulsants ,” Not exactly the thing to get bats hopping. On the other hand, it kind of makes sense. These Yankees have indeed showed symptoms ranging from mild sedation to anesthesia, yet George Steinbrenner has, somehow, been prevented from convulsing thus far.

Poor Yankees. They can’t pitch, they can’t hit and they can’t even medicate properly.

3. In other news, Manny is still Manny, Julian Tavarez is still crazy and Alex Rodriguez is still an *sshole.

The evidence? Manny popped out of his slump last night with a three run homer in the first, Tavarez was wearing shower shoes with David Ortiz’s face on them, and Alex Rodriguez was throwing elbows at Dustin Pedroia on a most dubious slide.

Basically, Rodriguez slid hard in to second as part of an effort to break up a double play. Fine. But when he popped up he headed in an entirely different direction, lofting an elbow at Pedroia’s nether regions. After watching it again on tape, the diminutive Pedroia complained to umpire Joe West.

The incident is, of course, the latest in a series of Rodriguez missteps designed to demonstrate hard-nosed play. The most famous of these, his slap during Game 6 of the ALCS, made him look less hard-nosed and more like a lady in the midst of a catfight. This is a recurring trend, as last night’s play featured him trying a little too hard to come in contact with another person's genitals. Jose is not being homophobic not at all. He just thinks it is wrong to try to grope someone under the cover “playing tough ball.” If Dustin Pedroia had been a woman it would have been just as wrong. Ultimately, the play, rather than making him look tough, made him appear weak, pathetic, and more than a little creepy.

Tonight, Jose fully expects Alex to continue this sort of behavior by attempting to break up a double play by calling Pedroia names like “whore” and “bitch” and if that doesn’t work, by scratching him and pulling his hair.

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

Thank God for Opening Day

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

Thank God for Opening Day.

Really. Thank God for Opening Day. Most years Jose is merely glad to see Opening Day; he is just happy that the winter is over and his nightly entertainment has emerged bear-like from hibernation. In those years, he is far more like the hunter on the first day of deer season than the smack addict flush with cash from a liquor store robbery and dying for a fix. He wants baseball, he craves it, but he does not need it to avoid dissent into oblivion.

But not this year. No, this year he needs the saccharine poison of baseball season to drip hurriedly into his veins. This year, it is to him what confession is to the sinner, what nitroglycerin is to the cardiac patient, what Guitar Hero is to Joel Zumaya. It is his salvation, his light.

These have been dark days in Melendezville, dark days indeed. Jose will not delve into the details of his personal life, save to say that the inadvertent destruction of family heirlooms is pretty much the least troubling thing going on in his life. Also, he got a pretty good haircut, for a change. How bad is it? Remember when the Yankees swept the Sox five straight? Well, it’s like that, except, Jose can’t turn just turn off the TV, scream “F*ck Rudy Seanez” and move on with his life. On the plus side, at least Jose’s travails do not make New Yorkers happy. Look, Jose is not saying things are “Grady Little is your manager and your starter is looking a little tired” bad, maybe more like “Jose Offerman is your second baseman and he has to field a routine grounder” bad, deeply troubling and upsetting, but probably not going to leave one catatonic.

And so we come to today, to Opening Day. And thank God. Thank God because Opening Day is hope and rebirth and life. Jose does not want to get all Curt Euro on you, he’s not even really a Christian per se, but have you ever thought about how much Opening Day, especially after a season like last year, is like Jesus? Think about it. The 2006 Red Sox season died horribly, painfully, torturously, and yet today the Red Sox will be resurrected.

“They are risen,” Red Sox fans will cry out. And regardless of the outcome, independent of what happens when Julio Lugo digs in this evening, the lone fact that the Red Sox are playing again, a short six months after their agonizing death will be nothing short of proof of God’s love. God gives us baseball, He gives us Opening Day because he loves us. It is exactly that simple. It is the same story as that of Jesus, the miracles, the lessons, the prophecy and the excruciating execution. (Note: Yes, that is a pun about bad defense and difficulties pulling off a hit and run.) The only difference is that Jesus only came back to life once, whereas the Red Sox are resurrected pretty much annually. Point Red Sox.

Okay, so maybe it’s silly and completely sacrilegious to compare Opening Day to Christ’s resurrection, every bit as silly as it is to offer the caramel coated platitudes about spring and rebirth and “Everyone’s even in the standings today.” But there is something profoundly true about it too. Because as bad as yesterday may have been, today will be, it must be, better, because today there will be baseball. Also, Jose’s going to a barbeque, which is always nice.

2. And now, a sneak peak at the back page of tomorrow’s New York post.

ORTIZ’S TERRIFYING VOW

Kansas City, Mo—Red Sox slugger David Ortiz shocked reporters yesterday by confession to a string of killings and vowing more to come. In response to a question about what he planned to do in the coming year, the Dominican slugger respond “What I always do. Kill…”

As stunning as the admission by the seemingly genial designated hitter was, the response has been even more remarkable. Blinded by parochialism, authorities in Boston have, thus far, declined to investigate or even bring Ortiz in for questioning. The Red Sox organization has been similarly negligent, building a wall of silence around Ortiz. Even as the comments were issued, the Red Sox public relations staff seemed prepared with carefully crafted denials, suggesting that they may have known about the crimes well in advance of Ortiz’s stunning statement.

“I’m pretty sure he was talking about hitting baseballs,” stonewalled Sox general manager and unindicted coconspirator Theo Epstein. “You left out the part where he said ‘the ball.’ It was ‘kill the ball.’”

“The only thing he killed was Yankees pitching for the last four years,” added former Red Sox first baseman Kevin Millar, who was not even on site or asked for comment.

Yankees President George Steinbrenner declined to join in the campaign of denial, issuing an immediate statement. “The Yankees organization, as the classiest in baseball, calls on the Red Sox to immediately suspend David Ortiz and urge him to turn himself into authorities. Felons have no place in our national pastime.”


3. As part of the full court press accompanying Opening Day, Boston Herald Business reporter Scott Van Voorhis did one of those stories that everyone loves where he asked local business leaders to offer managerial advice to sox skipper Terry Eurona.

Jose assumed that this was going to be another one of those stupid media features where they assume that just because someone has millions of dollars, has fired tens of thousands of people and has a Harvard educated hooker err... second wife, on his arm, he knows more about baseball than you or Jose. But it wasn’t about Jack Welch at all.

Instead Van Voorhis asked a variety of executives and managers, some of whom even have sporting experience, to offer advice, and you know what they said? Crack the whip, treated everyone the same, better to have nine Mosey Nixon’s than nine Manny Ramirez’s? No, they advocated for kid gloves, a consultative approach and letting the stars do what they do best.

One commentator, developer John Drew, counseled Tito to “handle them all gingerly.” Which sort of sounded, like good advice, but then Jose noticed something. John Drew? That’s remarkably close to the name of Sox outfielder David Jonathan Drew, aka DJ Dru, isn’t it? Jose senses infiltration. So basically what you have in this article, is DJ Dru, in the clever alias of real estate developer John Drew, who Jose assumes, looks just like DJ but wears glasses, advising Tito to give stars all sorts of leeway. And who is in that group of stars? None other than DJ Dru himself.

What’s next? Will Sloan School of Management Professor Manuel R. Amirez appear in the paper advising Eurona to “let players knock off a few days before the All-Star Break, It’s just good business?” Perhaps Green Monster Games President and Founder Curt Euro will counsel Tito to “Let your number one starter stay in until he thinks it’s time to come out?” Maybe CEO of ACME Inc. Wile. E. Mopena, will suggest a new model of exploding bat. (Note: Yes, Jose knows everyone has done Wile E. Coyote jokes for Wily Mo.)

Professor Manuel R. Amirez responds to

charges that his Keynesian beliefs are outdated.


Let’s get serious here. If you want to take a business perspective, don’t ask these squishy soft “modern” business types with their six sigma and their lean manufacturing and their bathroom breaks. No, let’s ask someone who knows how to get the most out of their workers like Henry Clay Frick or Kathie Lee Gifford. What players today need is lower pay, fewer benefits and more hours at the office. And if that doesn’t work, there’s always a skilled 8 year-old who will do the job for half as much.

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

Jose Owes You

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

1. Today is Sam Melendez’s birthday. He is turning 27. He would be 29 if not for Ed King. Jose’s father was a Dukakis appointee and Ed King’s 1978 Democratic Gubernatorial primary victory put a dent in his family expansion plans. When Ed King died some months ago, Jose wrote a letter to his father, who lived in Kosovo at the time, suggesting that it might be time to have another baby. None is forthcoming. This is probably good news for Jose’s mother.

Sam is the youngest of the Melendez children after middle child Jose and older brother Jack, who, much like the 2007 Red Sox closer, does not technically exist. He was a fiction created by Jose’s father, after he read an article about how one should never make up older, missing siblings because it will feed into a child’s insecurities. Jose’s father saw this, noted it, and then decided that science, or possibly humor, demanded that he try it. Since then Jack became a cautionary tale of what happens to disobedient children. More recently, to continue the closer analogy, he has become a sort of rotating spot, to be filled by committee. The latest Jack was a 33 year old Kosovar Albanian named Isak, who is easily the best Jack to date. Among the advantages of having Isak fill the Jack role is that he is a Muslim. The Melendez family, which has both Jewish and Christian traditions, has long had a “feast but not fast” approach to holidays, celebrating Christmas, Chanukah, Easter and Passover, while ignoring inconveniences like Yom Kippur or Lent. With a Muslim in the family, we can at long last try doing the evening feasts during Ramadan without the annoyance of fasting all day.

But back to Jose’s real brother. It is his birthday today and Jose has not gotten him a gift yet. With only a few hours to go until the party, this might seem like the right time for Jose to flip out like Andy Yount at a grave site, but no, he’s keeping his cool. Thankfully, the Melendez family has a long tradition of IOUs.

Don’t have a gift for an important occasion? No problem, simply present a coupon for “something cool” at a later date. Or don’t present a coupon and offer a firm, binding hand shake. The reason Jose raises this tradition is not only because he plans to pass off this KEY, oh so thoughtfully written, as a birthday present. No, it’s because he believes that this offers the solution to the Red Sox increasingly complex situation with free agent outfielder and shoulder surgery candidate DJ Dru.

Everyone knows Dru will come to the Sox eventually. Now that Dru has failed a physical, he is unlikely to be able to match the three years $33 million he left on the table in Los Angeles anywhere else, and the Red Sox seem unlikely to walk away from such a long coveted trophy. And yet the two sides seem unable to agree on a final deal that will get Dru his money, while protecting the Red Sox from his seemingly inevitable physical breakdown. So here’s the solution—I-O-U. It’s simple, Theo should show up at the next negotiating session with a card—you need to have a card—in a nice envelope with “DJ” written on the front, maybe in calligraphy if there’s a Chinese woman in the office. Inside there should be a card that reads “I owe you one contract. Theo.” If he doesn’t have time to get a good card an index card will do. However, if he does go the index card route, he should use the coupon style of IOU. “This coupon good for one contract. Must be redeemed by 1/11/08.” Then everyone can stop worrying and stop making such a big deal out of it and figure it out later. Now, if you’ll excuse him, Jose has to go find an index card and a Chinese woman.

2. Jose watched as much of President Bush’s speech last night as he could stand. (Note: Remarkably, it was even more painful than the Celtics game.) As he watched, he wondered if Bush really understands what strategy is. Strategy is not just doing the same thing but more so. It almost made Jose wonder if Bush has been taking strategic advice from George Steinbrenner. Whereas Steinbrenner spends $200 million, fails and then assumes the problem is that he didn’t spend enough money on overpriced veterans, Bush responds to four years of a failed war strategy by deciding… eventually… that what he needs to do is the same thing but with more troops.

Actually, Jose is reevaluating this comparison even as he writes it. Sure, Steinbrenner might respond to his problem by doing more of the same, but at least Steinbrenner would have pumped more money in right away, rather than waiting four years, and he would have fired some people for failing to get the job done.

That’s right; we’ve come to the point in American history where George Steinbrenner seems like a better presidential option than the guy in the Oval Office. May God have mercy on us all.

3. Have you noticed that weeks after his acquisition, Jose still hasn’t said a word on reliever Brendan Donnelly? Do you know why? It’s because he’s been doing research, deep, muckraking research. And do you know what he’s learned? Well, Jose doesn’t want to concern you, but he’ not totally convinced that Donnelley can pitch, that he’s ever pitched.

During the course of his investigation Jose unearthed evidence that Donnelly used to be a Congressman for Massachusetts’ 11th district. But guess what? THERE IS NO 11th DISTRICT. It gets worse. Donnelly, while a “Congressman” and candidate for Governor claimed to have played football at Boston University where there is… ready for it? NO FOOTBALL PROGRAM. What’s next? Is he going to claim that he was Ambassador to some magical fantasy country called Trinidad and Tobago?

This brings us to today. Sure Donnelly changed his first name from Brian to Brendan and put on some nerdy glasses and, but he’s not fooling anyone, not anymore. Jose sees no more reason to believe that he’s a pitcher than he does to believe that he was a Congressman or a 1-AA college football star. (Note: Oxymoron.)

So as sad as it may be, Jose has to say count on Jor-El Piniero, count on J.C. Romero, hell, even count on Jullienned Tavarez, but count on B. Donnelly? Fool Jose once, shame on you. Fool Jose, twice? See the wit and wisdom of George Steinbrenner… er… President Bush.

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

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.