'Twas the Night

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

1.
'Twas the night before Christmas, I was hanging with Manny,
And all he kept doing was rubbing his hammy;
“I got to get traded this year,” he complained.
“Cause otherwise, I will not play through the pain.”

“They say that I’m lazy, that I just don’t care,
That I’m more concerned ‘bout the length of my hair,
But on Christmas, when I’m all at home in my bed,
I just dream about hitting and swinging the head,

Of the bat, knock a homer, give a tip of my cap,
And then into the field, where I’ll catch a quick nap.
When down in the lobby there was such a noise,
I thought Enrique Wilson had arrived with his boys.

And Manny jumped up and headed downstairs,
Though he felt like crap, it’s not like he cares
When Enrique’s in town, and he wants to hang out,
It don’t matter if Manny’s got shingles or gout.

But it wasn’t Enrique on down at the bar,
But a jolly old fat guy with a sweet, tricked out car,
With rims that did spin and dice in the mirror,
A present for Manny, it seemed rather clear.

“Yo Manny,” he shouted with gusto and verve,
“You dig on this ride? Do you think you deserve
It for Christmas, or should I be giving you coal,
Cause you sat, left the four spot a horrible hole.

Use Nixon, Use Lowell, Use Pena, Use Tek?
Or, Youkilis! Or Kapler or some other drek?
Did you quit on your team, when you could have played ball?
Or was that knee gimpy in fact after all?"

And Manny he stood there and wrinkled his nose,
At the site of the fat man in comical clothes,
And he thought bout his knee, how it hurt when he ran,
So he spoke to St. Nick, and said “Whatever, man.”

Then he looked at the ceiling, then looked at his shoes
Then he sat down, and ordered a glass with some booze.
And then, said to St. Nick, “Hey, man what do you think?”
While awaiting, an answer he bought him a drink

“Well, Manny,” the elf said while lifting his glass,
“My thought is that this year I’ll give you a pass.
You hit the ball well, and you helped out your team,
And they need you back next year it certainly seems.

So you wear your pants long, so they cover your feet,
So you slide for a ball, but then you catch a cleat,
In the turf and then tumble and fumble the ball,
Before leaving the field to go pee in the wall.

So what if you sit out just once in a while?
Cause watching you play, well it makes me smile
Your swing is so perfect, the best that I’ve seen,
Who cares if your intellect isn’t so keen.

You play like a kid with a smile and a wave,
Like a kid who simply cannot always behave;
But the team needs you now, despite all of that stuff,
They can’t just replace you with, say, Aubrey Huff.

As long as it’s Papi and you back to back,
I think that the Sox every year have a crack
At taking the series and winning it all,
At getting some back up, the World Series ball.

So this car is for you, it’s a nice Christmas ride.
You like Caddies right? So drive this one with pride.”
Then he stood, and gave Manny the keys to the car,
And then walked to the door at the end of the bar,

And he handed a number, to the waiting valet
Who brought over the reindeer, and Santa Claus sleigh
But I heard him exclaim, “Yeah it’s kind of uncanny,
But you can’t do much better than Manny being Manny.”

2. While there has been plenty of focus on DJ Dru’s disposition, his constitution and his shoulder, there has been precious little examination of his prowess as a spinner of discs. The man is a DJ for crying out loud and has there been a single article, a blurb even about what kind of music he plays? We all knew that Balki Arroyo played the guitar and that Johnny Damon can bang a tambourine (note: though probably only on the one and the three like a square). Hell, we even know that Lenny DiNardo has the most interesting and eclectic musical tastes on the 40 man roster. But still we know nothing about the DJ to whom the team is prepared to make a five year commitment.

So Jose did a little bit of reporting and learned that Dru is into mashups. You know what a mashup is right? It’s not what Mike Greenwell would do to Ellis Burks in the outfield, rather it’s when a DJ takes two different songs and mixes them together to create a hip new sound. For instance “Spanish Bombs Over Bagdad” is a mashup of Bombs Over Baghdad by Outkast and, presumably, “Spanish Flea” by Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.

So what are the favorite mashups of DJ Dru?

• A mashup of “Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails and “Sunshine on My Shoulder” by John Denver called “Hurt My Shoulder”
• A mashup of “Hustle” by Van McCoy and the Soul City Symphony and “I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself” by the White Stripes called “I Just Don’t Hustle”
• A mashup of “Hold on, Hold Out by Jackson Browne and “Secret Agent Man by Johnny Rivers called “Agent: Hold Out”

The only question is which one will become his theme music.

3. According to the Boston Herald, public health groups have targeted a number of stores for selling drinking games, arguing that they encourage recklessness and are, in effect, a threat to public health.

See, it’s happened. neopuritanism has finally crossed the line. First, they ban smoking. Jose is okay with this. Smoking is not only bad for you but bad for everyone around you and is really only worth doing if it causes one to choke in front of one’s gorgeous Albanian interpreter who finds one’s inability to smoke properly charming. Then came the New York City ban on trans fats (note: presumably guaranteeing that David Wells will never pitch there again). And now, they’re going after drinking games. What scourge of public health will they focus on next?

Here’s what Jose’s afraid of. The next target will be baseball. It fits the profile. Do people derive pleasure from it? Yes. Does it cause people to spend money that could better be spent on shoes for their children? Check. Does it cause high blood pressure, heart attacks and stroke? Of course. You remember both Rudy Seanez eras. Does it destroy families? It goes without saying.

So what, oh what, will keep the neopuritans from trying to ban baseball next? Remember if beer pong is a crime only criminal will play beer pong.

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.

Going Home Again

NEW URL, SAME CRAPPY BOOK: BUY THE 2006 KEYS BOOK

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

1. In the Tim Robbins film Bob Roberts, a story about a conservative folk singer turned senate candidate, one of the title character’s catchier ditties is a song called Times are Changing Back. It’s a soulful plea for a return to the simple, decent values of patriarchy, segregation and sexual repression.

Well, if you took out the bigotry, misogyny and the yearning for a golden age that never was, that tune could be the brand new, same as the old KEYS TO THE GAME.

After a two year run at wallballsingle that drew more than 100,000 hits (note: and God knows how many walks), Jose returns home to www.keystothegame.blogspot.com where he started his first blog. The upside of this move is that KEYS T-Shirts, thongs and mugs will finally have the right URL on them again. The downside is that Jose will have to deal with this compu stuff all by himself, and to be honest, Jose knows only marginally more about high technology than Grady Little.

The question is: How will this work out? Despite what Bill Simmons would have you believe, going back to the dame what brung you is not always the way to go. Sure, it worked out well, at least for a while, when the Celtics brought Antoine Walker home, but are we still all feeling good about Doug Mirabelli’s heroic return? Are we all certain that Any Pettitte will get his game back together just because he’s wearing those slimming pinstripes again? And what if Roger comes back?

The point is that when things change, there is a reason that they change. It’s not always a good reason, but it’s a reason nevertheless, and unless that reason has ceased to be, unless it has been removed, a return to the status quo ante is usually not the best idea.

The reasons of course, vary dramatically from example to example. Antoine was traded for Raef F’n LaFrentz, Andy Pettitte’s wife allegedly told him he could stay in New York with his whore or come to Texas with her (note: so is he back with the whore now?), Roger Clemens left for the money, and Jose? When Jose left keystothegame.blgospot.com two years ago it was to try a more polished format, to be part of a larger community of writers. But here’s the problem, Jose isn’t part of a community of writers, he is a loner, in love with the city… Wait, that’s Kevin White. Okay, Jose is a loner in love with his own obscurity, content to make chippy little points about the greatest sport in the world through rhyme and reference and randomness.

And back at his own site, under his own corrugated tin roofed internet shack, he can do it. So welcome to the good old, new KEYS.

After two years away, there's no place like home...

2. According to both Boston papers, the Red Sox’s deal with outfielder DJ Dru (note: yes that is his nickname) is now in jeopardy because Dru failed his physical due to problems with his shoulder. The current plan is to seek a second opinion on Dru’s shoulder before a final decision is reached.

For some pundits this has confirmed their fears that Dru is injury prone. For other it has convinced them that what they always regarded as a bad deal is now and indefensible one. Jose has a different take—outrage. He is not outraged that the Red Sox signed a “soft” player. He is not outraged that Dru failed the physical. Nor is he even outraged that the Red Sox may still make a frighteningly large commitment to an injured player. No, Jose is outraged that Dru gets a second opinion.

One of the very, very few things Jose has in common with some professional athletes is that he too has lost a job because he failed a physical. (Note to prospective employers: It was not drugs or anything that will run your insurance rates up.) And Jose was shocked, because Jose is a really healthy guy, who has never had any major diseases or infirmities. So Jose asked for a second opinion and you know what he got? Another evaluation by the same doctor. That’s right, Jose asked for a second opinion and all he got was the same opinion from the same guy on a different date.

Does this happen to DJ Dru? No, of course not. The guy who is hated by his teammates, who held out when he was drafted, who never gets clutch hits, who has no heart and no hustle gets a real second opinion, while Jose, who types his fingers down to the sinew through skin infections, power outages and the current sad state of professional wrestling gets lip service and a “I’m sorry to tell you this, but…”

And what if the second opinion is favorable for Dru? Do they have to go to a third opinion to break the tie? Is this like a best of seven series where there are four home opinions and three away opinions? Are opinions weighted by some complex Bill James formula that measures a doctors correct diagnosis percentage?

Well, you want a second opinion, Jose will give you one, they should still sign DJ Dru, but get some health guarantees in the contract, and if he doesn’t take it, sign DJ Jazzy Jeff instead, he’s not doing much and he’s got to have a chip on his shoulder.

3. Jose received an unsolicited email from an old Japanese friend, a Hanshin Tigers fan, who had apparently taken a break from looking for the missing Colonel Sanders Hanshin fans threw into the river after their last championship to weigh in on Mr. Matsu.

He offered the following advanced scouting “As you may know, Dice-K defeated Ichiro three times consecutively by strikeouts when they faced each other at the first time. He has ten different types of pitching balls as well as very tough nerves. I expect that he could win more than 20 games.”


While Jose is a little skeptical about the 10 pitches, it did lead him to due a little research on Matsuzaka and guess what he learned? That in addition to being able to throw at least five pitches, he also shares his name with Matsuzaka beef, a beef from the Matsuzaka region of Mie Japan that has a high meat to fat ratio. Presumably, the inverse is known as Wells Beef.

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

Henry Opens Japan

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

1. On July 14, 1852 Commodore Matthew Perry, went ashore in Kurihama, Japan, after making threats of naval bombardment, and presented a letter from President Millard Fillmore that would open Japan to the U.S. He later went on to further fame as Chandler on Friends.

On December 14, 2006, exactly 154 years and five months later, the historical drama would repeat itself, as historical dramas are prone to do, when John W. Henry, having successfully applied the threat of force much like Perry before him, once again opened Japan to American trade. One wonders if years from now, the Japanese will speak of John Henry’s yacht with the same awe and dread with which they once regarded Perry’s “black ships.”

And yet as eerily similar as the two events are, rather than being mimeographs of each other they are more like reflections. While Perry opened Japan to American imports, Henry opened Japan to exporting baseball talent to America. And in this reenactment, the role of Holland, the meddling misers with the inside track on Japanese wealth, was played by Agent Scott Boras, who is much like the Netherlands in that he is incredibly low and is friendly to whores.

The question now is what does this historical parallel teach us about what will come next? When Perry opened Japan it led to the Meiji Restoration, a period of intense modernization wherein feudalism ended and many Western ways and technologies were adopted. Thus one would assume that Henry’s endeavor would lead to a similar modernization of Japanese baseball including the abolition of the posting system and the wholesale use of performance enhancing drugs. See, history really does repeat itself first as tragedy and then as farce. It’s just not very good farce.


2. The testimony below was submitted to Governor Elect Deval Patrick’s Transition Working Group on Economic Development.

Good afternoon. Jose’s name is Jose Melendez, he is a blogger, and it is his pleasure to offer this esteemed working group, and ultimately our new governor, his recommendations for economic development in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

For generations, the Commonwealth has tried to develop its economy by courting business with tax incentives, infrastructure assistance, workforce development assistance and outright bribes. And what have we gotten for our money? Fidelity took tax breaks and still exported jobs. John Hancock, FleetBank and Gillette were purchased by outsiders. And Jose doesn’t know about you, but he is having an awfully hard time finding any new software for his Wang Computer.

It is time turn our energies towards new investments, new strategies. Jose refers you to a study that shows that the recent signing of Daisuke Matsuzaka by the Boston Red Sox, a local athletic concern, is likely to pump an additional $75 million into the Massachusetts economy. However, if we settle for $75 million alone, we are doing our Commonwealth a great disservice. While the Japanese market is formidable, it is not enough. The Commonwealth must support the signing, development and placement on the Red Sox roster of athletes from all key economies. The administration should set as a goal to have one player from every major economic power on the Red Sox roster by the end of the decade. If the Red Sox replaced players from low leverage economies such as the Dominican Republic and Venezuela with players from international economic powers such as Germany, France, South Korea and the United Kingdom, as well as players from emerging economies such as the People’s Republic of China and India, Jose estimates that we could secure as much as $1 billion in additional foreign investment in the Massachusetts economy. This would solve all of our problems and we could then all by diamonds and space shuttles.

Thank you for your consideration, and feel free to contact Jose with any further questions.

3.
Thank God that the name
Daisuke Matsuzaka
Is only this long.

Seem that’s a haiku, the famously overused Japanese form of poetry that consists of three lines with five, seven and five syllables respectively. If Daisuke Matsuzka contained any more than its seven syllables it would be useless for the purpose of haiku.

Of course, haiku is overexposed. Remy and McDonough used to do it on Sox broadcasts, and pretty much everyone writings about sports has used it as a cop out at one time or another. And whenever a Japanese player emerges the temptation to resort to it as a cheap gimmick to fill column inches is particularly overwhelming. But Jose isn’t going to do it… not again anyway.

That one up there is all you’ll see. The Japanese culture is so rich, that there are dozens of other ways to pay tribute to Matsuzaka using the traditional art forms of his native land. Over the course of this season, you will see Jose explore Matsuzaka’s inaugural American season in Japanese woodblock prints, kabuki, anime and of course, origami. His little folded paper replica of Matsuzaka striking out A-Rod with the bases loaded will be as elegant in its complexity as Jose’s Zen rock garden commemorating the same event will be in its simplicity.

Also, Jose plans on planting a Japanese cherry tree, conducting a tea ceremony and buying a Toyota.

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

9/15/05 -- Jose Goes for 13-1

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

Jose used to love rain delays. For the six years Jose lived in Kenmore Square a lengthy rain delay was his entrée to a cheap and enjoyable night at the ballpark. Jose would sit in his apartment drinking beers with friends or watching television, all the while keeping a close eye on the status of the delay. If the delay exceeded two hours, Jose would walk down to Fenway as soon as the game restarted. He’d pay his $12 for a bleacher ticket and then sit anywhere he pleased. Back in those days, the bleachers were cut off from the rest of the park, but as the crowd dwindled from 30,000 to 15,000 to 5,000 no one much cared where Jose sat.

Sitting in premium seats on the first baseline or behind home plate, Jose did what any bleacher bum would do in that situation, he made an ass of himself. One night he and friends taunted strip club loving Angles first baseman Mo Vaughn with a rendition of Foxy Lady every time he came into the field. When Vaughn reached on a single, Jose yelled, “Mo, if you steal second Jose will buy you a lap dance.” The slugger, one of Jose’s all time favorite Red Sox, looked over at Jose as if considering the offer, and then turned away. He did not attempt to steal second.

It’s too bad, really. The one time Jose went to The Foxy Lady, Mo Vaughn was there. Jose really would have bought him that lap dance if he had swiped the bag. But this rain delay was not all fun. No, sir. The copy of Flaubert’s Sentimental Education that Jose had brought with him in case the rain began again took a soaking, making a dense novel even more dense.

Another time, Jose went out for a game against the Blue Jays that had two rain delays consuming three and one-half hours. By the end of the second delay, there were fewer than 1,000 fans in the park and Jose sat behind home plate blowing into some sort of a brass horn that another fan had smuggled in. Otis Nixon could hear everyone asking about his cocaine habit. The game was actually called at 1 AM on account of the heretofore unknown American League curfew, to be completed the next day.

Bu today, on this dreary wet day, Jose already has tickets for the game. Rain delays are no longer his friends. Jose has had to learn to stay out of the park until after the delay. God forbid he should get stuck drinking watery six dollar beers for two hours. Jose loves the North End; he loves living in a real neighborhood and away from the throngs of students. But on days like this, days when the rains wash away the throngs of fans and leave only the die hard and deranged, Jose misses his life in Kenmore Square.

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

9/14/05 — Wells vs. Half the Man Wells Is

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

Baseball has emerged as the predominant metaphor in the confirmation hearing of Supreme Court Chief Justice nominee John Roberts.

Roberts began the analogies by comparing judges to umpires who call balls and strikes rather than pitching and hitting. Jose is not sure whether this is a commentary on his judicial philosophy or the woeful state of the Supreme Court softball team.

Senator Joe Biden of Delaware then continued the metaphor by pointing out that the strike zone is defined as from the elbows to the knees by Rule Two of the baseball rulebook and that umpires may not change it, and can only judge whether the ball is in or out of it. Apparently, Biden doesn’t watch much baseball these days or he would know that much like the Constitution, the strike zone is a living thing constantly changing from era to era, umpire to umpire and, in some cases, from inning to inning.

Biden went on to compare questioning Roberts to pitching to Cincinnati Reds outfielder Ken Griffey Jr. To be honest, Jose has no idea what this analogy means, but he assumes that it means that Roberts will get off to a brilliant start as Chief Justice, be compared regularly to John Marshall, and then, after signing a deal to become Chief Justice of Mexico’s Supreme Court, will miss the better part of most sessions with injuries while still occasionally showing his old brilliance.

Since it doesn’t appear that the evasive nominee will be answering any non-baseball questions, perhaps Senators should take Biden’s lead and ask questions only in baseball terms. (Note: Though this isn’t really that bad. Jose went to a State House hearing yesterday that involved lengthy discussion of where to get the best hot dogs and fried clams in Massachusetts. Really. Even worse, Jose may try a few of these places out this weekend.)

Jose has transcribed this portion of today’s hearing.

Q: Judge Roberts, in the 1999 American League Championship Series umpired Tim Tschida ruled Jose Offerman out even though Chuck Knoblauch clearly failed to tag him. If you had been the chief of that umpiring crew, would you have overturned that call?

Roberts: Senator, on the one hand, I think that decision was a misinterpretation of the facts of the case. On the other hand, I have enormous respect for precedent.

Q: And what precedent would that be?

Roberts: The precedent of the Yankees getting all the calls in big series. If would refer you to the case of Baltimore v. Jeffrey Maier.

Q: So then when two calls, a home run call, and the infamous “slap” call were reversed during the 2004 American League Championship Series to harm the Yankees, you would say that the umpires ignored precedent in reversing those calls and were therefore mistaken?

Roberts: Not necessarily. On the one hand, this call did depart from past rulings. On the other hand, as the top umpiring crew in baseball they have the authority to reinterpret precedent.

Q: So, in your opinion, did the umpiring crew rule correctly in the 2004 case.

Roberts: As it is quite possible that the Red Sox and Yankees may meet in post season play again during my tenure, and in that event it is highly likely that Alex Rodriguez will slap some one again, it would be prejudicial for me to answer this question.

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

9/13/05 -- Antipope Clement XV vs. Downs

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

Randy Johnson awoke one morning to find himself transformed into an enormous bug. Overnight, he had become a great gangly creature with cruel crooked limbs and angry snapping mandibles framed by wiry hairs.

Even in the cool September air, the blanket on his bed seemed suffocating. He struggled to be free of it driven by a lust for the crisp air, but by another desire as well, the desire to feed on the scraps of human existence. He could smell the kitchen garbage a floor away, and it called to him. Was it always so strong?

The blanket grasped him like a net ensnaring his the spiky structures on his six legs. Five of them he freed, but one could simply not escape. He pulled and pulled against the blanket until suddenly his leg tore right through it sending him sprawling on to the floor.

“Free,” he tried to say, but the English phonics would not come. Perhaps because he no longer had a tongue, the word sounded far different than it should have. It sounded like “Get that god damn camera out of my face.” But in a guttural rumble.

What was worse, he was not free. A completely different and totally unanticipated problem had presented itself. In his haste to liberate himself from the blanket, he had thrown himself clean off of the bed and on to his back. For a proper man, recovering from this supine position would be of little difficulty, but Randy Johnson was not a proper man. He lay there with his six legs in the air wiggling helplessly as he rocked on his hard exoskeletal shell.

For the longest time he continued to wiggle his legs, imagining that if only he wiggled them enough, he would eventually right himself. This would not happen, of course, but Randy Johnson, even before becoming a bug, was none too bright, and certainly not the sort of chap who would be dissuaded from doing something for the hundredth time just because it hadn't worked the first 99. But eventually even he tired of his futility.

Trying a different approach, he began to sway his legs from side to side, creating a constant rocking of his shell. When the shell swung to its furthest extreme in one direction he would shift the weight of his legs in the other direction. Over and over he repeated the motion, the arcs of movement growing larger and larger until-a snap-he had torn his rotator cuff, of perhaps three of his rotator cuffs, or whatever the insect equivalent is, but with the last effort as the tissues frayed, he swung his legs with such violence that he righted himself with a thud.

“Are you up Randy?” his wife yelled up in response to the thud.

“No, no,” yelled Randy Johnson, afraid of what she would think. But in his guttural bug voice it ended up sounding like. “My God I hate Alex Rodriguez. He's such a prick.”

“I know Alex is an SOB,” replied his wife. “But do we have to talk about him first thing in the morning?”

Suddenly, he heard the soft clomp of slippers on stairs. His wife was coming up to the room. Up to his room. Invading his cold and his dark. Her arrival was inevitable.

The doorknob turned with a gentle squeak. As her slender finger flipped the light switch, Randy scrambled under the bed, away from the horrible burning light. A thin trail of green ooze marked his path.

“Randy,” his wife complained. “Why do you always flee when the lights come on? Come out from under there this instant.”

Randy pondered his options. They were few. Either she could see him now, or she could see him a few minutes from now. There would be no escape.

“I can't come out,” he moaned.

“Why not?” she answered. How odd that she could understand him.

“I've been transformed into a giant bug.”

“Randy that's ridiculous. Come out now. I insist.”

“Yes… okay,” he yielded.

He slunk out from under the bed, each step sending fire up his damaged joints.

“See I'm a bug,” he cried.

“I'm not really seeing it,” she answered nonplussed.

“I'm hideous vermin.”

“Well yes, but you look kind of the same to me.”

“But can't you see that I have six legs?”

“Oh yes, now that you mention it. But otherwise. I fail to see the difference.”

“I've become a hideous giant insect. I'm ugly and disgusting,” he wailed.

“If anything, I'd say you look a little bit better she responded.”

And so began the metamorphosis of Randy Johnson.

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

9/9/05 — 1st Place Sox vs. 2nd Place Yankees

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

The curtain rises.

(The scene is a beach on the California coast, February 2005. A tall, gangly man is walking down the beach with a metal detector.)

Aaron Small: I’m never going to make it as a big league pitcher. It’s just not going to happen. I’m 33 years old. I’ve got a career ERA of 5.49, I’ve only pitched 218 big league innings in the last 10 years, and baseball-reference.com gives Rocky Coppinger as one of my comparables. Rocky broke in two years after me and he had the good sense to retire four years ago. It’s time for me to face the music and realize that I’m just not good enough to be a big league pitcher. So I might as well accept the fact that looking for treasure by metal detector is my new career now.

(The metal detector begins to beep furiously. Small drops to his knees and begins to dig.)

This is big. This is really big. One good treasure find now, and I won’t have to worry about ever pitching again. I wonder what it is. Gold? Platinum? The plate from Don Zimmer’s skull?

(He grabs hold of something and begins to pull. After much effort, he pulls out an old brass oil lamp.)

Great. A ratty freaking lamp. That’ll get me maybe two dollars at the Salvation Army. Well, something’s better than nothing, I suppose. I’d better brush it off.

(As he brushes it, a cloud emerges from the lamp, a cloud that coalesces into a turbaned and mustachioed human form with wisps of vapor where legs should be.)

What the hell?

Genie: I am the genie of the lamp. You have awakened me, and now I am bound to grant you three wishes.

Small: Excuse me?

Genie: Do you not know how this works? Do you not watch movies or TV?

Small: Only Home and Garden TV… and Lifetime. Is it on either of those channels?

Genie: What about Kazaam? Have you seen Kazaam?

Small: The one where Shaquille O’Neal comes out of the boom box?

Genie: Exactly.

Small: No.

Genie: (sighs) Look, the drill is that by rubbing the lamp, you have won three wishes. The only rules are that I can’t make anyone fall in love, I can’t raise the dead, I can’t grant more wishes and I can’t reverse the outcome of the 2004 ALCS.

Small: Sweet. What’s the catch?

Genie: The wishes all come with a terrible curse.

Small: Sounds good, can I start now?

Genie: Yes. What is your first wish?

Small: Well, for my first wish, I have this terrible jock itch on my balls; I wish that it would go away.

Genie: (Nods his head, there is a poof of smoke.) It is done.

Small: Hey, that’s great, my balls don’t itch anymore. Wait something feels weird.

(Looks down his pants)

What the hell!!! Where did my balls go?

Genie: You said you wanted to be rid of your jock itch.

Small: But I didn’t mean to get rid of my balls.

Genie: You should have been more specific.

Small: But that’s crazy… I’m… I’m a freak now… I can’t believe I have no balls.

Genie: You’re part of the Yankees organization aren’t you? You’ll fit it fine. Are you ready to make the second wish?

Small: Hmm… I could wish for my balls back, but you’re right having no balls does make me a real Yankee. So what to wish for next. I know, I know. I’m a really big history buff, so what I’d love to do is to have a chance to get to know Columbus. Hear about the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria, all of that good stuff. But wait… I need to be specific… so let’s see how to phrase it. I want to get to really know Columbus, but I don’t want to get stuck back in 1492, and I want to be able to do the whole thing in English.

Genie: (Nods head, poof of smoke) Your wish is granted, you will spend considerable time in the Columbus Clippers organization this year, not in 1492 and you will only speak to your English speaking teammates, causing some to brand you a racist xenophobe.

Small: No!!! No! No! No! Christopher Columbus… not the city. You know, Cristobal Colon.

Genie: Consider yourself lucky that you didn’t ask to spend time with Colon. You might have ended up spending copious amounts of time with Bartolo Colon, and he has terrible gas. You have one wish left.

Small: Geez… already. Only one more wish? I need to stop messing around. OK. Here goes. Even though I’ll be spending some time in Columbus, I wish that in 2005 I be the best starting pitcher on the New York Yankees.

Genie: (Nods head, poof of smoke) It is done. You will be the best Yankee starter in 2005.

Small: Really.

Genie: Really.

Small: Better than Pavano? Better then Wright? Better than Mussina? Better than Brown? Better than Randy Johnson even?

Genie: Yes.

Small: So will my fastball be faster, my curve sharper, my changeup sneakier?

Genie: No.

Small: I don’t get it then. How will I do it?

Genie: Pavano, Wright, and Brown will all be hurt for most of the year. Mussina will be mediocre before getting hurt and Johnson will be curiously ineffective. Heck, even Wang will get hurt.

Small: My… my God what have I done?

Genie: Exactly what you asked to do. Now I take my leave.

Small: Change it back.

Genie: No. Loser.

(He transforms into a column of smoke, returns to the lamp and the lamp jumps off the beach and into the sea.)

Small: (Doing his best Darth Vader at the end of Revenge of the Sith imitation) Nnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Blackout.

For today's full KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

9/8/05 — Jose Struggles, Sox Do Not

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

Today’s sonnet game summary:

Ode to the game on September 7, 2005

Two outs, none on and Balki gives up runs,
In innings number one and number two,
You’d think the Boston Red Sox would be done,
But then again, upon further review,

If ER hits a pop up that sneaks in,
As three defenders try to run it down,
And Papi checks his swing, flashes a grin,
Potentially it turns the game around.

If Balki sees his cutter’s got no cut,
And throws instead a sneaky, subtle change,
Jose begins to feel it in his gut,
And more so when Gabe Kapler shows his range.

Tonight the Red Sox shall complete the sweep,
Then to New York to take the Yankees deep.

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

9/7/05 — Balki vs. Santana

It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Jose is proud to present a new feature in today’s KEYS. The sonnet game summary. Why a sonnet? Because the only other sorts of poems Jose can write are haiku and limericks and both of those are way to short. Frankly, someone should write an epic poem about this team. They could call it the Red Soxiad or something, and then trainer Chang Lee could translate it in to Japanese. (Note: Why isn’t anyone writing good epic poems anymore? Is it a lack of a market?)
Ode to the Game on September 6, 2005

It went four hundred fifty seven feet,
And gave the Sox a win of three to two,
Tim Wakefield pitched a game that was complete,
Which left the team with nothing else to do,

Big Papi was the story of the game,
Rewarded with a plaque of humble wood,
An icon that will sanctify his name,
And states that he is better than just good.

The best clutch hitter ever on this team,
To clutch at bats what Miles was to jazz,
He’s settled all debate upon this theme,
By finally surpassing even Yaz.

If one at bat would save the whole of Earth,
Jose will take Ortiz, for what it’s worth.

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

9/6/05 — Jose Goes for 12-1

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

1. If you had it all to do over again would you change a thing? Would you have looked both ways before crossing the street? Would you have looked before you leapt? If you are the Boston Red Sox, the answer, apparently, is no. Given a second chance to play yesterday’s game against the White Sox after the initial contest was called with the score of 5-2, the Red Sox did not change a thing and bowed 5-3.

Jose supposes there is something sort of admirable about this, about the Red Sox willingness to accept what has happened, to refrain from fantasizing about changing the past. One can be reasonably sure they would be good time travelers. They wouldn’t screw up the space time continuum by trying to change events or anything.

Still, failing to change the past means accepting the consequences for the future. This was like wagering the rent on black, letting the wheel spin, losing, being given a second chance and then picking black again. It is like John Kerry saying that if he could rerun the 2004 election, he would let the Swift Boat ads linger just as long without a riposte. (Note: Or George W. Bush saying he would do things the exact same way in Iraq. Oh… he really did do that.) It is like offering the French a do-over on World War II, and then watching as they leave the Maginot line as their primary defense. “Ah, but monsieur, it is invincible,” they would say. And what about you? If you had the chance to go back and skip over this KEY and go directly to the second key would you? Yes, you probably would, but you are not the Boston Red Sox.

For more KEYS visit www.wallballsinlge.com

9/2/05 — Minor League Battle, DiNardo vs. Maine

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

1. Jose is sick. And it’s not some BS made up illness like Fenway Fever or the Vaughn Eshelman Flu (note: remember Wade Boggs’ unwillngness to face the unfamiliar lefty in 1995?). The way Jose figures it, he probably has either Western Equine Encephalitis or East Nile Virus. But not to worry, those two aren’t nearly as severe as the illnesses from the opposite directions.
To make matters worse, this is the first KEYS Jose is writing on his brand new computer, and making the switch from PC to Mac, Word to AppleWorks seems certain to result in some problems. It’s like making the transition from reliever to starter midseason. Jose should really be getting himself stretched out before he writes a full KEYS on this thing. You know, writing 100 words today, 250 on Sunday, 500 on Tuesday and then and only then giving a go at a full KEYS maybe a week from today. But with the season winding down, Jose just doesn’t have that much time to waste. The team needs him now.

Now you may be asking “Jose, what good can a Jose who is not only sick, but also getting stretched out possibly do for us?” Jose does not know. He only knows that he needs to try. For God’s sake Leonardo DiNardo is starting tonight. It’s not like the Red Sox can win this game on their own.

Besides a DiNardo start is always something to tune in to, as he is the first Red Sox pitcher since Rafael Bettancort (note: did he ever actually play for the big team?) to be named after a teenage mutant ninja turtle.

Ugh… that was pretty terrible. Much like the Red Sox starters for the last three nights, Jose has looked weak, really weak early. But can he now turn it around?

For the complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

8/31/05 — Wakefiled vs. Guy We Got Euro For

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

1. Sometime in the second inning of last night’s game, right around the time Jose was cutting into the evening’s first steak tip, the phone rang.

“Euro is all done,” said Jose’s brother Sam Melendez on the other end of the line. “I told you so yesterday.”

“Loothh at way,” replied Jose, his mouth full of meat marinated in soy sauce, brown sugar and Coca-Cola.

As he moved from the steak to the green beans lightly sautéed in olive oil and garlic, Jose began to compose today’s first KEY in his head. It would be a dirge, a lamentation. It would be a reflection Curt Euro’s sacrifice of the 2005 season and perhaps the rest of his career so that Red Sox fans could know the goodness of victory just one time. Jose muted the television, put Mozart’s mournful Requiem on the CD player and began to craft a eulogy of sorts as he shoveled mouthfuls of rice dripping with low quality LaChoy soy sauce into his mouth.

“Corinthians tells us that to every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven,” Jose began. “For Curtis Montague Euro, born Curtis Montague Schilling, that season was Autumn 2004 and that purpose was to deliver a World Championship to the Boston Red Sox. But as time evaporates into memory so passes that season, and the purpose, now met, dissolves into the ether.”

And so it went on and on, a melodramatic stew of tired clichés about the cycle of life. Winter of his career, change of life, given us his all, sacrificed for the greater good, throw them all in the pot and let them marinate in the bitter juices of disappointment and loss.

And then Jose paused from his mourning and looked up and through the foggy prism of his tear filled eyes two numbers slithered through his pupils along his optic nerve and directly into his brain. Six and five. Six and five. It was the sixth inning and Tampa Bay still had only five runs, the same number they had when the inning numbered only two… and still the man with the comically bleached hair stood on the mound. But that must mean… Could it be???

And whispering on the wind Jose heard the line from The Serpent and the Rainbow, “Don’t bury me I’m not dead.” Four scoreless innings. Four fragments of evidence that all is not lost, that good things have not yet come to an end. And today, somewhere in Boston, lies a metaphorical grave, empty, a pile of soggy, rocky new England soil to the side. And on the headstone it reads “The Career of Curtis Monatgue Euro 1988— ” There is no second year. Nothing is over.

For the full KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

8/30/05 — Euro vs. Scott “Disputed Province of” Kazmir

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

Second Baseman Euro Bellhorn will, in all likelihood become a member of the New York Yankees sometime in the next 24 hours making him the second member of the 2004 World Champion Boston Red Sox to join the second place club. (Note: This is if you don’t count Ramiro Mendoza who has not escaped the minors and arguably never left the Yankees.) While Bellhorn, like his soon to be fellow Yankee Alan Embree, has badly underperformed this year, it still makes Jose sad to see a player who made such important contribution to the Red Sox championship end up on the Yankees. (Note: Though if the Yankees want to pick up other 2004 Red Sox contributors like Jamie Brown, Adam Hyzdu, or Bobby Jones, that’s cool.) There are, however, a few reasons why this move makes sense for him.

Pinstripes are slimming, and frankly he’s been looking a little chunky.
Once he is required to shave under the Yankees “no facial hair” policy, maybe people will stop coming up to him and saying “You sucked in Deuce Bigalow.”
All he can ever talk about is how he wants to vote for Mike Bloomberg.
No big risk of fans holding “Cano would have had it” signs.
Thought Yankee Mystique meant he would get use of a company Mercury Mystique.
Beats facing tough International League pitching for the rest of the year.
When people always call the Yankees a “classy organization” he thought they were saying that it is a “Lassie organization,” and he always thought that dog was a real hero.

The bottom line is that Euro Bellhorn will always be a hero to Red Sox fans, and we will miss him terribly, though not so much when David Wells strikes him out four times on September 10.

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

8/29/05 — Antipope Clement XV vs. Porn Star Seth McHung

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

Did anyone else watch the MTV Video Music Awards last night? Umm… Jose didn’t (note: really.), but he did catch a few minutes of it while the Melendezette was watching. He was struck by the effort of Diddy to conduct some sort of small orchestra as part of a tribute to Biggie Smalls. (Note: Sean Combs’ conversion from “P. Diddy” to “Diddy” happened the same day as “Jon” Papelbon’s conversion to “Jonathan” Papelbon. It’s really a shame that the rookie’s name change got overshadowed. It should have been Papelbon on the Today Show or Good Morning America talking about how the lack of an “athan” was getting between him and his fans.) Jose was actually sort of impressed. Diddy seemed to have reached a level of conducting competency that put him only marginally below a 16 year-old drum major on his first day of drum major camp, so good for him.

Of course, the dirty little secret is that any group of professional classical musicians, talented amateurs of decent high schoolers are capable of playing with reasonable coherence on their own, with no help from a conductor. That’s how the Boston POPS is able to have those fundraisers where some classical music lover from Dracut is allowed to conduct the orchestra—good orchestras conduct themselves, at least up to high levels of quality; the conductor makes those last marginal improvements that separate good from great.

Jose raises this issue, because there still seems to be a perception that this Red Sox team is like the MTV orchestra—it doesn’t really not a conductor to perform well. That’s what we’ve heard from all of the Tito bashers since the World Series, that anyone could have won with that group, that the players do it themselves and so on. But anyone couldn’t have won with that group, or this group. Could John McNamara? Butch Hobson? Joe Kerrigan? We all know that Grady Little could not have. Hell, if Grady had been conducting in Diddy’s place last night, some violinist would have ended up with a bow sticking out of her eye socket.

This is not to say that Tito Eurona is a perfect manager. His approach to the bullpen can be infuriating (note: though Jose has yet to find a manager who’s bullpen management does not infuriate him), he chooses peculiar days to sit people and his tobacco habit sets a bad example to Boston’s young people, but he is, easily, the best Red Sox manager in Jose’s life time. That is, at least until Jose has the high bid on one of those “manage the Sox for a game charity auctions.”

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

8/26/05 — Wakefield vs. Johsnon

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


1. Yesterday, Jose’s employer had its annual summer outing. It was nice. We took off at noon, ate nice cold cut sandwiches and went swimming in a pond. It’s not big deal. Lot’s of companies do it. Unfortunately, one of those companies appears to be the Boston Red Sox. That seems like the only reasonable explanation for yesterday’s second straight loss to the woeful Kansas City Royals. The Red Sox must have been enjoying a one day summer retreat. Okay, maybe they were physically at Kaufman Stadium, but did you see any evidence yesterday day that the Red Sox were not on at least a psychological retreat? Is there any doubt that Kevin Millar was imagining himself floating on an air mattress in a pool, margarita in hand? And there was Bill Mueller thinking about a roast beef sandwich with mustard and just a little smidge of mayo. And Manny, well, Manny is always on a mental holiday. The only one who didn’t appear to be taking a holiday was Curt Euro, who was certainly laboring.

So now that the rain out against the White Sox has been rescheduled for Labor Day the Red Sox will be forced to play for thirty straight days. But they shouldn’t complain. The collective bargaining agreement guarantees that there cannot be more than 20 days of play without an off day, and the Red Sox stood by their agreement by taking an off day yesterday.

For the complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

8/25/05 — Pitcher Who Gave a Championship to Boston vs. Pitcher Who Gave Herpes to His Mistress

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

1. Tonight marks the return of Curt Euro to the starting rotation a mere 123 days after his last start and almost ten months after his last good start. (Note: Is the 123 days a good omen? Does it mean we’re going to see a lot of 1-2-3 innings?) How long had it been since Euro started? Well, let’s put it this way, the last time he started Jose might have been willing to use the phrases “Sox slugger Kevin Millar,” “non-*sshole Jay Payton or “future Hall of Famer Rafael Palmiero.”

The last time Euro made a quality start, it was game two of the World Series with blood seeping through his sock. But as we all recall, he was brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, that some commentators have suggested that the blood on his sock was an elaborate fraud designed to inflate his heroism and unnerve opponents. While these charges are patently absurd, Jose would believe that batters were a little unsettled to see a man bleeding through his clothes still throwing smoke. So even though he wasn’t faking then, maybe he should now. Perhaps he should grab the old red sharpie and put a few dots on his sock prior to tonight’s start. Better yet, if Curt has a sense of humor (note: according to sources he does not), he should head out to the mound tonight looking like the title character in the final scene of Carrie. Can’t you just imagine a pig’s blood soaked Euro throwing fastballs and splitters? Wouldn’t that give him a huge advantage over hitters?

So welcome back to the rotation Curt. And let Jose give you a tip, if you’re looking for pig’s blood, try Chinatown and avoid the kosher butcher shops.

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

8/24/05 — Antipope Clement XV vs. Some Other Bad KC Pitcher

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

According to the Boston Globe, the Red Sox are in the process of applying to make Fenway Park a historic landmark. While winning landmark status would give the Red Sox federal tax credits worth millions of dollars, it does come with strings attached. So should the Red Sox win landmark status, they may well become a marionette not yet visited by its blue fairy godmother.

Renovations of landmark buildings are strictly regulated in order to ensure that the buildings retain their historic character. Even more seriously, some changes already made might need to be reversed. (Note: Jose is almost positive that the last sentence is untrue, but bear with him.) Below are just a few of the issues that could come up if Fenway Park becomes a historic landmark:

*Each Bank of America sign must be replaced with a Bay Bank, Bank of Boston, Shawmut Bank and Bank of New England sign to demonstrate the historical progression of Massachusetts banking.
*Trough urinals to be reinstalled in men’s room in the interest of historical accuracy.
*Height of pitchers mound must be raised to pre-1969 height.
*No designated hitter.
*Johnny Pesky will be required to play shortstop.
*The green monster will be covered in advertisements just like in the old days. (Note: Wait, we’re headed that way anyway.)
*Tom Yawkey’s ashes must sit in the owner’s box.
*Bare knuckle boxing returns to Fenway Park.

So as you can see, there are some real plusses and minuses to seeking landmark status. Sure, Jose would love to see the Moosehead beer sign return, but not if it means that Harry M. Stevens has to return as the concessionaire.

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com

8/23/05 — Wells vs. Some Bad KC Starter

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

On Thursday night, Jose had the opportunity to speak with a Turkish fellow. Jose immediately went to work asking him whether it was true that “boston” the Albanian term for “watermelon” is Turkish in its origin. (Note: As discussed in July.) It was either that or ask whether the Turkish Twist ride at Canobie Lake Park was really invented in Turkey, so vocabulary seemed like the best conversational option.

The Turkish gentleman said that he believes that “boston” is Turkish in its origin, but that in Turkish itself, “boston” does not mean “watermelon” but rather the field in which watermelons are grown. But he also spoke of a second, more sinister meeting.

In the old days of the Ottoman Empire, the Sultan would keep an executioner with an axe by his side at all times so he could order a complete craniectomy for anyone who came before him at any time and have the procedure carried out without delay. The executioner charged with this duty was known as the “boston.”

And this bit of Turkish parlance is eminently appropriate for our Boston baseball squad as we ease towards the September chill. In the next five weeks, the Boston Red Sox will raise the axe, sharpened through five months of grueling competition, and bring it down on the necks of their rivals. The Angles—Chop—The Blue Jays—Chop—The Orioles—Chop—the As—Chop—The Yankees Chop. One by one they will be forcibly separated from their title hopes by the Boston. (Note: Jose did not list Tampa, Detroit, or tonight’s opponent Kansas City on the chopping block, and he probably shouldn’t have listed Baltimore either. With these teams that are far, far, far out of the playoff picture, what happens to them will be far more akin to drawing and quartering and a long dead corpse than a beheading.)

For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com