ALCS Game 3: Less than Jake

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

1. By the time we got the rolls the game was over.

The game was not literally over by the time we got our rolls, but the tone had been set and a tone, once set, is nearly impossible to alter.

Game 2 of the ALCS was indeed lost, but it was not lost on the blustery field in the Fenway. It was not lost by Curt Euro, Manny Delcarmen, Javy Lopez or even Eric Gagne. No, it was lost in the far plusher confines of Burton’s Grill on Boylston Street. There, a quorum of Sons of Sam Horn members who were elite enough to secure coveted Game 2 tickets had convened to ingest and imbibe, to add layers of buttery insulation for the long, cold night ahead.

Our waitress, a congenial 20-something, with short black hair a button nose and a voice that was somewhere between a marshmallow dipped in honey and cotton candy laced with sweet but deadly lead acetate, came promptly and took our drink orders. So far so good. But much as Curt Euro’s first snappy curveball marked the high point of his evening, this would mark the high point of ours.

The drinks came out slowly, unevenly, like Doug Mirabelli going down the first base line, but without the groin injuries, but the rolls? Dear God, they took forever. 15 minutes no rolls, 30 minutes, no rolls, 40 minutes… rolls.

When they came they were good, warm and dripping with garlic butter, but it took so, so long for them to get there. And that established the zeitgeist of the evening, things would plod at a painfully slow pace, clearly going poorly. Then there would be a moment of competence, perhaps even excellence, followed, in the end, by bitter disappointment and copious complaint.

The dinner quickly became a metaphor for the game itself. If the slow rolls were Curt’s shaky start, the fact that five meals came out and five others did not would be analogous to his disasterous pitch to Jhonny Peralta. That would make Jose’s smooth buttery rib eye, Manny and Mikey’s back to back homers. (Note: Yes, Jose is trying to mention butter as many times as possible in a single KEY.)

Of course, that was followed by the waitress and manager telling us the other dishes would be out in a few minutes, which was a total lie, and was a lot like Manny D giving the lead away as soon as it was taken. Manny D’s double play ball to end the fifth was his solemn vow of competence, and his walk to start the sixth was his cruel reneging.

Then as it crept painfully close to game time and the remaining dishes still hadn’t come, the manager assured us there was “plenty of time left.” And there was, in the sense that the Red Sox still had plenty of arms in the bullpen after Papelbon completed two innings.

So the dinner and the game were analogous, but they were decidedly not the same. Which was worse? A comparison.

· Managers
Ballgame: Maybe everything that Tito tried didn’t work out, but every decision was defensible.

Burton’s: The Burton’s manager (note: Jose will call her Gidget, to protect her anonymity) lied to us about the problem, then lied some more. Then when she was done with that she lied just a little more. It was like watching a Rick Pitino press conference, but without the snappy suit. Jose would have been happier if she’d just explained the five missing entrees away by stating that not serving them was a “Manager’s Decision.”

Seriously, she was the worst manager in the Fenway not named Grady since Butch Hobson.
Edge: Ballgame

·Comps
Burton's: Comped us (note: after Jose was a jerk about it) for all the booze and the five missing entrees. Ergo, Jose got a rib eye for $15. He tried to pay more since his food game sort of on time, but the other SoSHers wouldn’t let him.

Ballgame: The Red Sox got none of Eric Gagne’s salary back

Edge: Burton’s

· Kapows
Ballgame: Manny and Mikey crush balls in losing effort.

Burton’s: Actual Sam Horn visits table and says “Kapow.”

Edge: Ballgame

So there you have it, despite not getting any discount for the hideous 11th, the ball game was analogous to the dinner yet slightly better. On the other hand, no one got sick from the food, which is more than Jose can say about the top of the 11th.

2. This would be the part of the KEYS where Jose would typically write a 200 plus line epic poem about the opposing team’s starting pitcher. Unfortunately, Jose has found very few epics with characters named Jake in them. Achilles, Agamemnon, Gilgamesh, Faust, Aeneas, these are the sorts of names that show up in epics. There are precious few Jakes.

No, for Jake we are left with no choices beyond quipping about him carting a python to the mound named Damien and throwing it on Julio Lugo after knocking the shortstop unconscious with a fastball high and tight, or getting all biblical and talking about Jacob’s Ladder.

Since Jake Westbrook is known for being more deceptive than powerful on the mound (note: Jose is pretty sure he has heard about him wearing goatskins on his hands to trick hitters into thinking they are facing his much more formidable Esau Westbrook) the ladder seems like the way to go.

Jacob’s ladder is, of course, the ladder described in the Book of Genesis (28:11-19), which Jacob envisioned in a dream and purportedly led to heaven.

While this ladder is said to be in Bethel, named for the former Patriot’s receiver and now in the area of the Palestinian town of Beitin, modern archeologists have failed to locate the ladder.

Jose’s been thinking about it, and he thinks it’s one of those “hidden in plain sight” deals. So he is pretty sure that Jacob’s ladder is the ladder on the Green Monster at Fenway. It makes perfect sense. The ladder used to serve a clear purpose, getting atop the Monster to collect balls hit into the screen, but now that there are seats there, what purpose does it serve? None. None, except climbing to heaven, that is.

You just watch, when Jake is getting shelled tonight he is going to flee and climb up that ladder away from menacing sluggers and into heaven’s warm embrace. Then we will be sorry.

Wait, the game’s in Cleveland? Never mind, he’s screwed.

3. In today’s Cleveland Plain Dealer, still the coolest newspaper name in America, the big story seem to be not what the Indians will do this evening, but what the midges will do.

In addition to an article interviewing scientists at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History (note: apparently they have museums now in Cleveland) about the prospect of a return of the insects, the Plain Dealer also offers a cutout midge mask that fans can wear to the stadium. While the prospect of 40,000 people wearing midge masks is certainly more appealing that the prospect of having to gaze on the visages of 40,000 actual Clevelanders, Jose wonders if Cleveland isn’t relying a little too heavily on insect infestation? Sure, a swarm of tiny winged insects is more effective at closing games than Joe Borowski, but is that really where a fan wants to place his confidence?

The case for renewed DDT use?

For starters, Mr. Matsu is unlikely to be bothered by midges. Jose has been in Japan when they have cicadas and based on that knowledge, he suspects that any insect shorter than two inches long and quieter than 120 decibels is unlikely to disturb the Japanese righty. Similarly, Jonathon Papelbon is from the freaking bayou, he can handle his insects, and if not, the beer case over his head will protect him. Second, Julian Tavarez seems like the sort of guy who would eat a whole plate of the things if you dared him to (note: please someone dare him to). Third, when Tim Wakefield pitches tomorrow night, his knuckleball will be completely camouflaged by the slow moving, fluttering insects. How will they know if their swinging at a ball or a midge? They can’t it’s impossible.

So please good people of Cleveland, rely on your insects, but remember relying on insects to win ballgames is like relying on Ant-Man to foil a crime. It’s better than nothing, but just as Batman is better than Ant-man, bats are far better guarantees of victory than bugs.

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

Hot Sox on Sox Action 4: Latin Edition

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

1. You’ve got to be kidding.

Here it is a sticky Sunday morning, Jose is sitting at his kitchen table staring out at morning glories that he has somehow managed to not kill (note: Helpful hint, when morning glories close up in the afternoon, they are not dead. Do not get angry and hit them with a rake as though one is Bob Stanley during beach ball season.) and he has somehow put himself in a position where he has to connect Julian Tavarez to lesbian sex so he can keep making “Hot Sox on Sox Action” jokes in post titles. These are not things one wants to think about before lunch on Sunday.

Jose never wanted this. Jose had envisioned something better. He was going to be Senator Melendez (note: not to be confused with Sen. Menendez of New Jersey) Governor Melendez, but it was not to be. Duty has a way of catching up with you. For some people, it’s taking over the family business. For others it is going off to war. For still others, it is making the ultimate sacrifice and piling into a Winnebago to campaign for your dad for President. (Note: That’s right Ben Romney, Jose knows you read KEYS, and yet you have done nothing, NOTHING, with all of your father’s publicity to promote KEYS. Has he mentioned it in a single debate? Have you or your brothers brought up KEYS when being interviewed by Diane Sawyer or whoever? For shame. Ask not what Jose can do for you, ask what you can do for Jose.) But for Jose the burden is unique, the curse is uncommon. He is bound my oath and by honor to get up before noon, well before noon, on Sunday and write jokes about his odd ethnicity so the Red Sox can keep winning. His reward is modest, a slight sense of satisfaction and the knowledge that if the Red Sox win today, SoSHer ragecage has promised to buy a KEYS thong. But duty calls, and Jose, after placing duty on hold while he goes to take a leak, is morally bound to answer.

2. Jose’s got a great idea. He knows where we can score a ton of Pisco cheap to deliver to the Red Sox after they win this afternoon and the Yankees lose.

Oh, you don’t know what Pisco is? Pisco is the national drink of Peru and Chile. The grape brandy has been the source of intense international dispute over the years as the two nations fight over which is its true home. Jose’s never had it, but it sounds delicious.

Now you are probably asking “Why is this beverage appropriate for the Red Sox?” And it’s a great question, after all, aren’t they more of a Jack Daniels crowd?


The answer is not so much that the spirit itself is appropriate, but that the bottles reflect a certain level of achievement. Pisco, which shares the name of the Peruvian town devastated by a recent earthquake, put out a large number of bottles commemorating the disaster by bearing the words “Pisco” and “7.5” on the labels. 7.5 was the magnitude of the earthquake. This did not go over particularly well in Peru where it was regarded as indifferent to the suffering of the earthquake’s appalling large number of victims.

So what Jose thinks is best for everyone is to reconceptualize the bottles. Send them up to Chicago where the Red Sox can quaff of their goodness this evening as they celebrate the fact that that 7.5 on the label, now represents the size of their lead over the Yankees.

2. Jose played some wiffleball last night, nothing unusual about that. He fielded some grounders, he took some hacks, he drank some beer. Just normal stuff.

But after an inning or two of this, Jose did something unorthodox, something a little dangerous, reckless really—he tried to pitch.

Now, many of you wouldn’t find this particularly odd or noteworthy, but then again you don’t know Jose do you? The reason this is worth recording is that Jose can’t pitch, not at all, not in baseball, not it softball, not even in wiffleball. If given a chance, he could probably be a horrendous cricket bowler as well. Jose throws fine in the field, at least when he’s not having bouts of Knoblauch/Sax syndrome, but put him on even a hypothetical mound and he looks like Brad Pennington or a lion, that is to say, wild. That’s right, Jose pitching is like playing candlepin bowling—no strikes.

Jose began his outing by throwing something like 20 straight balls. On the one hand, this was okay, as there were no walks, it made him effectively wild (note: not to be confused with wildly effective). On the other hand, people with whom he was playing understandably were starting to hate Jose. There’s nothing like standing around watching a guy miss the strike zone by three to eight feet time after time after time. At least they had beer. And that’s when Jose got an idea. He dropped down to a side arm delivery and whistled in a strike. He did it again, and the ball got crushed, but that’s not the point. He was throwing strikes, honest to God strikes.

As he continued his onslaught of arm angles, “coming from everywhere except between his legs,” as announcer Curt Gowdy once said of Luis Tiant, Jose actually began to strike a few guys out. That’s when someone shouted, “What is it with these Asian pitchers and their weird deliveries?”

Of course, Jose is only 1/8 Asian, so his delivers should only be 12.5 % weird, but it gave him an idea. He stretched his arms skyward and arched his back. He turned his eyes to the heavens as he coiled like a cobra and wound back. As he built torque he almost fell, standing dizzily on one leg like Mo Vaughn on the side on I-95 and then he uncoiled, the spring released and he grooved a nasty curve for a strike. The Hideo Nomo motion had worked.

Jose didn’t know why it worked, but it connected with something deep in his being, with something ancient and sublime from the rice patties of Nagasaki or the fishing boats of the imperial fleet. Jose could, at long last, pitch like a Japanese.

Next time, Jose is going to throw lefty and duplicate Sandy Koufax’s wind up. Jose just assumes if he can pitch like a Japanese he can pitch like a Jew too. Or even more so as he is ¾ Jewish. Jose also figures as 1/8 German he could pitch like a German, but as best he can tell that means sitting around and not playing wiffleball at all. (Note: Apologies to son of German immigrants Honus Wagner.)

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

Sing... Sing A Song

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

1. As the Sox struggle into the second half, their lead over the Yankees dwindling to a pathetically narrow seven games, one is tempted to ask “What’s missing?”

Sure, the Sox are missing power, decent outings from two-fifths of their rotation and production from shortstop and right field, but there’s something else. They’re missing a song. Every championship caliber team has a song. Jose has written about this time and again. (Note: Remember in 2004, he wrote up elaborate “My Francona” lyrics.) But what does this team have? Nothing. Nothing yet, that is.

Jose is not going to decide on the song today, but he is going to put forth some suggestions. You should too. Jose particularly encourages his international guests to send ideas. Perhaps there’s a raga that would suit this team well? Maybe some Mongolian throat singing? Just please no Peking opera. That stuff sucks.

Here are Jose’s thoughts thus far:

• Some Good Things Never Last—Barry Manilow
• Please Don’t Be Scared—Barry Manilow
• I Go Crazy—Barry Manilow
• Let’s Hang On—Barry Manilow
• Ready to Take a Chance Again—Barry Manilow
• Summer of ’78—Barry Manilow
• Weekend in New England—Barry Manilow
• It’s a Miracle—Barry Manilow
• Trying to Get the Feeling Again—Barry Manilow
• Could It Be Magic—Barry Manilow

It’s a pretty good list don’t you think? It covers the full gamut of emotions this team has caused, from exultation to heartbreak. Now, Jose knows what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “Those are all Barry Manilow songs.” And you’re right, but Jose assures you it’s just a coincidence that the ten songs that best typify the 2007 Red Sox are by the singer/songwriter who, according to an email Jose got from Ticketmaster this morning is playing at the Boston Garden on September 7 at 8PM. Or maybe it isn’t. The only things Jose buys through Ticketmaster are Sox tickets and wrestling tickets, so if Ticketmaster sent Jose this email, perhaps there is a natural synergy between The Red Sox and the adult contemporary legend.

Actually, the more Jose thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Barry Manilow is exactly like the 2007 Red Sox. He’s successful far more often than he’s not. While he’s had a lot of hits, only a few of them have been really big. And despite being incredibly popular, he’s kind of boring.


Anyway, send in your nominations for 2007 Red Sox theme song and Jose will vaguely consider writing some parody lyrics, because Jose Writes the Songs.


2. ESPN has drawn some criticism lately for their stupid new SportsCenter feature “Who’s More Now?” which as best Jose can tell, was inspired by that master of nowness, Gerald Ford. Ford famously said “Things are more like they are now, then they have ever been.”

No wonder he won reelection.

Still, Jose recognizes that if ESPN is doing something to connect with its audience, it’s probably shrew, shrewd enough in fact that Jose should appropriate it to court his own target demographic, 83-year old natives of Austria.

Thus, it is KEYS TO THE GAME’S distinct pleasure to present the inaugural edition of…

(drum roll)
(fireworks)
(thunderclap)
(Ewoks singing)
(Jeff Probst coming in by jet ski)

“Who’s More Then?”

In "Who’s More Then?" Jose will take a hip, irreverent look at the sports figures who shape our world and identify who is more then. What does it mean to be then? Well, it means to capture the essence of yesterday, of old times gone, both glorious and tragic.

In today’s episode Jose pits Johnny Pesky versus Don Zimmer.

Hair Cuts: Pesky boasts a loveable mop of silver hair, that if dyed would look as good on a 50 year old as on his aging scalp. Zimmer has the same crew cut, if a bit thinner, that’s he’s probably had since 1942. Point Zimmer

Affiliation: Pesky is a Red Sox and has been since he first put on the uniform. Zimmer, has been seen in a new fangled Tampa Bay uni. Point Pesky.

Changing perceptions: While Pesky was once scorned for “holding the ball” on Slaughter’s mad dash, he has become a beloved figure. Is there anyone who doesn’t still hate Zimmer for 1978? Point Zimmer.

Fisticuffs: Pedro kicked Zimmer’s *ss. Johnny Pesky never has, and never will, take on a wiry Dominican. Point Pesky.

Internal makeup: Pesky still has all the bones he was born with. Zimmer has a plate in his skull. Point Pesky.

Well there you have it. As James Earl Jones’ Terrance Mann said it Field of Dreams

“Baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again.”

That’s John Michael Paveskovich, and he is definitely more then.

3. We can all agree that Julian Tavarez is insane, but there are two different kinds of people with mental illness. The first are “high-functioning.” These are the sorts of people who can hold down a job, keep up a relationship and get through six innings without giving up more than three runs. These folks have their problems, say with bowling or touching Japanese teammates, but they do okay in the world. Julian Tavarez used to be one of these.

But now he’s the other type, low-functioning, the sort of person whose illness is truly debilitating, think Rick Ankiel or Matt Young. And it’s sad, but it’s not hopeless. We just need to accept that this is what Julian has become over his last four starts, and start working to make it better. Julian needs our love and support right now. And he needs the Red Sox to put him on the DL so he can get his affairs in order, check his meds, do some group, and come back when he’s able to function.

Maybe we could get him some time with Nurse Rachet or something. Jose hears she’s pretty good.

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

The Madness of King Julian

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

1. KEYS TO THE GAME PRESENTS
Ages of Empire

Today’s volume: Julian Tavarez

Jose is not even going to go through the motions on this one. Rather, he will back away from the elegant charade that there is any empire in this age, or any other, that can capture the madness of Julian Tavarez. Neither the Rome of Caligula, the emperor who made his horse a Senator, nor the British Empire run by the mad king George the III can fully capture the lunacy of Tavarez. To find an appropriate imperial analogy one must shake off the bonds of our reality and slip through the looking glass to the world of fiction. And there, only there, does the answer become clear. The correct analogy for Julian Tavarez is the Galactic Empire.

Now many of you, the nerdiest among you anyway, are no doubt asking which Galactic Empire Jose is talking about, the one from Star Wars or the one from Isaac Asimov’s Foundation trilogy. To which Jose answers neither and riposte’s with a question: Are you serious? Is there anything about either of those fictional empires that even approaches the pure batsh*t insanity that has led Sons of Sam Horn posters to call Tavarez “guano?”

The only Galactic Empire, hell, the only empire of any kind that even begins to approximate Tavarez’s madness is the one in Spaceballs. (Note to Nerds: Yes, technically the Spaceballs are from the planet Spaceball, and are not a Galactic Empire. How’s that for specificity? Are those of you who heckled Jose about the differences between Korea and Vietnam in his last post happy?)

Let’s break down the comparison. For starters, For starters, Tavarez in a batting helmet is not so different from the giant helmed Lord Dark Helmet, played by Rick Moranis. Second, the top two speeds on the spaceship Spaceball One are ridiculous speed and ludicrous speed; those are the bottom two speeds for Tavarez. Third, Jose has heard that Tavarez is known to go around the locker room saying “I see your Schwartz is as big as mine.” Finally, the only thing Jose can thing of that is more improbable than Tavarez’s emergence as a reliable starter is the scheduled resurrection of Spaceballs in animated form this fall.

Okay, that’s it. You know, what that’s a terrible analogy. But what else can you come up with for Tavarez? The guy isn’t imperial, he isn’t regal. He is simply effective, fun and more than a little nutty. Actually, that’s a lot like Spaceballs.

2. Tonight the Red Sox make their first appearance at San Diego’s PETCO Park where a certain animal rights organization made headlines by taking advantage of the “Buy a Brick” program, which allowed sponsors to help finance the stadium by purchasing a brick with a message on it. This organization encoded a message the read Break Open Your Cold Ones! Toast The Padres! Enjoy This Champion Organization!

If you take the first letter of each word, it spells out BOYCOTT PETCO.

Really, the Padres should have caught on. Why would anyone inaccurately classify them as “champion” unless they desperately needed a “C.?”

That said, this effort did give Jose an idea. With the new Yankee Stadium being built, perhaps there are some opportunities to send a message to the Bronx.

• Just Excellence. That’s Every Ring See, Unless Counting King Steinbrenner’s
• Put Outs? Steal Attempts? Driven Aroma? I Seek A Leader. Intangibles. Tight, Taut Legs. Enormous… Biceps? I Tremble for Clutch Hitting
• Congratulations Loser. Even Moneymen Eventually Need Someone In Search Of Very Enormous, Rotund Professional Athletes In Denial.

Jose only regrets that he couldn’t come up with something for. THE YANKEES ARE A CLASSLESS ORGANIZATION THAT HAS SPENT MORE THAN A BILLION DOLLARS SINCE THEIR LAST CHAMPIONSHIP.

3. David Murphy was called up from Pawtucket for the weekend series in San Diego. Jose thinks that it is great that the Red Sox will have an actually Dropkick Murphy on hand to sing Tessie

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

Like Paul Bunyan on Crack

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

1. Meet Julian Tavarez, folk hero.

You may remember him from such roles as Rudy Seanez’s Siamese twin and guy who couldn’t get anyone out #2.

Who’d have thunk it? Somehow, by sheer force of his quirks and eccentricities, Tavarez has become the most strangely beloved pitcher in Boston since Rich Garces. One could sort of understand the love for Garces though. It was simply; he was fat. Who doesn’t love fat guys? Garces let every Red Sox fan know that it was talent, not physical conditioning keeping him out of the majors. Any Sox fan who saw Garces could proudly walk down the street and say “I’m not too fat to be an elite athlete.” And for that we were grateful and thus showered him with love.

So why is it that we have grown to love the lanky Tavarez, who lacks the jolly flab that made El Guapo so appealing? Jose thinks that is because just as El Guapo let all of us couch potatoes know we weren’t too fat for the majors, Tavarez lets the mentally ill among us know that we are not too crazy to play in the majors. His NWO-style pointing at first base on ground balls, his bizarre obsession with Daisuke Matsuzaka, his tendency to punch people in the face for no particular reason, the fact that he actually relates to Manny Ramirez, all mark him as a certifiable lunatic who if he wasn’t playing baseball, would be in a cabin somewhere in the woods gathering jars of urine for resale to Moises Alou as a hand toughener.

Or maybe it’s not that he’s crazy, maybe it is that he is a sort of everyman. He eats at Burger King before going to work just like us, he punches walls when he gets mad just like us and he says that if he hadn’t gone into his current line of work, he would have been an adult film star just like us.

Or maybe, just maybe, we like him because he has started to get outs. Free from the uncertainty of bullpen life. Tavarez has started to look like Derek Lowe, throwing the most leaden of sinkers for ground out after ground out, looking terrible from time to time, but also showing flashes of brilliance.

Nah… Jose likes him because he’s looney tunes.

2. Interleague play begins tonight with the Braves coming to town for a three game set. When interleague play first began it was kind of fun, as one would see the first meeting between teams in 90 years, or perhaps the first meeting ever, but as the years have worn on, the firsts have disappeared, and with them a fair amount of the excitement surrounding the games.

However, tonight the excitement returns. It would be enough that ER himself, Edgar Renteria makes his return to Boston. Heck that alone would be the biggest event since Jackie Guiterrez made his 1986 return to Boston in a Baltimore uniform, but there is much, much more. (Note: Jose cannot confirm that Guitierez ever played at Fenway in an O’s uniform, but let’s pretend.) Yes, tonight marks the return of Anthony “Buddy” Lerew to Fenway Park.

As you will recall, Lerew was a part owner of the Red Sox from 1978 to 1985. In 1983 he launched a coup to take over the team from Jean Yawkey and Haywood Sullivan. Unfortunately he forgot that the most important part of a coup is the “armed” part, thus his effort was blocked by an injunction and he lost later court challenges. Ultimately, Leroux sold his interest in the team.

What happened to him since then had been something of a mystery. He was known to have an ownership interest in the Suffolk Downs race track and to maintain involvement in a number of rehabilitation hospitals. It is the second element that is important today, as we learn that Lerew has apparently used advanced rehab technology to sculpt his body into the form of a much younger man and to rehabilitate the spelling of his last name from LeRoux to Lerew. Thus we come to this evening, when Buddy, as a starting pitcher for the hated natural rival Atlanta Braves, attempts to take an awful revenge against his former club.

3. Curt Euro’s six inning, two run, four walk, eight extra base hit performance last night was a stunning achievement. Jose can’t find records to prove it, but it may well have been the worst six inning two run pitching display in Major League history.

Jose vaguely remembers Steve Avery having an effort where he scattered 15-20 hits over six innings in 1998, but it can’t have been any worse than what we saw last night. Heck, there have only been a very small number of endeavors in all of human history that match the horrible execution AND the positive result of Curt Euro’s performance.

• Columbus discovers America—Guy think’s he’s sailing to India, totally screws up, finds continent.
• Discovery of penicillin— Genius leaves bread out ruining perfectly good bread, discovers antibiotics.
• Iraq war— War under false pretenses, managed by incompetents with no occupation plan, leads to blossoming of multi-cultural democracy in heart of world’s most volatile region.

And that’s about it. So we saw some history made last night. Jose can hardly wait for the book by Doris Kearns Goodwin.

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

Like Triangle

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

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

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

JULIAN: Hi Daisuke.

DAISUKE: Oh hi Julian.

JULIAN: How’s it going?

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

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

DAISUKE: Oh thanks.

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

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

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

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

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

DAISUKE: I’m feeling really uncomfortable.

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

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

JULIAN: Los manos, los manos lucido.

DAISUKE: Umm… I also not speak Spanish?

JULIAN: Just let me touch them. Please?

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

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

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

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

DAISUKE: But I thought—

JULIAN: Cultural differences!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait... It's a Day Game?

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

1. Did you know that today’s Red Sox-Blue Jays game has a scheduled start time of 12:37 PM? Yeah, neither did Jose, which is why today’s KEYS will, much like David Eckstein, be short, and of inferior quality! But at least they will be a spark plug.

Let’s only hope that the Red Sox didn’t forget the early time too, or in the case of today’s starter Julienned Tavarez, that he did forget.

2. SINCE THE SHIFT HAS WORKED SO WELL AT TAKING BASE HITS AWAY FROM DAVID ORTIZ” JOSE THOUGHT THAT MAYBE HE SHOULD TRY USING IT AGAINST EXTREMELY TALENTED PLAYERS FOR OTHER TEAMS” LIKE TONIGHT”S BLUE JAYS STARTER ROY HALLADAY>

AS YOU CAN SEE” JOSE IS HOLDING DOWN THE SHIFT KEY RIGHT NOW> YEAH, IT’S A LITTLE WEIRD AND IT LEAVES MANY OF JOSE”S FINGERS OUT OF POSITION” (NOTE: AND IT MAKES ALL COMMAS QUOTATION MARKS AND PERIODS CARROTS) BUT HE HOPES IT WILL WORK> THAT SAID” HE CAN’T REACH THE “T” SO WELL WITH HIS LEFT HAND AND IS HAVING TO TRY TO OVERCOMPENSATE BY REACHING FOR IT WITH HIS RIGHT>

STILL” THE SHIFT IS WORTH TRYING UNTIL IT STOPS WORKING” RIGHT?

Blue Jays Manager John Gibbons plots

strategy for the Ortiz shift.

3. John Lester has been promoted to AAA Pawtucket after absolutely tearing up Greenville as he continues his return from cancer. While one should be wary about drawing too much from his domination of single A hitters, one can extrapolate something from the fact that Lester was throwing strikes. As you recall, last year, Lester struggled with walks at the major league level, despite having had pretty good control in the minors. This leads to a rather obvious question. Can cancer increase the number balls? Jose’s friend Jamie, speculated, rather shrewdly, that perhaps the silent toll the cancer was taking on Lester’s body was preventing him from recuperating fully between starts and therefore hurting his control.

It’s an interesting theory, but it is counterintuitive, thus Jose remains skeptical. After all, we know for a fact that caner can decrease the number of balls thanks to Mike Lowell. (Note: Cue angry emails.)

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

Thinking Outside the Pen

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

1. The principle spring training narrative continues to be the question of who will close. Terry Eurona is said to favor Julienned Tavarez (note: shoot Jose), others view Mike Timlin as the lead candidate and still others think Joel Piniero should get a shot. None of them are terribly appealing are they? But maybe the Red Sox haven’t considered all of the options. Perhaps, just perhaps in this brave and terrible new baseball world, the closer is no longer necessary. Perhaps, it is nothing more than a vestigial structure, a once useful thing that has long since lost its purpose, like the appendix or Bernie Williams.

Jose proposes that the Red Sox do not need a closer at all. Rather, they should develop an elaborate strategy that focuses on avoiding save situations all together. The strategy involves three basic components:

1. Big leads— All the Red Sox need to do is get way ahead, and there will be no save situation to worry about.


2. Come from behind wins—Why score three runs in the third to build a slim, blowable lead when you could just as easily score them in the bottom of the ninth while down by two runs?


3. Weather control—If the Red Sox had a weather control machine, they could bring in the rain whenever they have a lead after the fifth and render the closer question moot. This is probably a less appealing alternative in domes.

Now, Jose knows what you’re thinking, that big leads and come from behind wins may be good plans, but controlling the weather is potentially catastrophic for the environment not to mention incredibly difficult to do. Fair enough, but let Jose ask you this, which do you think is harder, exerting precise and total control over the elements or finding a closer out of Donnelly, Tavarez, Piniero and Timlin? Jose thought so. Look at it this way, there have been movies wherein people can control the weather, X-Men for instance. Sure it’s fantastic, but no one leaves the theater saying “That’s crap, there’s no way Storm could make rain and lightning.” By contrast, if you went into a theater, dropped down your ten bucks and saw a movie wherein Julienned Tavarez became an effective closer you would condemn it as too absurd even for fiction. Point weather control.

2. One of the biggest disappointments of the 2006 season was Coco Crisp’s failure to thrive with the Red Sox. While it was easy to attribute his struggles to a broken finger, Jose thinks his difficulties can be just as easily linked to his failure to develop a clear identity within the context of the team.

You know how most relievers perform better when they have a clear role on the team? Like how Julienned Tavarez would stop sucking if they told him “you will only pitch the sixth inning.” Jose believes that the same holds true for Crisp. So Jose has tried to come up with the best role for Crisp, one that will allow him to reach his full potential, and after more than a few sleepless nights, he thinks he’s got it—birdman.

It’s perfect. Look at how well it worked for Crisp’s namesake, wrestling legend Koko B. Ware. After getting off to a promising start as Pro Wrestling Illustrated’ s 1979 rookie of the year, Ware struggled to establish himself, ending up on a tenure track to obscurity. But then, he found his role, when he signed with the WWF in 1986 as “Birdman” Koko B. Ware, and brought his pet bird Frankie to the ring with him. All of a sudden, B. Ware emerged as a beloved star, if not an actual champion.

So all Crisp needs to do is get himself a parrot and a sequined headband and voila, he’ll reach his formidable potential. Also, picking up “Piledriver” Koko B. Wares singles from the “The Wrestling Album 2: Piledriver” couldn’t hurt.
The only down side is that it could set up a situation where the Yankees steal Crisp’s bird prior to a big game, rendering Crisp distracted and useless.

Now playing centerfield for the Red Sox, accompanied by his bird Frankie...

3. In other news, David Ortiz is trying to kill Terry Eurona.

According to the Boston Herald, Ortiz has been doing his rank best to keep the manager addicted to smokeless tobacco, going so far as to waft the sickly sweet aroma directly into Tito’s nostrils.

Now, Jose can understand where Ortiz is coming from. After all, who hasn’t wanted to kill Tito from time to time? But remember, as frustrating as his bullpen decisions may sometimes be, he is still the best Red Sox manager since Dick Williams. Besides, what’s the point of trying to keep him on smokeless tobacco? To kill him before he can burn out the 2017 bullpen?

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