It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Believe it or not, there is a problem with baseball.
It’s kind of boring.
It is. Let’s stop fooling ourselves and admit it.
Jose loves baseball as much as anyone— no more than anyone, but the critics are right, the game is boring. Jose has always known this, and sometimes he has even admitted it. Indeed, from time to time, Jose has been known to argue that baseball is the greatest of sports precisely because it is boring. In football or basketball if you are distracted for a moment or two you can lose the entire flow of the game. Also, they angry up the blood. In soccer, looking away for a moment at any time can result in missing the sum total of the day’s scoring. But baseball, with its leisurely pace and long season lends itself to a lacksidasical approach to watching in all but the most important of games, and Jose is nothing if not lacksidasical.
The historical notion is that this relaxed tempo has made baseball the most old-fashioned of sports, a leisurely pastoral game designed for the slow pace of the late 19th century. Jose could not disagree more. While baseball may have been born in a more plodding age, it is the absolute best game for the information age. You know why? Multitasking.
Baseball fandom was made for multitaskers. Because baseball, unlike other sports, does not require one’s undivided attention, it is the perfect sport for the era of blackberries, connectivity and all of that other techno-Al Gore- mumbo jumbo. Who can do one thing at a time anymore? Who dares to drive a car without listening to the radio and/or shooting out the window? Who would imagine washing dishes without talking on the phone? Who would ever walk to work without trading on the Hang Seng wirelessesly? Suckers and back numbers, that’s who. And baseball is perfect for this on-the-go lifestyle.
It used to be that Jose would read a magazine or the paper while watching the game. But those days are long gone. Jose has now taken to watching DVD’s on his laptop while watching the game with the sound off (note: this has the added benefit of ensuring that he does not hear the gyroball song ever again.) As a result, Jose is able to entertain himself twice as efficiently. Hell, you could blow through an entire season of Weeds in the time it takes to watch one Red Sox-Yankees game. (Note: Though of course, Yankees games are one of those categories that require undivided attention.) Sometimes, Jose will even go for the trifecta and watch a DVD with the game on while reading a magazine.
Jose’s only regret is that computer-based video systems did not exist in the early 1990s. He’s pretty sure he could have watched entire episodes of Lost in between Jeff Gray pitches.
2. There is enough bad news in sports today, what with dog killing quarterbacks, crooked refs, juicing sluggers and pro wrestling deaths by the fistful. Jose would like to focus on the positive. He really would. But just when you think you’ve found a great story, something uplifting to focus on, that pedestal crumbles to dust.
Jose was going to use this space to write about Brandon Webb’s remarkable pursuit of Orel Herschiser’s consecutive scoreless innings record. Webb has pitched 42 straight without yielding a run, stilly two complete games short of Herschiser’s number. But then he checked his email last night. Scandal city.
Waiting in Jose’s Inbox was an email from none other than Brandon N. Webb advertising Jose incredible low, low prices on prescription drugs. The drugs available included the typical assortment of male prescriptions in addition to Ambien and Xanax. The best part was that one gets four free Viagra with every order!
If Webb is running an internet pharmacy, that is not only a gross violation of U.S. law, but circumstantial evidence that he might be involved with some of the more pernicious substances floating through the Major League ranks.
Now you’re probably asking yourself “Why would a Major Leaguer making big money risk it all by running a pharmacy business on the side?” Well, first it’s not unprecedented. MLS star Joe-Max Moore ran an internet pharmacy with his father. Second, it is not as though Webb did not take precautious to disguise his identity. In the email, Webb cleverly changed his middle initial from “T” to “N,” which would through most professional journalists off track, but not someone with Jose’s keen investigative senses.
So there you go. Brandon Webb, you are a crook and possibly a cheat. Jose is onto you and he will rarely, if ever buy prescription drugs from you. If Jose absolutely must get his prescriptions from a major leaguer, he will get them from Jason Giambi like everyone else.
3. While the Doug Mirabelli injury on Friday was disappointing, it did give a chance for upstart Kevin “Kid” Kash to make his Red Sox debut. According to wikipedia and a few other sources, Kash learned to catch the knuckleball under the tutelage of former tag team champion and Rock ‘n’ Roll Express legend Ricky Morton.
So what does Kid Kash bring to this team? Well, aside from having the 4th worst OPS plus among hitters with 300+ plate appearances since 1967 (note: thanks to SoSher CaptainLaddie for that stat), he offers decent skills at throwing out runners and a whole slew of humorous Kash-themed wrestling maneuvers such as the Money Roll, Bankruptcy , K.O.D. – Kash On Delivery, the Money Drop and the Bank Roll.
Keeping with the carefully crafted Kash persona, Jose suggests that every time he throws out a runner we refer to it as “foreclosing on a subprime mortgage,” every time he gets a hit, which will be rarely, we can call it “paying dividends,” and each strikeout will be known as selling short.
Also, when he uses the men’s room, we’ll call it liquidating his assets.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Monday, August 20
Sunday, August 19
Classic KEYS
Below is a classic KEY 1 from 2004. It is among the most beloved KEYS ever written and seems appropriate for a day when the Sox are wearing the Red unis.
Now included, for the first time ever, is the picture that didn't go with it back in 2004 because Jose was too stupid to use pictures.
Now included, for the first time ever, is the picture that didn't go with it back in 2004 because Jose was too stupid to use pictures.
Tuesday, August 14
Eric Gagne's Middle Name is Serge
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Following yesterday’s KEYS, wherein Jose assigned Eric Gagne the middle name Heathcliff because he couldn’t figure out his real middle name, a number of Jose’s astute (note: know-it-all) readers let him know that Gagne does in fact have a real middle name. It is “Serge.”
This raised an obvious question: Does the President know this?
Jose confessed he was not thrilled by the idea of using a serge in Iraq when he thought the President was talking about sending more troops there, but to send Eric Serge Gagne? That just seems crazy. For starters, he’s Canadian, so Jose is pretty sure the President of the U.S. has no authority over him. But just as importantly, is Gagne really the man for the job? What Jose has seen in Gagne’s brief stint in Boston has left him with deep concerns about his ability to preserve a win. If he can’t preserve a win in Camden Yards, how on Earth is he going to preserve one in Baghdad? Even worse, before Gagne came here, Jose was always hearing about how filthy he was. Filthy fastball, filthy change. Is someone so filthy really equipped to deal with Baaths? (Note: KEYS TO THE GAME, winner worst Iraq War pun three years running. No, not really.)
If we were going to hinge our foreign policy to a relief pitcher, Gagne would not have been Jose’s first choice. A far better option would have been Mike Timlin, as he is proficient with small arms and likes to wear camouflage. Of course, the President may be saving Timlin until we have four more years of war. You know, Timlin in the eighth. Then Scott Williamson would take over the war in year nine. Who says Bush can’t learn from past mistakes.
2. Jose loves pork chops. He just loves them. Maybe the best thing about the modern, lean pork chops is that they are at their absolute best with no seasoning more exotic than salt and pepper. From time to time, Jose will lose his senses and sprinkle a pork chop with some exotic rub designed to accentuate its fatty deliciousness, but the result is invariably disappointing. When it comes to pork chops, Ockham’s Razor presides.
Last night, Jose thawed out a couple of pork chops for dinner. Summer grilling, you know. As he prepared to salt and pepper them, he noticed that one of the chops was kind of strange. Rather than having the white-pink hue and smooth texture Jose is accustomed too, it was redder, the grain thicker. At first, Jose was concerned that there was something horribly, cataclysmically wrong with this pork chop, but then he realized the awful truth—it wasn’t a pork chop at all. Instead, it was a piece of sirloin steak cut in a shape that vaguely resembled a pork chop. When cooled to freezing the vast tundra of Jose’s ice box, the slab of cow was indistinguishable from the swine upon which Jose so gleefully digs.
The reason Jose brings this up is that he’s been thinking that Kevin Youkilis is a lot like that steak that appeared to be a pork chop. Maybe he wasn’t exactly what you thought he would be, an everyday third basemen, but what he turned out to be, a slick fielding first baseman is pretty good, though maybe he needed a bit more seasoning than he would have at first. Also, like the steak he is conceivably, though not certainly kosher, while Pork Chop Lowell, most clearly is not.
3. The WWF is working an angle right now wherein it is revealed that Vincent K. McMahon has an illegitimate child and that this, as yet unidentified child, works for the WWF. (Note: Jose bets it’s not someone who works in marketing.)
Jose would sort of like to see the Red Sox try something like this. It would be kind of fun if John W. Henry went down to the pitcher’s mound pregame and declared that someone on the team was his son and that he wouldn’t rest until he identified who it was.
Jose figures it would have to be DJ Dru, because the only way that contract made sense, at least knowing what we do now about Dru being overshadowed by the awesome power of Doug Mirabelli, is if it was some kind of paternity settlement.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Following yesterday’s KEYS, wherein Jose assigned Eric Gagne the middle name Heathcliff because he couldn’t figure out his real middle name, a number of Jose’s astute (note: know-it-all) readers let him know that Gagne does in fact have a real middle name. It is “Serge.”
This raised an obvious question: Does the President know this?
Jose confessed he was not thrilled by the idea of using a serge in Iraq when he thought the President was talking about sending more troops there, but to send Eric Serge Gagne? That just seems crazy. For starters, he’s Canadian, so Jose is pretty sure the President of the U.S. has no authority over him. But just as importantly, is Gagne really the man for the job? What Jose has seen in Gagne’s brief stint in Boston has left him with deep concerns about his ability to preserve a win. If he can’t preserve a win in Camden Yards, how on Earth is he going to preserve one in Baghdad? Even worse, before Gagne came here, Jose was always hearing about how filthy he was. Filthy fastball, filthy change. Is someone so filthy really equipped to deal with Baaths? (Note: KEYS TO THE GAME, winner worst Iraq War pun three years running. No, not really.)
If we were going to hinge our foreign policy to a relief pitcher, Gagne would not have been Jose’s first choice. A far better option would have been Mike Timlin, as he is proficient with small arms and likes to wear camouflage. Of course, the President may be saving Timlin until we have four more years of war. You know, Timlin in the eighth. Then Scott Williamson would take over the war in year nine. Who says Bush can’t learn from past mistakes.
2. Jose loves pork chops. He just loves them. Maybe the best thing about the modern, lean pork chops is that they are at their absolute best with no seasoning more exotic than salt and pepper. From time to time, Jose will lose his senses and sprinkle a pork chop with some exotic rub designed to accentuate its fatty deliciousness, but the result is invariably disappointing. When it comes to pork chops, Ockham’s Razor presides.
Last night, Jose thawed out a couple of pork chops for dinner. Summer grilling, you know. As he prepared to salt and pepper them, he noticed that one of the chops was kind of strange. Rather than having the white-pink hue and smooth texture Jose is accustomed too, it was redder, the grain thicker. At first, Jose was concerned that there was something horribly, cataclysmically wrong with this pork chop, but then he realized the awful truth—it wasn’t a pork chop at all. Instead, it was a piece of sirloin steak cut in a shape that vaguely resembled a pork chop. When cooled to freezing the vast tundra of Jose’s ice box, the slab of cow was indistinguishable from the swine upon which Jose so gleefully digs.
The reason Jose brings this up is that he’s been thinking that Kevin Youkilis is a lot like that steak that appeared to be a pork chop. Maybe he wasn’t exactly what you thought he would be, an everyday third basemen, but what he turned out to be, a slick fielding first baseman is pretty good, though maybe he needed a bit more seasoning than he would have at first. Also, like the steak he is conceivably, though not certainly kosher, while Pork Chop Lowell, most clearly is not.
3. The WWF is working an angle right now wherein it is revealed that Vincent K. McMahon has an illegitimate child and that this, as yet unidentified child, works for the WWF. (Note: Jose bets it’s not someone who works in marketing.)
Jose would sort of like to see the Red Sox try something like this. It would be kind of fun if John W. Henry went down to the pitcher’s mound pregame and declared that someone on the team was his son and that he wouldn’t rest until he identified who it was.
Jose figures it would have to be DJ Dru, because the only way that contract made sense, at least knowing what we do now about Dru being overshadowed by the awesome power of Doug Mirabelli, is if it was some kind of paternity settlement.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Monday, August 13
Hold On
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Your name is Eric Gagne, and you were put on this good Earth to close. (Note: Using the second person and the player’s full name connotes gravity. It’s a common writing technique. Of course, Jose can’t find Gagne’s middle name, so we’ll have to make one up. Let’s go with Heathcliff, for no reason in particular, and try again.)
Your name is Eric Heathcliff Gagne, and you were put on this Earth to close. In the past you have closed baseball games, ending them quickly and painlessly, in Los Angeles and Texas. You managed to end up closing baseball games, but it could have been anything. You could have been a detective closing cases, a real estate agent closing on home sales, or one of those pompous bar bouncers closing the door in the unglamorous faces of those lacking the requisite hipness to slink past the velvet rope.
But your world, Eric Heathcliff Gagne, is falling apart. You came to Boston heralded as the final piece, and suddenly nothing closes quite so easily. Your cases go cold, your sales go unfinalized and somehow Miguel Tejada and Nick Markakis keep sneaking into the club wearing flip-flops and wife beaters.
You are having an identify crisis, it seems. Who are you? What is your calling? When you got here they didn’t want you to close. They wanted you to hold. But who wants to hold? Telephone operators banishing irate customers into fiber optic Hades? Travel agents reserving airline tickets, but reminding clients that no price is fixed until payment is received? Tony Romo on critical field goal attempts? Not you, that is for sure.
Fish gotta swim, bird gotta fly, Gagne gotta pitch when a win is nigh.
Still, it shouldn’t be hard. Eighth, ninth, what’s the difference? (Note: One.) But it is. In fact, you cannot do it. You were brought to Boston to be a running mate to Hideki Okajima and Jonathan Papelbon, but God help you, you can’t keep up. Let’s put it this way, if they were to anglicize your name and put you in a buddy cop show with a Red Sox reliever of similar prowess, they would call it Gagne and (Kerry) Lacy. Though, perhaps this is unfair. Jose would feel a lot better seeing Tyne Daly trotting out of the bullpen in the eighth these days than you.
Thus far, you are not even the best French Canadian relief pitcher the Red Sox have had in recent memory. You are the sorry Friendly’s fries to the rich and creamy poutine that is Rheal Cormier.
So what’s next? You have already manfully accepted blame for both losses over the weekend. This is a good start, but it is a terrible finish, like a Tom Clancy novel bad finish. Taking responsibility is only worthwhile if it is followed by a change in behavior.
Can you heed the words of En Vogue, Good Charlotte and Wilson Phillips and “hold on?” Can you? Or will we be forced to recall a grim lesson from This American Life, that on hold, no one can hear you scream. For the first time, in Jose’s life, he is pulling for Wilson Phillips.
1. Your name is Eric Gagne, and you were put on this good Earth to close. (Note: Using the second person and the player’s full name connotes gravity. It’s a common writing technique. Of course, Jose can’t find Gagne’s middle name, so we’ll have to make one up. Let’s go with Heathcliff, for no reason in particular, and try again.)
Your name is Eric Heathcliff Gagne, and you were put on this Earth to close. In the past you have closed baseball games, ending them quickly and painlessly, in Los Angeles and Texas. You managed to end up closing baseball games, but it could have been anything. You could have been a detective closing cases, a real estate agent closing on home sales, or one of those pompous bar bouncers closing the door in the unglamorous faces of those lacking the requisite hipness to slink past the velvet rope.
But your world, Eric Heathcliff Gagne, is falling apart. You came to Boston heralded as the final piece, and suddenly nothing closes quite so easily. Your cases go cold, your sales go unfinalized and somehow Miguel Tejada and Nick Markakis keep sneaking into the club wearing flip-flops and wife beaters.
You are having an identify crisis, it seems. Who are you? What is your calling? When you got here they didn’t want you to close. They wanted you to hold. But who wants to hold? Telephone operators banishing irate customers into fiber optic Hades? Travel agents reserving airline tickets, but reminding clients that no price is fixed until payment is received? Tony Romo on critical field goal attempts? Not you, that is for sure.
Fish gotta swim, bird gotta fly, Gagne gotta pitch when a win is nigh.
Still, it shouldn’t be hard. Eighth, ninth, what’s the difference? (Note: One.) But it is. In fact, you cannot do it. You were brought to Boston to be a running mate to Hideki Okajima and Jonathan Papelbon, but God help you, you can’t keep up. Let’s put it this way, if they were to anglicize your name and put you in a buddy cop show with a Red Sox reliever of similar prowess, they would call it Gagne and (Kerry) Lacy. Though, perhaps this is unfair. Jose would feel a lot better seeing Tyne Daly trotting out of the bullpen in the eighth these days than you.
Thus far, you are not even the best French Canadian relief pitcher the Red Sox have had in recent memory. You are the sorry Friendly’s fries to the rich and creamy poutine that is Rheal Cormier.
So what’s next? You have already manfully accepted blame for both losses over the weekend. This is a good start, but it is a terrible finish, like a Tom Clancy novel bad finish. Taking responsibility is only worthwhile if it is followed by a change in behavior.
Can you heed the words of En Vogue, Good Charlotte and Wilson Phillips and “hold on?” Can you? Or will we be forced to recall a grim lesson from This American Life, that on hold, no one can hear you scream. For the first time, in Jose’s life, he is pulling for Wilson Phillips.
Tyne. Better than Gagne?
2. With Eric Gagne the Red Sox much heralded trade deadline acquisition blowing the game more often the Stephanie McMahon (note: snap), some pundits are beginning to compare the move to the Red Sox’s acquisition of the useless Scott Sauerbeck and even more useless Jeff Suppan in 2003. That move was also expected to cement the Red Sox as the leading contender for a championship. Instead, it only cemented Freddy Sanchez as the by player on the Pittsburgh Pirates.
Jose rejects this comparison for a number of reasons:
- It will take some awesome pitching the rest of the way for Gagne to get down to the 5.57 and 6.48 ERAs that Suppan and Sauerbeck posted for the Red Sox in 2003.
- Gagne doesn’t match up with Roger Clemens nearly as well as Suppan.
- There’s no way Theo could have gotten Gagne just because he thought he was Jewish. (Note: Building on a Seth Mnookin joke.)
- David Murphy will never win a batting title and go to two All-Star Games a la Freddy Sanchez.
- Suppan and Sauerbeck—no glasses.
3. Let’s see, what’s in the news, what’s in the news. Oh, it looks like President Carter decided not to make any neutron bombs. That’s good. What else? Pete Rose picked up his 3,000 hit. That’ll make him a sure bet for the Hall of Fame. The Mormons just decided to let blacks be priests? Outstanding. Yikes two popes dead in a single year? Crazy. Well, at least Sadat and Begin split the Nobel peace prize. That probably means that there will be peace in the Middle East soon.
Hmm… There’s something wrong here. Jose can’t quite figure it out. What is it? What is it? Oh, Jose’s got it. None of these things is happening right now.
Of course!
And do you know why none of these things are happening right now? BECAUSE IT’S NOT 1978. Sid is not killing Nancy, Topher Grace’s mom is not giving birth to Topher Grace, scientists are not eradicating small pox and the Yankees are not coming back to win the A.L. East, because it is 2007. The idea that any of these events, each as ancient as the fall of Rome, will happen again is absurd, except for the second coming of Topher Grace, but that’s biblical prophecy, so it’s different.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Friday, August 10
Wednesday, August 8
Tuck(ered) Out
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Thanks to the new warrantless wiretapping law, Jose, with his Bush Administration connections, was able to tap the bullpen phone two nights ago and listen to the conversation between Manager Terry Eurona and bullpen coach Gary Tuck. See if you can spot the terror threat in the following exchange.
Tuck: (In a falsetto) Hello, bullpen, how may I direct your call.
Tito: God damn it Tuck, I know it’s you, will you stop doing that.
Tuck: Mr. Tuck has stepped away from his desk for a moment. If it is I can try to find him.
Tito: We need to get a pitcher warming.
Tuck: One moment, let me put you on hold while I look (starts humming The Girl from Ipanema.) Thank you for your patience I’ll transfer you now.
(beep)
Voice Mail: Hi you’ve reached Kyle Snyder’s line, I’ve stepped away for a moment but if you leave a message, I’ll return your call as soon as possible.
(Tito slams the phone down in aggravation, then picks it up again)
Tuck: (In a falsetto) Hello, bullpen, how may I direct your call.
Tito: TUCK!
Tuck: One moment please… (then in a normal voice) Hello, Tuck here.
Tito: What the hell are you doing Tuck?
Tuck: Sorry about the new girl, she’s just figuring out the phones. We shouldn’t have sent down Lopez, he could really work a switchboard. Great phone voice too.
Tito: Curt’s hurting here, we need to get someone up.
Tuck: Sure. We’re a little backed up this inning. So let’s look at the schedule. Can you be available between the 8th and 9th? I should be able to send a reliever out somewhere in that window.
Tito: You’re the bullpen coach. Get someone up NOW!
Tuck: Sir, yelling isn’t going to help. I have a lot of other customers ahead of you in line.
Tito: NO YOU DON’T I’M THE ONLY PERSON YOU WORK FOR.
Tuck: I see… Okay, what’s your order.
Tito: We’re only down one, get up Gagne.
Tuck: I’m sorry, Gagne’s not available right now. I could get him to you tomorrow.
Tito: Then Okajima.
Tuck: You could do that, but let me tell you from experience, that’s not what you want to do here. Yeah, he’s high quality, but it’s not the right fit.
Tito: Papelbon then?
Tuck: I can put Papelbon on back order and have him to you by the ninth. Would that work, maybe the eighth if we really push it. But the 7th? No way, can’t be done.
Tito: (sighs) I can’t leave Curt in. If I do, the lead is going to blow up in a hurry. What can you get me now?
Tuck: I can get you Julian Tavarez. He’s not fancy, but solid, workmanlike, should do the job, and I can get him to you fast. Either that or Kyle Snyder.
Tito: Snyder’s not there, I got his voicemail.
Tuck: Then let’s go with Tavarez, I’ll get him loose, and you’ll have him in no time.
Tito: Great.
Tuck: Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Tito: Uh no… I guess I’m good.
Tuck: Then thank you for using Bullpen Express for all of your relief needs.
Tito: You’re fired.
Did you spot the terror threat? It’s subtle, but Tito threatened to “blow up” things if he did not get his way. Thank God we have a transcript
2. In all of the hullabaloo about whether Barry Bonds did or did not use steroids on his march to 756 (note: he did), there are equally important issues that have gone completely unaddressed. Not he least of these is the critical question of why Barry Bonds hates America.
This is the nation of his birth, the nation that gave him opportunity and made him a wealthy man, and how does he repay us? His spits on us (note: metaphorically).
For much of his march towards Aaron’s record and last night when he left it splintered like so many slivers of ash after a Papelbon fastball, Bonds was using… get ready… a Canadian bat.
That’s right. Rather than supporting the U.S. economy and creating American jobs, he exports and outsources, bat construction to foreigners, who care not for us and our way of life, foreigners whose customs and tongue, who’s creed and dress are perplexing to the average American who has cheered Bonds through his career.
Rather than taking his pick from the white ash forests of Maine, he betrays us, selecting harder wood from the Canadian Maple or as Jose calls it “the treachery tree.”
And do you know what they are doing to the north? They are laughing at us! They are laughing! Jose has not done any checking, but he has no doubt that the Canadians are jubilantly talking about how “American slugger Barry Bonds with his Canadian made bat broke the home run record.” This is what they do, these Canadians. David Rakoff, a Canadian writer, win an appearance on This American Life claimed that the space shuttle, our space shuttle, is referred to in Canada as the American Space Shuttle with its Canadian arm,” as its mechanical arm is of Canadian stock.
This is no different. Like NASA, Bonds has allowed himself to be a tool of the pernicious, pervasive and unrelenting Canadian cultural imperialism that is slowly, slowly eating away at the fabric of American life like so many beetles chomping on the white ash of New York state.
For shame.
3. In a final note on the Bonds saga, his 756th home run came off Washington’s Mike Bacsik, whose father once faced Hank Aaron when Aaron was looking, unsuccessfully for his 756th home run. Whatever you think of him, you’ve got to give Bonds credit. Hitting a home run off of a giant snake who’s look can kill you has got to be tricky.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Thanks to the new warrantless wiretapping law, Jose, with his Bush Administration connections, was able to tap the bullpen phone two nights ago and listen to the conversation between Manager Terry Eurona and bullpen coach Gary Tuck. See if you can spot the terror threat in the following exchange.
Tuck: (In a falsetto) Hello, bullpen, how may I direct your call.
Tito: God damn it Tuck, I know it’s you, will you stop doing that.
Tuck: Mr. Tuck has stepped away from his desk for a moment. If it is I can try to find him.
Tito: We need to get a pitcher warming.
Tuck: One moment, let me put you on hold while I look (starts humming The Girl from Ipanema.) Thank you for your patience I’ll transfer you now.
(beep)
Voice Mail: Hi you’ve reached Kyle Snyder’s line, I’ve stepped away for a moment but if you leave a message, I’ll return your call as soon as possible.
(Tito slams the phone down in aggravation, then picks it up again)
Tuck: (In a falsetto) Hello, bullpen, how may I direct your call.
Tito: TUCK!
Tuck: One moment please… (then in a normal voice) Hello, Tuck here.
Tito: What the hell are you doing Tuck?
Tuck: Sorry about the new girl, she’s just figuring out the phones. We shouldn’t have sent down Lopez, he could really work a switchboard. Great phone voice too.
Tito: Curt’s hurting here, we need to get someone up.
Tuck: Sure. We’re a little backed up this inning. So let’s look at the schedule. Can you be available between the 8th and 9th? I should be able to send a reliever out somewhere in that window.
Tito: You’re the bullpen coach. Get someone up NOW!
Tuck: Sir, yelling isn’t going to help. I have a lot of other customers ahead of you in line.
Tito: NO YOU DON’T I’M THE ONLY PERSON YOU WORK FOR.
Tuck: I see… Okay, what’s your order.
Tito: We’re only down one, get up Gagne.
Tuck: I’m sorry, Gagne’s not available right now. I could get him to you tomorrow.
Tito: Then Okajima.
Tuck: You could do that, but let me tell you from experience, that’s not what you want to do here. Yeah, he’s high quality, but it’s not the right fit.
Tito: Papelbon then?
Tuck: I can put Papelbon on back order and have him to you by the ninth. Would that work, maybe the eighth if we really push it. But the 7th? No way, can’t be done.
Tito: (sighs) I can’t leave Curt in. If I do, the lead is going to blow up in a hurry. What can you get me now?
Tuck: I can get you Julian Tavarez. He’s not fancy, but solid, workmanlike, should do the job, and I can get him to you fast. Either that or Kyle Snyder.
Tito: Snyder’s not there, I got his voicemail.
Tuck: Then let’s go with Tavarez, I’ll get him loose, and you’ll have him in no time.
Tito: Great.
Tuck: Is there anything else I can help you with today?
Tito: Uh no… I guess I’m good.
Tuck: Then thank you for using Bullpen Express for all of your relief needs.
Tito: You’re fired.
Did you spot the terror threat? It’s subtle, but Tito threatened to “blow up” things if he did not get his way. Thank God we have a transcript
2. In all of the hullabaloo about whether Barry Bonds did or did not use steroids on his march to 756 (note: he did), there are equally important issues that have gone completely unaddressed. Not he least of these is the critical question of why Barry Bonds hates America.
This is the nation of his birth, the nation that gave him opportunity and made him a wealthy man, and how does he repay us? His spits on us (note: metaphorically).
For much of his march towards Aaron’s record and last night when he left it splintered like so many slivers of ash after a Papelbon fastball, Bonds was using… get ready… a Canadian bat.
That’s right. Rather than supporting the U.S. economy and creating American jobs, he exports and outsources, bat construction to foreigners, who care not for us and our way of life, foreigners whose customs and tongue, who’s creed and dress are perplexing to the average American who has cheered Bonds through his career.
Rather than taking his pick from the white ash forests of Maine, he betrays us, selecting harder wood from the Canadian Maple or as Jose calls it “the treachery tree.”
And do you know what they are doing to the north? They are laughing at us! They are laughing! Jose has not done any checking, but he has no doubt that the Canadians are jubilantly talking about how “American slugger Barry Bonds with his Canadian made bat broke the home run record.” This is what they do, these Canadians. David Rakoff, a Canadian writer, win an appearance on This American Life claimed that the space shuttle, our space shuttle, is referred to in Canada as the American Space Shuttle with its Canadian arm,” as its mechanical arm is of Canadian stock.
This is no different. Like NASA, Bonds has allowed himself to be a tool of the pernicious, pervasive and unrelenting Canadian cultural imperialism that is slowly, slowly eating away at the fabric of American life like so many beetles chomping on the white ash of New York state.
For shame.
3. In a final note on the Bonds saga, his 756th home run came off Washington’s Mike Bacsik, whose father once faced Hank Aaron when Aaron was looking, unsuccessfully for his 756th home run. Whatever you think of him, you’ve got to give Bonds credit. Hitting a home run off of a giant snake who’s look can kill you has got to be tricky.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Tuesday, August 7
Errata
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Errors are a lousy metric. Everybody knows it. You know it. Jose knows it. In the entire world, every single man, woman and child and possibly dolphin, save those who vote on Gold Gloves, knows that simply counting up the number of errors does not provide an accurate reflection of a player’s defensive performance.
Using errors as a defensive metric rewards the sure-handed yet slow-footed. The Kids in the Hall sketch comedy group used to have a character called M. Piedlourde (note: Mr. Heavyfoot in English) who had, get this, incredibly heavy feet, thus when he tried to do things like kick a ball or run a marathon, hilarity ensued. If errors are your primary defensive metric and Mr. Heavyfoot is sure-handed, there could easily have been a sketch called “Mr. Heavyfoot Wins a Gold Glove.”
But Jose is not writing anything new or particularly interesting here. Rather, than making a detailed dissertation on defense, he is offering a bit of self-defense. If errors are a bad way to measure defensive competency, then surely they must be a bad way to measure writing competency as well.
Let’s say, hypothetically, that someone made a blog entry on August 2 teasing the Red Sox about poor sentence structure in a Bobby Doerr tribute ad. And let us suppose further that in what claimed to be a grammatically sound counter to said add, the author made at least three major spelling and grammar errors. Could you rightly conclude that he is incompetent? No, of course not. Judging a writer by his errors is every bit as foolish as judging an infielder by them.
As you may have guessed by now, the writer in question is Jose. Jose makes errors. He makes a lot of errors. He misuses apostrophes, he misspells words and he appears to have what one clinician has diagnosed as “homonym dyslexia.” Jose knows all the rules; he never used to make these mistakes when he was a “hunt and peck” typist, but as he learned to touch type, the errors came in sheets. At full, major league speed, doing the little things got a lot harder.
But don’t judge Jose on his errors alone. Jose will concede he makes a lot of errors, but he also shows tremendous range in his use of grammar, vocabulary and punctuation. That’s a better measure of competence isn’t it? Would you rather have a writer who can describe Pedro Martinez’s pitching motion as smooth every time and spell it perfectly or one who can describe it as mellifluous? Would you rather see Barry Bonds called arrogant in eight flawless letters over and over again, or would you prefer to see him called supercilious? Newspaper writers almost never make errors, but they are required to write at a sixth grade level. And Jose? Well, you are reading Jose right now aren’t you?
So the question is how to measure writing competency beyond errors. Jose has come up with two metrics that he thinks could help. The first is called range factor. This statistic measures the range of a writer’s vocabulary. The average English word has 4.5 letters. Range factor assumes that words with more letters are more complex and words with fewer are less complex. Word length is not a perfect measure of complexity or obscurity, as any Scrabble player ever to use “xu” or “aa” knows. However, it is a reasonable representation. What range factor does is look at how far each word a writer uses is from 4.5 letters and adds one point for each letter over 4.5 and subtracts one point for each letter under 4.5. For instance, strike is five letters and is thus +1. Ball, which has four letters, is -1. Proper nouns and names are not counted, so writers can’t up their numbers by writing about Jarrod Saltalamacchia.
Jose’s other innovative metric is called zone rating. Zone rating is a punctuation metric that evaluates the complexity of punctuation and by extension sentence structure. Different punctuation marks have different complexities. Everyone knows how to use a period or a question mark. Many know how to use a comma. Few know how to properly use a semicolon. Zone rating assigns a complexity rating to each punctuation mark. Proper use of the mark results in the addition of a number of points equal to that mark’s complexity rating to one’s zone rating. Improper use results in the subtraction of a number equal to ten minus the complexity rating from one’s zone rating. For instance proper use of a period is one point, whereas proper use of an em dash is eight points. Thus, the statistical reward for using a period properly is one and using an em dash properly is eight. Conversely, the punishment for using a period incorrectly is a deduction of nine points (10-1) whereas misuse of an em dash is only a two point deduction (10-8).
By combining these two metrics, one gets a much better picture of whether a writer is competent and effective than one does simply by counting up errors. Thus, Jose reminds those who point out his numerous errors in spelling and grammar that they should stop hassling him and go back to writing about how Derek Jeter is a great defensive shortstop.
2. Speaking of errors, Jose would like to make a correction. In yesterday’s KEYS, Jose compared Curt Euro’s return to the French film The Return of Martin Guerre. This was an error. While the comparison was not wholly inaccurate, Jose used the wrong film. Instead of comparing Curt’s return to the Depardieu vehicle, he should have compared in to the American version of the film, Somersby, starring Richard Gere and Jody Foster.
Just as Somerbsy was a twisted reflection of Martin Guerre, Curt Euro’s performance last night was familiar yet disappointing. If the Curt Euro of old was a dark and passionate film about the nature of identity and modernity, Curt Euro’s effort last night was Hollywood fluff centered around Richard Gere taking his shirt off. It probably looked really good to some people, but Jose just found it uninspiring.
3. Congratulations to outfielder Brandon Moss on getting his first major league at bats. Jose is glad Moss has been able to fulfill the second of his life’s ambitions. Sadly, the first was to play with the Rolling Stones, which will never happen, as “A Rolling Stone gathers no Moss.” Thankfully, for Brandon there is no saying that a rolling baseball team gathers no Moss.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Errors are a lousy metric. Everybody knows it. You know it. Jose knows it. In the entire world, every single man, woman and child and possibly dolphin, save those who vote on Gold Gloves, knows that simply counting up the number of errors does not provide an accurate reflection of a player’s defensive performance.
Using errors as a defensive metric rewards the sure-handed yet slow-footed. The Kids in the Hall sketch comedy group used to have a character called M. Piedlourde (note: Mr. Heavyfoot in English) who had, get this, incredibly heavy feet, thus when he tried to do things like kick a ball or run a marathon, hilarity ensued. If errors are your primary defensive metric and Mr. Heavyfoot is sure-handed, there could easily have been a sketch called “Mr. Heavyfoot Wins a Gold Glove.”
But Jose is not writing anything new or particularly interesting here. Rather, than making a detailed dissertation on defense, he is offering a bit of self-defense. If errors are a bad way to measure defensive competency, then surely they must be a bad way to measure writing competency as well.
Let’s say, hypothetically, that someone made a blog entry on August 2 teasing the Red Sox about poor sentence structure in a Bobby Doerr tribute ad. And let us suppose further that in what claimed to be a grammatically sound counter to said add, the author made at least three major spelling and grammar errors. Could you rightly conclude that he is incompetent? No, of course not. Judging a writer by his errors is every bit as foolish as judging an infielder by them.
As you may have guessed by now, the writer in question is Jose. Jose makes errors. He makes a lot of errors. He misuses apostrophes, he misspells words and he appears to have what one clinician has diagnosed as “homonym dyslexia.” Jose knows all the rules; he never used to make these mistakes when he was a “hunt and peck” typist, but as he learned to touch type, the errors came in sheets. At full, major league speed, doing the little things got a lot harder.
But don’t judge Jose on his errors alone. Jose will concede he makes a lot of errors, but he also shows tremendous range in his use of grammar, vocabulary and punctuation. That’s a better measure of competence isn’t it? Would you rather have a writer who can describe Pedro Martinez’s pitching motion as smooth every time and spell it perfectly or one who can describe it as mellifluous? Would you rather see Barry Bonds called arrogant in eight flawless letters over and over again, or would you prefer to see him called supercilious? Newspaper writers almost never make errors, but they are required to write at a sixth grade level. And Jose? Well, you are reading Jose right now aren’t you?
So the question is how to measure writing competency beyond errors. Jose has come up with two metrics that he thinks could help. The first is called range factor. This statistic measures the range of a writer’s vocabulary. The average English word has 4.5 letters. Range factor assumes that words with more letters are more complex and words with fewer are less complex. Word length is not a perfect measure of complexity or obscurity, as any Scrabble player ever to use “xu” or “aa” knows. However, it is a reasonable representation. What range factor does is look at how far each word a writer uses is from 4.5 letters and adds one point for each letter over 4.5 and subtracts one point for each letter under 4.5. For instance, strike is five letters and is thus +1. Ball, which has four letters, is -1. Proper nouns and names are not counted, so writers can’t up their numbers by writing about Jarrod Saltalamacchia.
Jose’s other innovative metric is called zone rating. Zone rating is a punctuation metric that evaluates the complexity of punctuation and by extension sentence structure. Different punctuation marks have different complexities. Everyone knows how to use a period or a question mark. Many know how to use a comma. Few know how to properly use a semicolon. Zone rating assigns a complexity rating to each punctuation mark. Proper use of the mark results in the addition of a number of points equal to that mark’s complexity rating to one’s zone rating. Improper use results in the subtraction of a number equal to ten minus the complexity rating from one’s zone rating. For instance proper use of a period is one point, whereas proper use of an em dash is eight points. Thus, the statistical reward for using a period properly is one and using an em dash properly is eight. Conversely, the punishment for using a period incorrectly is a deduction of nine points (10-1) whereas misuse of an em dash is only a two point deduction (10-8).
By combining these two metrics, one gets a much better picture of whether a writer is competent and effective than one does simply by counting up errors. Thus, Jose reminds those who point out his numerous errors in spelling and grammar that they should stop hassling him and go back to writing about how Derek Jeter is a great defensive shortstop.
2. Speaking of errors, Jose would like to make a correction. In yesterday’s KEYS, Jose compared Curt Euro’s return to the French film The Return of Martin Guerre. This was an error. While the comparison was not wholly inaccurate, Jose used the wrong film. Instead of comparing Curt’s return to the Depardieu vehicle, he should have compared in to the American version of the film, Somersby, starring Richard Gere and Jody Foster.
Just as Somerbsy was a twisted reflection of Martin Guerre, Curt Euro’s performance last night was familiar yet disappointing. If the Curt Euro of old was a dark and passionate film about the nature of identity and modernity, Curt Euro’s effort last night was Hollywood fluff centered around Richard Gere taking his shirt off. It probably looked really good to some people, but Jose just found it uninspiring.
3. Congratulations to outfielder Brandon Moss on getting his first major league at bats. Jose is glad Moss has been able to fulfill the second of his life’s ambitions. Sadly, the first was to play with the Rolling Stones, which will never happen, as “A Rolling Stone gathers no Moss.” Thankfully, for Brandon there is no saying that a rolling baseball team gathers no Moss.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Monday, August 6
Condemned to Repeat It
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
Bam. That one little sentence, that casual string of symbols and scratches flowing from George Santayana’s quill explains why we study history. We wouldn’t want to repeat the miseries of the past would we? Certainly not. Indeed, William Shirer made that line the epigraph for “The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich,” an account of some history we definitely don’t want to repeat. The sentiment is right. Repeating the past is best avoided. In too many cases the past is simply awful, but even when the past is beautiful is it really something we wish to repeat, or is progress the goal of eternity?
There is, however, a problem with Santayana’s little cliché. It is wrong. That is not to say that it is an incomplete model, that it, like how the Newtonian laws, explains some things very well, while at the same time being verifiably untrue. It is not merely flawed; it stands in direct opposition to truth. Those who do remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
What has an excessive devotion to history ever brought us? Hubris, anger, vengeance. Would we not be better off if no Serb had heard of the Field of Blackbirds, or knew the tragic story of Tsar Lazar? Would social progress in India not proceed more smoothly if no one remembered his caste?
History is not a teacher. It is not some kindly scholar eager to impart wisdom to the generations. History is a propagandist, eager to demand moral clarity where none exists
History is not a lover, gently letting us know that we are part of something bigger. History is a bitch, offering any flattery to get the drama she craves, spreading disease and decay across generations.
History is not a friend. It offers no counsel, no compassion, no support. History is traitor, leading us to disaster with promises of insight.
History is the problem in two way ways. First, history is an illusionist, a master of misdirection. Much as the conjurer distracts us from his manipulations with movements of the hand, history distracts us from the issue of the day by focusing our attention on the movements of the past. The Maginot line, that monument to the ineffectiveness of backward thinking, is nothing if not an indictment of close attention to history. Baseball has its Maginot lines, and one guards the Bronx. The Yankees are fixated on the past. For them, the solution to any problem, it seems, is a closer study of that which has gone before. First base is a problem? Bring back Tino Martinez. The starting pitching is lacking? Andy Pettitte and Roger Clemens used to be good, so they must be good now. The Andy Pettitte and Roger Clemens of today are nothing more than a machine gun bunker on the Franco-German border, threatening, but ultimately irrelevant.
The second curse of history is that one’s very fixation on it is the greatest guarantor of its recurrence. So much conflict in the world, so much despair, is driven by fear of what has happened before, of past conquest, of past slavery, of past pain. And much like Oedipus, desperately trying to avoid a perceived fate, people around the world, over and over, have charged recklessly into the arms of their damnable past thereby guaranteeing a damnable future.
Remember 1978? Forget it. Only because we know that the Red Sox blew a huge lead in 1978 do we think it possible that it could happen again. Yet, only by acting fearfully, could it happen this year. This is not 1978. The Yankees have no Ron Guidry, save the graying pitching coach. We are better than them. And yet, fear persists. What if it happens again? But it will not. It cannot. It cannot, unless fear moves us to irrationality.
The genius of the 2004 Red Sox was their utter mindlessness. Their lack of attention to tradition, to history, allowed them to avoid letting fear direct their actions. Conversely, the 2004 Yankees’ fixation on history led to hubris, and, invariably, nemesis. The 2004 lesson, the silliness, the shallowness, the disregard for the norms of the game, that is what must be emulated if we are to have success in 2007.
Of course, that would be taking a lesson from history. Best to avoid it.
2. Curt Euro returns tonight after more than a month on the disabled list, but what kind of return will it be?
The first possibility is that it will be like Return of the Jedi. In other words, Curt Euro returns, deals with some emotional problems and family issues, but at the end he kicks *ss and everything turns out great. Under this scenario, the season ends with Ewoks banging out melodies on a marimba made from the helmets of decapitated Yankees.
The second, far grimmer, possibility is that the Return of Curt Euro is more like the Return of Martin Guerre. Under this scenario, Curt Euro returns and is better than we’ve ever seen him before. But something is different. He’s nicer. His teammates like him more. He doesn’t talk as much and blogs a lot less. It’s almost like he’s a different guy.
Then the trouble starts. One day, another man, shows up claiming to be Curt Euro, a man who is missing his leg. Chaos ensues, and after a lengthy process it is concluded that the one-legged Curt is the true Curt, after all, we all saw the guy’s ankle bleed. Why wouldn’t his leg have been amputated? The fake Curt, the two-legged, strong throwing Curt, is hanged and the Red Sox are stuck with a one-legged blogger/video game developer as their third starter.
On the plus side, the Curt who got hanged turns out to be Gerard Depardieu
3. Yesterday, center fielder Rococo Crisp was almost seriously injured by a moose, Mariner Moose, driving an All-Terrain Vehicle. Even putting aside the question of why a moose is the mascot for a nautically-themed team, this is big news.
In fact, it is the biggest news involving an athlete, a vehicle and a moose since July 4, 1988, when wrestler “Adorable” Adrian Adonis swerved to avoid a moose in Newfoundland and was killed.
The lesson is clear. Don’t give driver’s licenses to moose… or to pro wrestlers.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
Bam. That one little sentence, that casual string of symbols and scratches flowing from George Santayana’s quill explains why we study history. We wouldn’t want to repeat the miseries of the past would we? Certainly not. Indeed, William Shirer made that line the epigraph for “The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich,” an account of some history we definitely don’t want to repeat. The sentiment is right. Repeating the past is best avoided. In too many cases the past is simply awful, but even when the past is beautiful is it really something we wish to repeat, or is progress the goal of eternity?
There is, however, a problem with Santayana’s little cliché. It is wrong. That is not to say that it is an incomplete model, that it, like how the Newtonian laws, explains some things very well, while at the same time being verifiably untrue. It is not merely flawed; it stands in direct opposition to truth. Those who do remember the past are condemned to repeat it.
What has an excessive devotion to history ever brought us? Hubris, anger, vengeance. Would we not be better off if no Serb had heard of the Field of Blackbirds, or knew the tragic story of Tsar Lazar? Would social progress in India not proceed more smoothly if no one remembered his caste?
History is not a teacher. It is not some kindly scholar eager to impart wisdom to the generations. History is a propagandist, eager to demand moral clarity where none exists
History is not a lover, gently letting us know that we are part of something bigger. History is a bitch, offering any flattery to get the drama she craves, spreading disease and decay across generations.
History is not a friend. It offers no counsel, no compassion, no support. History is traitor, leading us to disaster with promises of insight.
History is the problem in two way ways. First, history is an illusionist, a master of misdirection. Much as the conjurer distracts us from his manipulations with movements of the hand, history distracts us from the issue of the day by focusing our attention on the movements of the past. The Maginot line, that monument to the ineffectiveness of backward thinking, is nothing if not an indictment of close attention to history. Baseball has its Maginot lines, and one guards the Bronx. The Yankees are fixated on the past. For them, the solution to any problem, it seems, is a closer study of that which has gone before. First base is a problem? Bring back Tino Martinez. The starting pitching is lacking? Andy Pettitte and Roger Clemens used to be good, so they must be good now. The Andy Pettitte and Roger Clemens of today are nothing more than a machine gun bunker on the Franco-German border, threatening, but ultimately irrelevant.
The second curse of history is that one’s very fixation on it is the greatest guarantor of its recurrence. So much conflict in the world, so much despair, is driven by fear of what has happened before, of past conquest, of past slavery, of past pain. And much like Oedipus, desperately trying to avoid a perceived fate, people around the world, over and over, have charged recklessly into the arms of their damnable past thereby guaranteeing a damnable future.
Remember 1978? Forget it. Only because we know that the Red Sox blew a huge lead in 1978 do we think it possible that it could happen again. Yet, only by acting fearfully, could it happen this year. This is not 1978. The Yankees have no Ron Guidry, save the graying pitching coach. We are better than them. And yet, fear persists. What if it happens again? But it will not. It cannot. It cannot, unless fear moves us to irrationality.
The genius of the 2004 Red Sox was their utter mindlessness. Their lack of attention to tradition, to history, allowed them to avoid letting fear direct their actions. Conversely, the 2004 Yankees’ fixation on history led to hubris, and, invariably, nemesis. The 2004 lesson, the silliness, the shallowness, the disregard for the norms of the game, that is what must be emulated if we are to have success in 2007.
Of course, that would be taking a lesson from history. Best to avoid it.
2. Curt Euro returns tonight after more than a month on the disabled list, but what kind of return will it be?
The first possibility is that it will be like Return of the Jedi. In other words, Curt Euro returns, deals with some emotional problems and family issues, but at the end he kicks *ss and everything turns out great. Under this scenario, the season ends with Ewoks banging out melodies on a marimba made from the helmets of decapitated Yankees.
The second, far grimmer, possibility is that the Return of Curt Euro is more like the Return of Martin Guerre. Under this scenario, Curt Euro returns and is better than we’ve ever seen him before. But something is different. He’s nicer. His teammates like him more. He doesn’t talk as much and blogs a lot less. It’s almost like he’s a different guy.
Then the trouble starts. One day, another man, shows up claiming to be Curt Euro, a man who is missing his leg. Chaos ensues, and after a lengthy process it is concluded that the one-legged Curt is the true Curt, after all, we all saw the guy’s ankle bleed. Why wouldn’t his leg have been amputated? The fake Curt, the two-legged, strong throwing Curt, is hanged and the Red Sox are stuck with a one-legged blogger/video game developer as their third starter.
On the plus side, the Curt who got hanged turns out to be Gerard Depardieu
3. Yesterday, center fielder Rococo Crisp was almost seriously injured by a moose, Mariner Moose, driving an All-Terrain Vehicle. Even putting aside the question of why a moose is the mascot for a nautically-themed team, this is big news.
In fact, it is the biggest news involving an athlete, a vehicle and a moose since July 4, 1988, when wrestler “Adorable” Adrian Adonis swerved to avoid a moose in Newfoundland and was killed.
The lesson is clear. Don’t give driver’s licenses to moose… or to pro wrestlers.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Thursday, August 2
Trades that Changed the World
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. The Boston Metro did a nice little retrospective the other day on the Slocumb for Lowe and Varitek trade to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the swindle. Jose thought this was a sort of neat idea and though he would steal it and commemorate another great moment in Red Sox trading history.
It was August 2, 1989, 18 years ago today. The Soviet Union seemed invulnerable, discontent was growing among Chinese students and Americans everywhere were commemorating the 20th anniversary of the Summer of Love. In the little corner of Boston called the Fenway. Red Sox General Manager Lou Gorman, was desperately trying to devise a strategy to allow the Sox to keep pace with the now Jimyless Toronto. Joe Morgan’s men needed bullpen help to prop up Lee Smith, Dennis Lamp and friends, so Gorman swallowing hard on his post-sunrise, pre-sunset lunch, made a move.
The commodity, he was dealing, like so many shares of Digital stock, was a young outfielder from West Virginia, Dana Williams, who could not break into the formidable outfield of Burks, Greenwell and Miscellaneous. In a cool calculation, every bit as Lee Atwater’s still fresh dissection of Mike Dukakis, Gorman sent the man who would go down as the second greatest Dana in Red Sox history west, to the South Side of Chicago. In return, he received a righty reliever named Ray Chadwick, who Gorman had coveted since getting a “belly buster” at Chadwick’s ice cream in Waltham. Had there been a Williams’ ice cream, perhaps history would have been different, darker.
While neither man would play in the big leagues again, just two short months after the deal, the Berlin Wall had fallen. And that’s how Lou Gorman won the cold war.
2. The Red Sox today honor legend Bobby Doerr, who is making his final trip to Fenway this afternoon from his Oregon home. The Red Sox began the tribute with a full page ad in this morning’s Boston Globe honoring the great second baseman.
But Jose does have a question. Jose knows Doerr was known as a strong hitter, a great bunter and a first-rate fielder, but was he also known for poor punctuation?
The reason Jose asks is the text of the Red Sox ad reads
WE SALUTE OUR FRIEND AND MENTOR,
BOBBY DOERR.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR YEARS OF
SERVICE AND DEDCIATION TO THIS CLUB.
YOUR CLUB.
THE BOSTON RED SOX
As you can see, “your club” is used as a separate sentence even though it lacks a verb. It should read “service and dedication to this club, your club” or perhaps “this club—your club.”
Now Jose yields no quarter when it comes to using sentence fragments to make dramatic points. Important points. But is seem to Jose that unless Doerr was actually known for bad punctuation, this is just poor form. Awful form.
Even as Jose writes this, MS Word is picking this up as a grammatical error. An odd mistake.
So Jose will offer his own tribute to the legendary Doerr that offers elegant punctuation. Proper punctuation.
KEYS TO THE GAME SALUTES BOOBY DOERR:
1. The Boston Metro did a nice little retrospective the other day on the Slocumb for Lowe and Varitek trade to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the swindle. Jose thought this was a sort of neat idea and though he would steal it and commemorate another great moment in Red Sox trading history.
It was August 2, 1989, 18 years ago today. The Soviet Union seemed invulnerable, discontent was growing among Chinese students and Americans everywhere were commemorating the 20th anniversary of the Summer of Love. In the little corner of Boston called the Fenway. Red Sox General Manager Lou Gorman, was desperately trying to devise a strategy to allow the Sox to keep pace with the now Jimyless Toronto. Joe Morgan’s men needed bullpen help to prop up Lee Smith, Dennis Lamp and friends, so Gorman swallowing hard on his post-sunrise, pre-sunset lunch, made a move.
The commodity, he was dealing, like so many shares of Digital stock, was a young outfielder from West Virginia, Dana Williams, who could not break into the formidable outfield of Burks, Greenwell and Miscellaneous. In a cool calculation, every bit as Lee Atwater’s still fresh dissection of Mike Dukakis, Gorman sent the man who would go down as the second greatest Dana in Red Sox history west, to the South Side of Chicago. In return, he received a righty reliever named Ray Chadwick, who Gorman had coveted since getting a “belly buster” at Chadwick’s ice cream in Waltham. Had there been a Williams’ ice cream, perhaps history would have been different, darker.
While neither man would play in the big leagues again, just two short months after the deal, the Berlin Wall had fallen. And that’s how Lou Gorman won the cold war.
Mr. Gorbachev, how about taking Rob Murphy.
2. The Red Sox today honor legend Bobby Doerr, who is making his final trip to Fenway this afternoon from his Oregon home. The Red Sox began the tribute with a full page ad in this morning’s Boston Globe honoring the great second baseman.
But Jose does have a question. Jose knows Doerr was known as a strong hitter, a great bunter and a first-rate fielder, but was he also known for poor punctuation?
The reason Jose asks is the text of the Red Sox ad reads
WE SALUTE OUR FRIEND AND MENTOR,
BOBBY DOERR.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR YEARS OF
SERVICE AND DEDCIATION TO THIS CLUB.
YOUR CLUB.
THE BOSTON RED SOX
As you can see, “your club” is used as a separate sentence even though it lacks a verb. It should read “service and dedication to this club, your club” or perhaps “this club—your club.”
Now Jose yields no quarter when it comes to using sentence fragments to make dramatic points. Important points. But is seem to Jose that unless Doerr was actually known for bad punctuation, this is just poor form. Awful form.
Even as Jose writes this, MS Word is picking this up as a grammatical error. An odd mistake.
So Jose will offer his own tribute to the legendary Doerr that offers elegant punctuation. Proper punctuation.
KEYS TO THE GAME SALUTES BOOBY DOERR:
SECOND BASEMEN,
HALL OF FAMER, ALL-STAR;
JOSE HONORS YOUR CONTRIBUTIONS TO THIS CITY—
THE CITY ON THE HILL.
JOSE OFTEN CANNOT REMEMBER (OR AT LEAST CAN’T BE SURE IF HE REMEMBERS) WHETHER NUMBER ONE IS YOUR’S OR JOE CRONIN’S;
JOSE OFTEN CANNOT REMEMBER (OR AT LEAST CAN’T BE SURE IF HE REMEMBERS) WHETHER NUMBER ONE IS YOUR’S OR JOE CRONIN’S;
CRONIN IS FOUR, IT TURNS OUT.
BUT NOW HE WILL REMEMBER—AND SO SHALL ALL OF RED SOX NATION.
BUT NOW HE WILL REMEMBER—AND SO SHALL ALL OF RED SOX NATION.
JOSE MELENDEZ
3. While it currently looks like the Red Sox will not be one of the two teams opening the 2008 season in Japan, Jose still hopes that they will. And, in the event that they do play in the Tokyo Dome, Jose insists that The Vapors come out of retirement and write a series of songs for various Red Sox pitchers to enter to:
- St. Josh a Beckett—Turning American
- Julian Tavarez—Turning Dominican
- Eric Gagne (note: not that he’ll still be with the team)—Turning Canadian.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Wednesday, August 1
Why We Needed Gagne
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Okay, Jose will confess he was a little confused by the Eric Gagne acquisition. Sure it makes the bullpen nearly indomitable, but it was kind of strange that the Red Sox made the big trade deadline move an effort to shore up a strength rather than a weakness. In fact, it was so strange that it led Jose to imagine that something was seriously wrong. Something mysterious and opaque.
And indeed it was. In the 18 hours since the trade, we have learned that our bullpen is far shakier than it appeared. Not only is Brendan Donnelly going to have Thomas John surgery, Jose this morning saw a headline on America Online that read
That’s terrifying, absolutely terrifying. Might we lose Jonathan Papelbon to a pop star run amuck? Might he be forced into hiding?
The woman threw a bottle for Gods sakes a bottle? Where does she think she is Yankee Stadium?
Of course, this is only one in a long line of pop diva threats against Red Sox relievers. Britney, mad though she is, is only following a well trod path.
Who can forget when Madonna jumped Jeff Russell on Kilmarnock street after a game, or when Dionne Warwick threw a Molotov Cocktail at Dick Radatz? Heck even lesser divas have made their attempts on lesser relievers. Jose is not sure he can ever get over the bomb Martika placed under the hood of Joe Sambito’s 1981Dodge Omni.
Thank God the Rangers couldn’t read the historical cycles or the could have positively extorted the Red Sox.
2. Perhaps the biggest trading deadline move was made by the Braves, who acquired Mark Teixeira from Texas for catching standout Jared Saltalamacchia.
While Jose is glad that the Red Sox did not give up a ton to acquire the Scott Boras client, he will confess that he is a bit disappointed. It appears that now, and perhaps forever, in the city of Boston “Teixiera” will mean nothing more than a particularly good period in the history of Entertainment Tonight stretching from 1986 to 1996
3. Sure the Khe Sanh Gabbard era theoretically ended yesterday when the Red Sox sent him to Texas along with David Murphy and single A phenom Engel Beltre, but somehow Jose doesn’t thing that is going to stop him from seeing Gabbard start in a few more times this year.
According to the Brian Rose theorem, formerly called the Vaughn Eshelman theorem and the Vanegmond’s law, if the Red Sox have a mediocre to bad rookie in their rotation, at least 50 percent of games Jose attends will feature that pitcher.
As Jose has seen seven games in the Gabbard era but has only seen Gabbard start three times, Jose needs to see at least one more Gabbard start in order for the universe to be in order.
Really, it’s true. Mathematically, Gabbard needs to start at least one more game for the Red Sox. Jose would show you Andrew Wiles’ proof of the Rose Theorem, but it’s really long.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Okay, Jose will confess he was a little confused by the Eric Gagne acquisition. Sure it makes the bullpen nearly indomitable, but it was kind of strange that the Red Sox made the big trade deadline move an effort to shore up a strength rather than a weakness. In fact, it was so strange that it led Jose to imagine that something was seriously wrong. Something mysterious and opaque.
And indeed it was. In the 18 hours since the trade, we have learned that our bullpen is far shakier than it appeared. Not only is Brendan Donnelly going to have Thomas John surgery, Jose this morning saw a headline on America Online that read
That’s terrifying, absolutely terrifying. Might we lose Jonathan Papelbon to a pop star run amuck? Might he be forced into hiding?
The woman threw a bottle for Gods sakes a bottle? Where does she think she is Yankee Stadium?
Of course, this is only one in a long line of pop diva threats against Red Sox relievers. Britney, mad though she is, is only following a well trod path.
Who can forget when Madonna jumped Jeff Russell on Kilmarnock street after a game, or when Dionne Warwick threw a Molotov Cocktail at Dick Radatz? Heck even lesser divas have made their attempts on lesser relievers. Jose is not sure he can ever get over the bomb Martika placed under the hood of Joe Sambito’s 1981Dodge Omni.
Thank God the Rangers couldn’t read the historical cycles or the could have positively extorted the Red Sox.
2. Perhaps the biggest trading deadline move was made by the Braves, who acquired Mark Teixeira from Texas for catching standout Jared Saltalamacchia.
While Jose is glad that the Red Sox did not give up a ton to acquire the Scott Boras client, he will confess that he is a bit disappointed. It appears that now, and perhaps forever, in the city of Boston “Teixiera” will mean nothing more than a particularly good period in the history of Entertainment Tonight stretching from 1986 to 1996
3. Sure the Khe Sanh Gabbard era theoretically ended yesterday when the Red Sox sent him to Texas along with David Murphy and single A phenom Engel Beltre, but somehow Jose doesn’t thing that is going to stop him from seeing Gabbard start in a few more times this year.
According to the Brian Rose theorem, formerly called the Vaughn Eshelman theorem and the Vanegmond’s law, if the Red Sox have a mediocre to bad rookie in their rotation, at least 50 percent of games Jose attends will feature that pitcher.
As Jose has seen seven games in the Gabbard era but has only seen Gabbard start three times, Jose needs to see at least one more Gabbard start in order for the universe to be in order.
Really, it’s true. Mathematically, Gabbard needs to start at least one more game for the Red Sox. Jose would show you Andrew Wiles’ proof of the Rose Theorem, but it’s really long.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Tuesday, July 31
Writing on Deadline
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. It’s trading deadline day, and no trade has drawn more attention than the deal between the Celtics and Timberwolves for Kevin Garnett. Timberwolves GM Kevin McHale, made the deal after failing to realize that the MLB trading deadline does not apply to NBA teams.
But the Red Sox are busy too. The two potential deals under greatest discussion are one’s that would send reliever Eric Gagne from Texas for Khe-Sanh Gabbard and David Murphy and one that would secure Jermaine Dye from Chicago for Wily Mo Pena and a pitcher.
The Gagne deal is appealing, particularly if the Sox have to give up Manny Delcarmen in the Dye deal. Gagne is a dominant reliever, who, when healthy, has been brilliant. Along with Okajima and Papelbon, he could give the Sox a relief trio the likes of which has not been seen since the Nasty Boys of the 1990 Reds. (Note: Knobbs and Saggs were such awesome pitchers.) But there are downsides too, issues of genealogy. For instance, his father, wrestling legend and American Wrestling Association (AWA) promoter Vern Gagne once banned maneuvers off the top rope. Is it possible that in the pressure cooker of Boston Eric Gagne might try a similar approach? Would he eliminate all off-speed pitches from his arsenal to offer fans a more “old school product? Jose does not want the Red Sox bullpen going the way of the AWA.
It gets worse. According to wikipedia, Gagne once offered the Iron Sheik $100,000 to break Hulk Hogan’s leg in a WWF title match after Hogan left Gagne’s AWA for the WWF. Does this mean Eric Gagne would attempt to injure Red Sox traitors like Johnny Damon? Or would he be tempted to violate sanctions against Iran, as Vern did by dealing with the Iron Sheik?
The descendents of Vern Gagne have also proven distracted when on the baseball field. For instance, Greg Gagne both played shortstop on some good (note: and some not so good) Minnesota Twins clubs while simultaneously trying to win the AWA championship without success. And Vern’s grandson, J.P. Gagne was unable to get above playing A ball in Asheville in the Colorado system.
Jose is not saying the Sox should pass on Gagne. He is just saying they should take his pedigree into account.
2. This brings us to the other rumored deal, the proposed acquisition of Jermaine Dye to share time with DJ Dru.
Dye is rumored to have limited interest in coming to Boston because he wants to be an every day player, but if one looks at this numbers so far this year (note:.295 OBP, 52 RBI) it’s not totally clear that he deserves to be an every day player. (Note: Though if you look at other numbers, 19 HR, .467 SLG, it’s clear that he does.) Either way, Dye has clearly fallen off dramatically from his stunning 2006 season when he hit 44 home runs and was absolutely terrifying.
The question is: Will Dye turn it around? While recent signs have been promising, Jose remains skeptical.
August 31 will be the ten year anniversary of the death of his wife, Lady Dye, who was killed, along with her lover Dodi Fayed, when their car crashed in a Paris tunnel.
In light of renewed reflection on such tragedy, Jose doubts whether Dye will be able to concentrate during the critical stretch run.
3. There are a lot of theories about why DJ Dru has struggled this year, why his power has been down, and his outfield play has been mediocre. Jose has a theory. Sometimes, the symptom and the cause are the same.
Case in point, a friend told Jose about a veterinarian who had had a client bring in a pet hedgehog one day. The hedgehog, its owner said, could not stand up. It would wobble and then fall over. The vet, unaccustomed to dealing with hedgehogs but feeling obliged to offer answers, pretended to examine the beast, and then excused himself to handle a phone call. While allegedly answering the phone, he did an internet search for “Wobbly Hedgehog” and got his answer.
The prickly little pet suffered from Wobbly Hedgehog Syndrome.
Jose thinks the same basic concept holds true for Dru. Dru, Jose is willing to bet, is suffering from Bad Outfielder Syndrome, a neurological condition wherein outfielders lose the ability to hit for power and average and become tentative in the field.
Tragically, there is no cure. We’d better do the humane thing and put him down. Someone call Michael Vick.
1. It’s trading deadline day, and no trade has drawn more attention than the deal between the Celtics and Timberwolves for Kevin Garnett. Timberwolves GM Kevin McHale, made the deal after failing to realize that the MLB trading deadline does not apply to NBA teams.
But the Red Sox are busy too. The two potential deals under greatest discussion are one’s that would send reliever Eric Gagne from Texas for Khe-Sanh Gabbard and David Murphy and one that would secure Jermaine Dye from Chicago for Wily Mo Pena and a pitcher.
The Gagne deal is appealing, particularly if the Sox have to give up Manny Delcarmen in the Dye deal. Gagne is a dominant reliever, who, when healthy, has been brilliant. Along with Okajima and Papelbon, he could give the Sox a relief trio the likes of which has not been seen since the Nasty Boys of the 1990 Reds. (Note: Knobbs and Saggs were such awesome pitchers.) But there are downsides too, issues of genealogy. For instance, his father, wrestling legend and American Wrestling Association (AWA) promoter Vern Gagne once banned maneuvers off the top rope. Is it possible that in the pressure cooker of Boston Eric Gagne might try a similar approach? Would he eliminate all off-speed pitches from his arsenal to offer fans a more “old school product? Jose does not want the Red Sox bullpen going the way of the AWA.
It gets worse. According to wikipedia, Gagne once offered the Iron Sheik $100,000 to break Hulk Hogan’s leg in a WWF title match after Hogan left Gagne’s AWA for the WWF. Does this mean Eric Gagne would attempt to injure Red Sox traitors like Johnny Damon? Or would he be tempted to violate sanctions against Iran, as Vern did by dealing with the Iron Sheik?
The descendents of Vern Gagne have also proven distracted when on the baseball field. For instance, Greg Gagne both played shortstop on some good (note: and some not so good) Minnesota Twins clubs while simultaneously trying to win the AWA championship without success. And Vern’s grandson, J.P. Gagne was unable to get above playing A ball in Asheville in the Colorado system.
Jose is not saying the Sox should pass on Gagne. He is just saying they should take his pedigree into account.
2. This brings us to the other rumored deal, the proposed acquisition of Jermaine Dye to share time with DJ Dru.
Dye is rumored to have limited interest in coming to Boston because he wants to be an every day player, but if one looks at this numbers so far this year (note:.295 OBP, 52 RBI) it’s not totally clear that he deserves to be an every day player. (Note: Though if you look at other numbers, 19 HR, .467 SLG, it’s clear that he does.) Either way, Dye has clearly fallen off dramatically from his stunning 2006 season when he hit 44 home runs and was absolutely terrifying.
The question is: Will Dye turn it around? While recent signs have been promising, Jose remains skeptical.
August 31 will be the ten year anniversary of the death of his wife, Lady Dye, who was killed, along with her lover Dodi Fayed, when their car crashed in a Paris tunnel.
In light of renewed reflection on such tragedy, Jose doubts whether Dye will be able to concentrate during the critical stretch run.
3. There are a lot of theories about why DJ Dru has struggled this year, why his power has been down, and his outfield play has been mediocre. Jose has a theory. Sometimes, the symptom and the cause are the same.
Case in point, a friend told Jose about a veterinarian who had had a client bring in a pet hedgehog one day. The hedgehog, its owner said, could not stand up. It would wobble and then fall over. The vet, unaccustomed to dealing with hedgehogs but feeling obliged to offer answers, pretended to examine the beast, and then excused himself to handle a phone call. While allegedly answering the phone, he did an internet search for “Wobbly Hedgehog” and got his answer.
The prickly little pet suffered from Wobbly Hedgehog Syndrome.
Jose thinks the same basic concept holds true for Dru. Dru, Jose is willing to bet, is suffering from Bad Outfielder Syndrome, a neurological condition wherein outfielders lose the ability to hit for power and average and become tentative in the field.
Tragically, there is no cure. We’d better do the humane thing and put him down. Someone call Michael Vick.
DJ Dru after another ground out.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Friday, July 27
Building Up an Immunity
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Do we have to play the DRays?
Now?
This is not the right time for the Red Sox to go into Tampa. Jose is rooting for a weekend of rainouts. Wait the DRays play in a dome don’t they, so that will involve some holes being cut in the roof, but whatever it takes.
The Red Sox are playing great right now. They just took three of four on the road from an excellent Cleveland team. Manny, Lugo and Crisp are hitting. Papi is back. Lester, Mr. Matsu and St. Josh a Beckett all pitched beautifully. Why in God’s name would we play Tampa right now? Everything is great, we don’t need Tampa right now.
Playing Tampax Bay this weekend is like slurping antibiotics when you’re healthy. Tampax Bay and tuberculosis don’t share initials without good reason. In both cases, they more you attack them the stronger they get. If you take antibiotics when you don’t need them, when you actually do get tuberculosis, you’re screwed. Similarly, if you play Tampa when you don’t need to, you might find that you struggle when you play them later in the season after a four or five game losing streak.
Actually, never mind that’s crap. Tampax Bay is nothing like tuberculosis because they never get stronger no matter what.
Rather Tampax Bay, as the name suggests, is much more like a tampon. If you have one when you don’t need it, no harm done, but if you do need it to stop the bleeding after a few bad days, it’ll absolutely do the trick.
Okay, so Jose is pretty sure he used that line all the way back in 2004, but you know what. He doesn’t care. Why should he stop? It still works doesn’t it? Still gets the cheap laugh, right? The bottom line is that if the people of Tampax Bay want Jose to stop making tampon jokes, they should change the name of their city/region, or at least their “baseball team” to something that doesn’t make it so easy. For instance, if they changed the name of the team to the St. Petersburg Trojans, then Jose wouldn’t make tampon jokes anymore would he? No, then he’d say things like “playing the Trojans is a lot like using a Trojan, they both stop bad things from happening.”
2. After a great deal of thought, Jose has decided that he is completely in favor of the Red Sox acquiring Mark Teixeira, even if the costs are high.
There are a lot of reasons not to go after him. He’s been injured this year, Scott Boras is his agent and the Rangers are asking for a ton. But there are two big reasons to go after him. First, he’s a 30 home run, 130 RBI sort of guy with a pretty slick glove, which is nice. But far more importantly, his name can be phonetically broken down into Te-She-Ra, which is Spanish for “Your She-Ra.”
For all of his skills, Kevin Youkilis has never lent himself to anything much better than Jewish jokes, and Mike Lowell has peaked with missing testicle humor. Picking up Te She-Ra, by contrast, would open up an entire line of She-Ra/He-Man universe related references that have thus far been almost completely untapped by this humble feature.
A good fit for the 5 hole?
Consider the opportunities:
1. Do we have to play the DRays?
Now?
This is not the right time for the Red Sox to go into Tampa. Jose is rooting for a weekend of rainouts. Wait the DRays play in a dome don’t they, so that will involve some holes being cut in the roof, but whatever it takes.
The Red Sox are playing great right now. They just took three of four on the road from an excellent Cleveland team. Manny, Lugo and Crisp are hitting. Papi is back. Lester, Mr. Matsu and St. Josh a Beckett all pitched beautifully. Why in God’s name would we play Tampa right now? Everything is great, we don’t need Tampa right now.
Playing Tampax Bay this weekend is like slurping antibiotics when you’re healthy. Tampax Bay and tuberculosis don’t share initials without good reason. In both cases, they more you attack them the stronger they get. If you take antibiotics when you don’t need them, when you actually do get tuberculosis, you’re screwed. Similarly, if you play Tampa when you don’t need to, you might find that you struggle when you play them later in the season after a four or five game losing streak.
Actually, never mind that’s crap. Tampax Bay is nothing like tuberculosis because they never get stronger no matter what.
Rather Tampax Bay, as the name suggests, is much more like a tampon. If you have one when you don’t need it, no harm done, but if you do need it to stop the bleeding after a few bad days, it’ll absolutely do the trick.
Okay, so Jose is pretty sure he used that line all the way back in 2004, but you know what. He doesn’t care. Why should he stop? It still works doesn’t it? Still gets the cheap laugh, right? The bottom line is that if the people of Tampax Bay want Jose to stop making tampon jokes, they should change the name of their city/region, or at least their “baseball team” to something that doesn’t make it so easy. For instance, if they changed the name of the team to the St. Petersburg Trojans, then Jose wouldn’t make tampon jokes anymore would he? No, then he’d say things like “playing the Trojans is a lot like using a Trojan, they both stop bad things from happening.”
2. After a great deal of thought, Jose has decided that he is completely in favor of the Red Sox acquiring Mark Teixeira, even if the costs are high.
There are a lot of reasons not to go after him. He’s been injured this year, Scott Boras is his agent and the Rangers are asking for a ton. But there are two big reasons to go after him. First, he’s a 30 home run, 130 RBI sort of guy with a pretty slick glove, which is nice. But far more importantly, his name can be phonetically broken down into Te-She-Ra, which is Spanish for “Your She-Ra.”
For all of his skills, Kevin Youkilis has never lent himself to anything much better than Jewish jokes, and Mike Lowell has peaked with missing testicle humor. Picking up Te She-Ra, by contrast, would open up an entire line of She-Ra/He-Man universe related references that have thus far been almost completely untapped by this humble feature.
A good fit for the 5 hole?
Consider the opportunities:
- During a prolonged slump, Te She-Ra, could be called “Princess of Power.”
- Jose always thought “By the Power of Grayskull was a reference to Terry Eurona’s head anyway.
- She-Ra’s arch enemy Hordak is an acronym for K A-Rod H. (Note: Jose’s got no idea what to do with that H.)
- Synergy as Te She-Ra and Man-E-Faces Ramirez go back to back it order
- She-Ra has a healing touch. David Ortiz could totally use that.
3. In encouraging news Curt Euro pitched five scoreless innings for the Paw Sox as they battled Maxwell Klinger’s beloved Toledo Mudhens. The successful rehab start came even as Euro generated more controversy with a scathing attack on steroid users in a conversation with Bob Costas. Euro suggested that user Rafael Palmeiro should be stripped of his 3,000th hit and that Jose Canseco should be required to return his MVP award.
But the timing could not have been worse for Euro. The news came on the same day the Boston Globe did a feature on his life as an online gamer, including a photo of a curiously buff Euro in the game Everquest. Canseco used the opportunity to attack the Sox pitcher’s credibility.
“Curt Schilling (sic) is a liar and hypocrite,” said Canseco. “I admit that I used steroids. But when is he going to admit that his Everquest character is digitally enhanced. I have never used a computer to increase my skills or improve my physique. Can he say the same?”
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Wednesday, July 25
Use Only As Directed
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Hello, this is blogger Jose Melendez, and Jose would like to tell you about a revolutionary new treatment that changed his life.
Like a lot of you Red Sox fans, Jose suffers from anxiety. He never thought it was a big deal, just a base level of nervousness that sort of follows him through life. He’s the sort of guy who worries that if he doesn’t bring an umbrella it’s going to rain and if he does that he’ll get stuck schlepping it around all day. He gets nervous about whether his train will arrive on time, and then while he’s on it, he gets nervous that it will be knocked off the rails by Godzilla or possible Mothra.
Sound familiar? It sure does. Do you sometimes feel like Calvin Schiraldi in the postseason? Do you rock like Leo Mazzone or an Orthodox Jew in prayer, during those stressful late innings?
Well, now there’s a treatment. About four months ago, Jose discovered a treatment for anxiety that has changed his life. And the best thing about it is you don’t need it everyday. When the stress adds up, it’s there for you with immediate, scientifically-proven relief for your toughest anxiety symptoms.
Whether you’re worried about a lefty or a righty, Hideki Okajima takes care of the anxiety fast.
(Note: What, you thought Jose was going to say valium?)
Ask your Doctor if Hideki Okajima is right for you.
(Warning: Hideki Okajima may not be right for you. Hideki Okajima may cause drowsiness, lethargy or burning during urination. If Hideki Okajima causes an erection lasting longer than four hours, please consult your doctor. Women who are pregnant or may be come pregnant should not handle Hideki Okajima. Hideki Okajima may become addictive with prolonged use. Use Hideki Okajima only as directed.)
2. In an episode of The Simpsons entitled “The Wife Aquatic” which originally aired on January 7, 2007, Moe Syzlak, sensing that Homer, who is working as a fisherman, is in danger says “I just got this strange feeling Homer's in trouble.”
Lenny Leonard, Homer’s fellow barfly quickly adds “That's weird I just got this strange feeling some guy I don't know named Fausto is in trouble.”
Is that not incredibly weird? How on Earth did Lenny know that the Red Sox are going to absolutely Indians starter Fausto Carmona is in serious trouble tonight against the Red Sox? Creepy.
1. Hello, this is blogger Jose Melendez, and Jose would like to tell you about a revolutionary new treatment that changed his life.
Like a lot of you Red Sox fans, Jose suffers from anxiety. He never thought it was a big deal, just a base level of nervousness that sort of follows him through life. He’s the sort of guy who worries that if he doesn’t bring an umbrella it’s going to rain and if he does that he’ll get stuck schlepping it around all day. He gets nervous about whether his train will arrive on time, and then while he’s on it, he gets nervous that it will be knocked off the rails by Godzilla or possible Mothra.
Sound familiar? It sure does. Do you sometimes feel like Calvin Schiraldi in the postseason? Do you rock like Leo Mazzone or an Orthodox Jew in prayer, during those stressful late innings?
Well, now there’s a treatment. About four months ago, Jose discovered a treatment for anxiety that has changed his life. And the best thing about it is you don’t need it everyday. When the stress adds up, it’s there for you with immediate, scientifically-proven relief for your toughest anxiety symptoms.
Whether you’re worried about a lefty or a righty, Hideki Okajima takes care of the anxiety fast.
(Note: What, you thought Jose was going to say valium?)
Ask your Doctor if Hideki Okajima is right for you.
(Warning: Hideki Okajima may not be right for you. Hideki Okajima may cause drowsiness, lethargy or burning during urination. If Hideki Okajima causes an erection lasting longer than four hours, please consult your doctor. Women who are pregnant or may be come pregnant should not handle Hideki Okajima. Hideki Okajima may become addictive with prolonged use. Use Hideki Okajima only as directed.)
2. In an episode of The Simpsons entitled “The Wife Aquatic” which originally aired on January 7, 2007, Moe Syzlak, sensing that Homer, who is working as a fisherman, is in danger says “I just got this strange feeling Homer's in trouble.”
Lenny Leonard, Homer’s fellow barfly quickly adds “That's weird I just got this strange feeling some guy I don't know named Fausto is in trouble.”
Is that not incredibly weird? How on Earth did Lenny know that the Red Sox are going to absolutely Indians starter Fausto Carmona is in serious trouble tonight against the Red Sox? Creepy.
Tonight's Cleveland Starter (pictured
right) is in trouble.
3. Dear God Bud Selig is a coward. After indicating that he would not attend games in which Barry Bonds could tie or break Hank Aaron’s home run record, the Commissioner announced yesterday that he would attend these games to the extent that they did not interfere with his obligations with the Hall-of-Fame induction. Selig has further indicated that he will not participate in any on field ceremonies and that the game will not be halted to honor the achievement. Count Jose as skeptical.
So Jose is going to lay down a gauntlet, draw a line in the sand, establish legal residency in the proverbial tax-free New Hampshire right now. He is not going to attend any of the games where Bonds might break Aaron’s record. Jose vows he will not travel to a single game where it could happen. He will not go on the field, he will not go in the locker room, he will not share a hug with Bonds. If Bonds invites Jose over for cigars and roast pheasant, he will decline. If Bonds offers him a back rub, he shall, in the word of Thor, “say thee nay.”
Unlike the King of the Combovers, Jose will stands firm and resolute in his opposition to honoring the Duke of the cream and the clear
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Tuesday, July 24
Do We Need the Yankees?
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
Are we better off having the Yankees hanging around?
Are we happier? Do our cows give more milk? Are our sexual experiences more powerful? Can we bench press a little more? Bruce Weber thinks we can.
In a New York Times piece on Sunday, Weber, an author and Yankees fan, submits, for our consideration, the proposition that we are all better off having the Yankees around. Weber maintains, in the haughty tones one expects from followers of the team from the Bronx, that we are glad to have the Yankees around, that a season without them in contention is like Othello without Iago.
Jose suspects that his readership might not be much of a Shakespeare crowd (note: okay, you are a Shakespeare crowd, but Jose’s never seen Othello, nor even the film “O” so he’s got nothing here), so let’s look at it a different way. What would Star Wars be without Darth Vader? That’s really Weber’s argument isn’t it? Would the Star Wars epic be nearly as exciting, as interesting, as mysterious if Darth Vader died half way through Empire, or better yet, gave up evil and went to farm on Tatooine?
One’s first inclination is, of course, to say “Absolutely not; it would suck.” But then think about it a little more deeply. Sure, when we saw the first Star Wars trilogy having Darth Vader stick around until the end seemed like a good thing. But what about after the second trilogy was released? Did it still seem like a good idea? When we all learned that the man behind the mask was just a whiny punk, didn’t it sort of make you wish he’d just died earlier so Luke could have gone toe-to-toe with the Emperor or they could have made the last movie about Admiral Akbar or something? Okay, it didn’t, but still, you have to concede that Jose has a point.
Of course, having a villain is important to any dramatic arc, but when it is revealed that the villain, rather than being deeply malevolent or even complex, is just whiny and self-obsessed, much of the drama disappears. Sure, Jose hates these Yankees, but as much hate as he feels, he feels even more disgust. The Yankees of the 70s with Thurman Munson and friends, those were teams you could hate and fear, same too for the Yankees of the mid-90s. Who was more loathsome than Paul “I’ve never taken a called strike in my life” O’Neil? They were Darth Vader without the back story. Dark, sinister and terrifying. But today’s Yankees? They are like looking at Darth Vader knowing that, at core, they are whiny Anakin Skywalker, petty, greedy and more than a little pathetic.
Can’t you picture A-Rod slaughtering a bunch of sand people and then acting like it was a big deal? “I’m A-Rod, the greatest, most ruthless Jedi of all time, because I killed a bunch of sand people,” he might say. “Never mind that whenever we get to a big time throw down, Count Dooku or Obi Wan is going to kick my *ss.” It’s pathetic actually.
The big, bad Yankees have become more an object of disgust than fear, far less Iago and far, far more Paris Hilton.
2. Time to be serious. Jose had a little fun yesterday with Jon Lester’s comeback, making cancer jokes and what not, but you all know that in his heart Jose was genuinely happy to see the lefty back in the majors after his ordeal. And the fact that he pitched well, makes it all the better. We need him, and perhaps he needs us.
But what Jose wants to add was how genuinely nice it was to see Lester’s parents in the stands rooting him on. So often in sports, we are force fed images of the family of players or coaches in the stand in big games, as if we are foie gras ducks being driven to illness. And so often, Jose doesn’t want to see it. Jose doesn’t care about Donovan McNabb’s mother whether she’s pushing soup or not. He sure doesn’t need to see the blonde, big boobed wives of any college hoops coaches during tense moments in March. (Note: Well, he doesn’t need to see head shots of them anyway.) And he certainly doesn’t need the constant cutaways at every pause in the action. Hell, he doesn’t even want to see David Beckham’s wife, unless she is singing “If You Wanna be My Lover.”
But last night was different. Seeing Jon Lester’s folks there at the Jake, not looking self-involved or self-aggrandizing, not only rooting for their son, but reveling in his health, made Jose happy. Some people take a cruise to celebrate a victory over cancer, some buy a car, the Lesters took a trip to Cleveland. And Jose would wager that no one, ever, has been so elated to be on the banks of the Cuyahoga River.
3. Jose was relieved this morning when he opened KEYS and saw the little Israeli flag emerge on the list of visiting nations on the lower right hand side of his screen. Unwittingly, Jose had gotten drawn into Holy Land politics with the announcement by one fan that despite the fact that he lived well inside the green line in Jerusalem, his nation’s flag was not showing up on Jose’s display.
As a non-practicing, culture-only Jew, Jose was mortified to be inadvertently coming down on the “Israel does not have the right to exist” side of the debate. With the appearance of the little blue and white flag, Jose can confirm that he does believe in Israel’s right to exist, even though he does question the right of Israel Alcantara to exist.
Now that that’s straightened out, Jose does have some bad news for his fellow members of the tribe and… well… Jose isn’t sure how to say this, but…umm… Jose is pretty sure that we’re not the Chosen People.
Jose knows, Jose knows, it says we are in the Torah and in Charlton Heston movies and what not, but, as you know Jose is an empiricist and he follows the evidence. And, well, the evidence does not point in our direction. It’s not that we’re not “a” chosen people. God probably choo-choo-chooses us for lots of stuff. He gave us the bagel; he gave us the Catskills and according to an urologist Jose knows, gave our elderly men the largest, organs, shall we say, in all humanity.
But while we may be “a” chosen people. We are not “The Chosen People.” We can’t be. How can we compete with the Dominicans? Look who they’ve got. Pedro, Papi, Manny, Vlad, Marichal, and the list goes on. What do we have Hank Greenberg and Albert Einstein? Sure Greenberg could mash, but Old Albert looks like a .220 hitter to Jose. And how fast can Ruth Bader Ginsburg throw? Not fast enough.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Are we better off having the Yankees hanging around?
Are we happier? Do our cows give more milk? Are our sexual experiences more powerful? Can we bench press a little more? Bruce Weber thinks we can.
In a New York Times piece on Sunday, Weber, an author and Yankees fan, submits, for our consideration, the proposition that we are all better off having the Yankees around. Weber maintains, in the haughty tones one expects from followers of the team from the Bronx, that we are glad to have the Yankees around, that a season without them in contention is like Othello without Iago.
Jose suspects that his readership might not be much of a Shakespeare crowd (note: okay, you are a Shakespeare crowd, but Jose’s never seen Othello, nor even the film “O” so he’s got nothing here), so let’s look at it a different way. What would Star Wars be without Darth Vader? That’s really Weber’s argument isn’t it? Would the Star Wars epic be nearly as exciting, as interesting, as mysterious if Darth Vader died half way through Empire, or better yet, gave up evil and went to farm on Tatooine?
One’s first inclination is, of course, to say “Absolutely not; it would suck.” But then think about it a little more deeply. Sure, when we saw the first Star Wars trilogy having Darth Vader stick around until the end seemed like a good thing. But what about after the second trilogy was released? Did it still seem like a good idea? When we all learned that the man behind the mask was just a whiny punk, didn’t it sort of make you wish he’d just died earlier so Luke could have gone toe-to-toe with the Emperor or they could have made the last movie about Admiral Akbar or something? Okay, it didn’t, but still, you have to concede that Jose has a point.
Of course, having a villain is important to any dramatic arc, but when it is revealed that the villain, rather than being deeply malevolent or even complex, is just whiny and self-obsessed, much of the drama disappears. Sure, Jose hates these Yankees, but as much hate as he feels, he feels even more disgust. The Yankees of the 70s with Thurman Munson and friends, those were teams you could hate and fear, same too for the Yankees of the mid-90s. Who was more loathsome than Paul “I’ve never taken a called strike in my life” O’Neil? They were Darth Vader without the back story. Dark, sinister and terrifying. But today’s Yankees? They are like looking at Darth Vader knowing that, at core, they are whiny Anakin Skywalker, petty, greedy and more than a little pathetic.
Can’t you picture A-Rod slaughtering a bunch of sand people and then acting like it was a big deal? “I’m A-Rod, the greatest, most ruthless Jedi of all time, because I killed a bunch of sand people,” he might say. “Never mind that whenever we get to a big time throw down, Count Dooku or Obi Wan is going to kick my *ss.” It’s pathetic actually.
The big, bad Yankees have become more an object of disgust than fear, far less Iago and far, far more Paris Hilton.
2. Time to be serious. Jose had a little fun yesterday with Jon Lester’s comeback, making cancer jokes and what not, but you all know that in his heart Jose was genuinely happy to see the lefty back in the majors after his ordeal. And the fact that he pitched well, makes it all the better. We need him, and perhaps he needs us.
But what Jose wants to add was how genuinely nice it was to see Lester’s parents in the stands rooting him on. So often in sports, we are force fed images of the family of players or coaches in the stand in big games, as if we are foie gras ducks being driven to illness. And so often, Jose doesn’t want to see it. Jose doesn’t care about Donovan McNabb’s mother whether she’s pushing soup or not. He sure doesn’t need to see the blonde, big boobed wives of any college hoops coaches during tense moments in March. (Note: Well, he doesn’t need to see head shots of them anyway.) And he certainly doesn’t need the constant cutaways at every pause in the action. Hell, he doesn’t even want to see David Beckham’s wife, unless she is singing “If You Wanna be My Lover.”
But last night was different. Seeing Jon Lester’s folks there at the Jake, not looking self-involved or self-aggrandizing, not only rooting for their son, but reveling in his health, made Jose happy. Some people take a cruise to celebrate a victory over cancer, some buy a car, the Lesters took a trip to Cleveland. And Jose would wager that no one, ever, has been so elated to be on the banks of the Cuyahoga River.
3. Jose was relieved this morning when he opened KEYS and saw the little Israeli flag emerge on the list of visiting nations on the lower right hand side of his screen. Unwittingly, Jose had gotten drawn into Holy Land politics with the announcement by one fan that despite the fact that he lived well inside the green line in Jerusalem, his nation’s flag was not showing up on Jose’s display.
As a non-practicing, culture-only Jew, Jose was mortified to be inadvertently coming down on the “Israel does not have the right to exist” side of the debate. With the appearance of the little blue and white flag, Jose can confirm that he does believe in Israel’s right to exist, even though he does question the right of Israel Alcantara to exist.
Now that that’s straightened out, Jose does have some bad news for his fellow members of the tribe and… well… Jose isn’t sure how to say this, but…umm… Jose is pretty sure that we’re not the Chosen People.
Jose knows, Jose knows, it says we are in the Torah and in Charlton Heston movies and what not, but, as you know Jose is an empiricist and he follows the evidence. And, well, the evidence does not point in our direction. It’s not that we’re not “a” chosen people. God probably choo-choo-chooses us for lots of stuff. He gave us the bagel; he gave us the Catskills and according to an urologist Jose knows, gave our elderly men the largest, organs, shall we say, in all humanity.
But while we may be “a” chosen people. We are not “The Chosen People.” We can’t be. How can we compete with the Dominicans? Look who they’ve got. Pedro, Papi, Manny, Vlad, Marichal, and the list goes on. What do we have Hank Greenberg and Albert Einstein? Sure Greenberg could mash, but Old Albert looks like a .220 hitter to Jose. And how fast can Ruth Bader Ginsburg throw? Not fast enough.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Monday, July 23
Whistle When You’re Low
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1.Crap.
Bleeping Dan Shaughnessy took the bleeping high road on Jon Lester.
If Manny had just returned after a bout with the big C, Shaughnessy would be questioning if he’d ever had cancer and making quips like “Did Manny have melanoma, or just melodrama? History would suggest the latter.” But since it was loveable Jon Lester, hard working white kid, Shaughnessy gives him the Le Monde on 9/12 treatment “Tonight all of us are Red Sox fans.”
So if Shaughnessy is going to play good guy in this storyline, what does the leave for Jose? Does he get stuck doing the cancer jokes, yet again?
Yes, apparently he does. Do five jokes about Mike Lowell losing a testicle to cancer, and suddenly you’re the cancer joke guy. G-reat.
Well, fine then. Here goes. Mike Lowell told Shaughnessy “Trust me, anyone going through this doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to be a baseball player rather than a cancer survivor.”
Where does Lowell get off speaking for everyone with cancer? Shonda Schilling can’t stop talking about the evils of the sun. The nerve! Didn’t she see what melanoma did for Derek Lowe? Did he ever have a World Series ring before he lost part of his nose to cancer? Nope. And while he was probably banging reporters, he certainly didn’t get to brag about it in the newspaper. Cancer was great for DLowe. (Note: In German, the call cancer Krebs, which is the name of the constellation Cancer, but literally translates as “crabs.” This begs the question of whether Germans treat cancer with special shampoo rather than deadly intravenous chemicals. While this name may not make cancer any less deadly in German speaking countries, it definitely makes it funnier. Also, angina, means strep throat in German, which is confusing as hell.)
And what about Cancer Boy, the heroic tyke from Brain Candy, the Kids in the Hall movie, who battled through cancer to be nominated at the World Video Awards for the best rap, hip hop or folk video. He courageously talked about his cancer all the time, and whistled about it too.
In fact, when Lester first starts at Fenway, the Sox should play Cancer Boy’s “Whistle When You’re Low” as his intro music.
Alternatively, Jose vaguely recalls his friend Dan writing a song called “Metastasis, We’ve Got to Stop It” during ninth grade biology. That could work too.
Okay. Deep breath. Is that enough? Is Jose enough of a heel for you now? Has he scored enough points off of a freaking cancer survivor to entertain you heartless people? JOSE IS NOT YOUR JOKE MONKEY!!!!!!
Well, he is kind of, so let him settle with this side note. Welcome back to the bigs Jon, and have a great game. Don’t get too used to Shaughnessy writing nice things about you, and remember, keep whistling.
When Jose goes to hell for KEY 1,
he needs to keep whistling.
2. The promotion of Jon Lester, also means the end of the line for Joel Piñero in the grey and red, and despite his ineffectiveness, Jose can’t help but feel like the end came too soon. When J.C. Romero was designated for assignment Jose felt at peace. He’d written about Christian rappers calling their Lord JC, and he’d suggested the lefty was an amalgam of Jesus Christ and Ed Romero—he’d covered all the bases. But not so with Piñero, with so Piñero much remains undone. Yes, Jose got to call him Jor-El and do some father of Superman jokes, but so much never happened. Jose never got to write about how he loves those piñero nuts they sometimes use in Chinese food. Then he would have spent the next day writing how it turns out they’re actually called piñola nuts, and we would have laughed and laughed.
Jose never even wrote about loving Piñero Coladas, and getting lost in the rain. And now it’s too late.
The sadness flows through Jose’s veins like ethanol after SoSH bash weekend. He’ll never see Joel walk another batter, never see him give up a two strike hit, never see him make that frustrated little look he makes, when he realizes he can’t get anyone out.
Well, life, as they say, is loss, and for Joel Piñero life is loss after loss after loss.
So long, Joel, and may we meet again with you pitching for the other team.
3. Mike Lowell is a huge believer in the Tampa Bay Buccaneers defense when they have their opponents backed up against the goal line. How else could one explain Lowell’s comment that when he saw the 21-4 score in yesterday’s Yankees-DRays game he said “I though it was Jets-Buccaneers.”
The only way you can get four points in football is on two safeties, so he must love the Tampa D. Of course, it could also be that he thinks poorly of the Jets special teams. As someone who lived much of his life in Florida, he no doubt remembers the 1987 Sugar Bowl when Miami beat Florida 31-4, scoring only due to two botched snaps.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1.Crap.
Bleeping Dan Shaughnessy took the bleeping high road on Jon Lester.
If Manny had just returned after a bout with the big C, Shaughnessy would be questioning if he’d ever had cancer and making quips like “Did Manny have melanoma, or just melodrama? History would suggest the latter.” But since it was loveable Jon Lester, hard working white kid, Shaughnessy gives him the Le Monde on 9/12 treatment “Tonight all of us are Red Sox fans.”
So if Shaughnessy is going to play good guy in this storyline, what does the leave for Jose? Does he get stuck doing the cancer jokes, yet again?
Yes, apparently he does. Do five jokes about Mike Lowell losing a testicle to cancer, and suddenly you’re the cancer joke guy. G-reat.
Well, fine then. Here goes. Mike Lowell told Shaughnessy “Trust me, anyone going through this doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to be a baseball player rather than a cancer survivor.”
Where does Lowell get off speaking for everyone with cancer? Shonda Schilling can’t stop talking about the evils of the sun. The nerve! Didn’t she see what melanoma did for Derek Lowe? Did he ever have a World Series ring before he lost part of his nose to cancer? Nope. And while he was probably banging reporters, he certainly didn’t get to brag about it in the newspaper. Cancer was great for DLowe. (Note: In German, the call cancer Krebs, which is the name of the constellation Cancer, but literally translates as “crabs.” This begs the question of whether Germans treat cancer with special shampoo rather than deadly intravenous chemicals. While this name may not make cancer any less deadly in German speaking countries, it definitely makes it funnier. Also, angina, means strep throat in German, which is confusing as hell.)
And what about Cancer Boy, the heroic tyke from Brain Candy, the Kids in the Hall movie, who battled through cancer to be nominated at the World Video Awards for the best rap, hip hop or folk video. He courageously talked about his cancer all the time, and whistled about it too.
In fact, when Lester first starts at Fenway, the Sox should play Cancer Boy’s “Whistle When You’re Low” as his intro music.
Alternatively, Jose vaguely recalls his friend Dan writing a song called “Metastasis, We’ve Got to Stop It” during ninth grade biology. That could work too.
Okay. Deep breath. Is that enough? Is Jose enough of a heel for you now? Has he scored enough points off of a freaking cancer survivor to entertain you heartless people? JOSE IS NOT YOUR JOKE MONKEY!!!!!!
Well, he is kind of, so let him settle with this side note. Welcome back to the bigs Jon, and have a great game. Don’t get too used to Shaughnessy writing nice things about you, and remember, keep whistling.
When Jose goes to hell for KEY 1,
he needs to keep whistling.
2. The promotion of Jon Lester, also means the end of the line for Joel Piñero in the grey and red, and despite his ineffectiveness, Jose can’t help but feel like the end came too soon. When J.C. Romero was designated for assignment Jose felt at peace. He’d written about Christian rappers calling their Lord JC, and he’d suggested the lefty was an amalgam of Jesus Christ and Ed Romero—he’d covered all the bases. But not so with Piñero, with so Piñero much remains undone. Yes, Jose got to call him Jor-El and do some father of Superman jokes, but so much never happened. Jose never got to write about how he loves those piñero nuts they sometimes use in Chinese food. Then he would have spent the next day writing how it turns out they’re actually called piñola nuts, and we would have laughed and laughed.
Jose never even wrote about loving Piñero Coladas, and getting lost in the rain. And now it’s too late.
The sadness flows through Jose’s veins like ethanol after SoSH bash weekend. He’ll never see Joel walk another batter, never see him give up a two strike hit, never see him make that frustrated little look he makes, when he realizes he can’t get anyone out.
Well, life, as they say, is loss, and for Joel Piñero life is loss after loss after loss.
So long, Joel, and may we meet again with you pitching for the other team.
3. Mike Lowell is a huge believer in the Tampa Bay Buccaneers defense when they have their opponents backed up against the goal line. How else could one explain Lowell’s comment that when he saw the 21-4 score in yesterday’s Yankees-DRays game he said “I though it was Jets-Buccaneers.”
The only way you can get four points in football is on two safeties, so he must love the Tampa D. Of course, it could also be that he thinks poorly of the Jets special teams. As someone who lived much of his life in Florida, he no doubt remembers the 1987 Sugar Bowl when Miami beat Florida 31-4, scoring only due to two botched snaps.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Saturday, July 21
Where's the Drama?
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Where’s the drama?
Is it, as a drill sergeant on a short lived FOX boot camp reality show once suggested, being saved for “yo mamma?” Is it the preserve of pale goth chicks in pasty white makeup? Jose does not know. But surely, it is not at Fenway Park
Today is the World Famous Sons of Sam Horn bash, and there is absolutely no rumor, as yet, of Manny Ramirez demanding a trade. Not even a peep. Where the hell does that leave Jose? Lost and alone, and a little bored. That’s where. Two years ago, Manny was poised to be traded to the Mets on bash day and it made for easy copy. Pithy verbiage like “stop the music” and “trading Manny for Aubrey Huff and Mike Cameron is the stupidest idea ever” flowed freely from Jose’s clicking keys, like beer, and wine, and tequila and vodka, and rum and probably more than a little isopropyl down SoSHer Tom Ricardo’s formidable gullet.
And today? Well, today Jose has to actually use a drunken Cranston frat boy in an analogy. That’s how bad the material is today.
But let’s say Jose wants to write about real trading deadline drama. Let’s imagine, for once moment, that he would rather not write about the man called TRic. What would he write about? Would he hop on the rumors that the Sox are looking into Jermaine Dye or Marx Texiera? What about the Reggie Sanders option? Or there are even those silly rumors about Ken Griffey Jr.?
Pish tosh Jose says. Pish tosh. There is only one trade Jose wants to discuss, and that is the trade that brings Todd Helton to the Red Sox for Mike Lowell and Wily Mo Pena.
Let’s break it down.
Why would the Red Sox make this trade? It would give them a serious power boost, a skilled first baseman and allow them to move Kevin Youkilis to third.
Why would the Colorado Rockies make this move? Okay, bear with Jose for a second because it’s a little statistical, but here goes: They make the trade because someone put LSD in the water cooler. Think about it. It might work. Under the influence of acid, Colorado officials could easily become convinced that Helton was a snake monster they needed to get rid of, and that accepting a 30 foot tall Dominican giant and a kindly old wizard was a preferable to cutting him outright.
Okay, maybe no one is going to take this seriously baring the use of mind-altering drugs or possibly a kidnapping of some kind, but people took Manny for Huff and Cameron seriously, and was that really any less asinine? Okay, yes it was, but not by much.
2. Jose likes to think that he was Julio Lugo’s inspiration.
It only makes sense doesn’t it? Jose is a singles hitter with a propensity for groundouts, and an ugly tendency to throw the ball away. Sound like anyone you know? And yet at last night’s Sons of Sam Horn softball game, Jose absolutely raked. A deep home run, a triple, a single and a long fly out. No errors either. Okay, maybe one error, but it’s beer league softball.
Then all of a sudden Julio Lugo, who had been heating up anyway, suddenly crushes a ball over the monster for a grand slam. Rococo Crisp started heating up after Jacoby Ellsbury, a younger, whiter version of himself showed up. Is it not possible that Jose had the same impact on Lugo?
Admittedly, logic would say, “No that’s completely impossible. Stop being a jackass Jose.”
But Jose, jackass that he is, thinks otherwise. Sometimes all that matters is to hear the footsteps, to sense the sickly sweet breath of competition blowing down your neck.
This was one of those times.
And Jose is glad because, despite his being the worst hitter in baseball for the better part of this year, Jose never lost faith in Julio Lugo. Maybe it’s because of Jose’s deep, and borderline racist conviction that all Dominicans can hit a baseball. Maybe it’s because it simply seemed impossible that anyone not named Crespo could be that bad, or maybe just maybe, it is because Jose sees Lugo as some sort of an old testament God figure, testing Jose like God tested Job, with horror after horror. But like Job, Jose never lost faith. He got angry, sure. He may have cursed the heavens about Lugo’s four-year deal, screaming “Why, why, why are you doing this to Jose.” But he never lost faith.
And do you know why? Because Julio Lugo never gave Jose boils. If Julio had given Jose boils like God gave to Job, Jose would be all about benching him.
3. When Mike Timlin came into last night’s game, the near universal reaction at the SoSH post softball pool party was “Nooo, not Timlin.” Indeed, people would walk in the door to see the grizzled righty on the mound and immediately recoil.
This is wrong. This is dead wrong. Mike Timlin does not deserve this. We owe him our respect. He gave us years of brilliant service, he should have been on the mound in the 8th in game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, he has pitched 14 straight scoreless innings. That’s worthy of respect isn’t it? Still, that’s not enough to earn undying loyalty even as skills deteriorate, Jose knows that. No, the reason we should continue to respect Mike Timlin is that he is a large man who owns a lot of guns, and that and that alone makes him worthy of respect.
And fear. Lots and lots of fear.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Where’s the drama?
Is it, as a drill sergeant on a short lived FOX boot camp reality show once suggested, being saved for “yo mamma?” Is it the preserve of pale goth chicks in pasty white makeup? Jose does not know. But surely, it is not at Fenway Park
Today is the World Famous Sons of Sam Horn bash, and there is absolutely no rumor, as yet, of Manny Ramirez demanding a trade. Not even a peep. Where the hell does that leave Jose? Lost and alone, and a little bored. That’s where. Two years ago, Manny was poised to be traded to the Mets on bash day and it made for easy copy. Pithy verbiage like “stop the music” and “trading Manny for Aubrey Huff and Mike Cameron is the stupidest idea ever” flowed freely from Jose’s clicking keys, like beer, and wine, and tequila and vodka, and rum and probably more than a little isopropyl down SoSHer Tom Ricardo’s formidable gullet.
And today? Well, today Jose has to actually use a drunken Cranston frat boy in an analogy. That’s how bad the material is today.
But let’s say Jose wants to write about real trading deadline drama. Let’s imagine, for once moment, that he would rather not write about the man called TRic. What would he write about? Would he hop on the rumors that the Sox are looking into Jermaine Dye or Marx Texiera? What about the Reggie Sanders option? Or there are even those silly rumors about Ken Griffey Jr.?
Pish tosh Jose says. Pish tosh. There is only one trade Jose wants to discuss, and that is the trade that brings Todd Helton to the Red Sox for Mike Lowell and Wily Mo Pena.
Let’s break it down.
Why would the Red Sox make this trade? It would give them a serious power boost, a skilled first baseman and allow them to move Kevin Youkilis to third.
Why would the Colorado Rockies make this move? Okay, bear with Jose for a second because it’s a little statistical, but here goes: They make the trade because someone put LSD in the water cooler. Think about it. It might work. Under the influence of acid, Colorado officials could easily become convinced that Helton was a snake monster they needed to get rid of, and that accepting a 30 foot tall Dominican giant and a kindly old wizard was a preferable to cutting him outright.
Okay, maybe no one is going to take this seriously baring the use of mind-altering drugs or possibly a kidnapping of some kind, but people took Manny for Huff and Cameron seriously, and was that really any less asinine? Okay, yes it was, but not by much.
2. Jose likes to think that he was Julio Lugo’s inspiration.
It only makes sense doesn’t it? Jose is a singles hitter with a propensity for groundouts, and an ugly tendency to throw the ball away. Sound like anyone you know? And yet at last night’s Sons of Sam Horn softball game, Jose absolutely raked. A deep home run, a triple, a single and a long fly out. No errors either. Okay, maybe one error, but it’s beer league softball.
Then all of a sudden Julio Lugo, who had been heating up anyway, suddenly crushes a ball over the monster for a grand slam. Rococo Crisp started heating up after Jacoby Ellsbury, a younger, whiter version of himself showed up. Is it not possible that Jose had the same impact on Lugo?
Admittedly, logic would say, “No that’s completely impossible. Stop being a jackass Jose.”
But Jose, jackass that he is, thinks otherwise. Sometimes all that matters is to hear the footsteps, to sense the sickly sweet breath of competition blowing down your neck.
This was one of those times.
And Jose is glad because, despite his being the worst hitter in baseball for the better part of this year, Jose never lost faith in Julio Lugo. Maybe it’s because of Jose’s deep, and borderline racist conviction that all Dominicans can hit a baseball. Maybe it’s because it simply seemed impossible that anyone not named Crespo could be that bad, or maybe just maybe, it is because Jose sees Lugo as some sort of an old testament God figure, testing Jose like God tested Job, with horror after horror. But like Job, Jose never lost faith. He got angry, sure. He may have cursed the heavens about Lugo’s four-year deal, screaming “Why, why, why are you doing this to Jose.” But he never lost faith.
And do you know why? Because Julio Lugo never gave Jose boils. If Julio had given Jose boils like God gave to Job, Jose would be all about benching him.
3. When Mike Timlin came into last night’s game, the near universal reaction at the SoSH post softball pool party was “Nooo, not Timlin.” Indeed, people would walk in the door to see the grizzled righty on the mound and immediately recoil.
This is wrong. This is dead wrong. Mike Timlin does not deserve this. We owe him our respect. He gave us years of brilliant service, he should have been on the mound in the 8th in game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, he has pitched 14 straight scoreless innings. That’s worthy of respect isn’t it? Still, that’s not enough to earn undying loyalty even as skills deteriorate, Jose knows that. No, the reason we should continue to respect Mike Timlin is that he is a large man who owns a lot of guns, and that and that alone makes him worthy of respect.
And fear. Lots and lots of fear.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Thursday, July 19
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 18
Are You Fitter Than...
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. It was at Jose’s gymnasium that he met his old enemy.
The 4x4 white oak tag card, stamped with the outline of a green apple, a granny smith, Jose supposes, lay there on the check-in desk mocking him.
Jose had known this day would come. Ever since he saw the signs around the gym asking “Are you fitter than a fifth grader?” he knew that conflict was inevitable. After 20 long years, across 34 countries on five continents, the President’s Physical Fitness Test had finally tracked Jose down like the furies of myth.
But its victim was a different Jose Melendez. The pudgy ten year-old with whom it had last done battle was gone. In his stead stood a man, stood a broad shouldered, well-pectoraled, moderate exercise machine. Jose took the measure of his old rival. 45 sit ups? Ha, Jose can do that after six or seven beers. 22 push ups? Even easier. +4.0 V Sit Reach? Jose has no idea what that is, but he’s sure he can vanquish it like a soft tossing lefty going through the Sox line up.
That’s when the troubles start. On mile run, 7:57 seconds. Hmm… that might be a problem. When Jose ran cross country in high school, he was the king of the ten minute miles—12 if he was feeling lethargic. Jose had only joined cross country to get in shape for wrestling, which he then quit upon discovering that wrestling mostly involved not eating, and had little or nothing to do with hitting people with chairs. Thus, he took a laid back approach to running. Also, he’s really slow. Could Jose pound out a 7:57 mile now? Maybe, but will he try? Hell no. His knees would rebel faster than Gary Sheffield at a clubhouse meeting.
From there, we move from the improbable to the impossible. There is no way Jose is doing six chin ups. None. These days he could probably do two or three, but six? He couldn’t do six if you gave him a week. The chin ups always seemed unfair. Even the best athlete in Jose’s fifth grade class, a fellow who shared a name with one of the Monkees couldn’t do it. It was a cruel and vindictive goal set by Ronald Reagan in order to shame the nation’s youth into a more aggressive stance towards communism. Jose’s couldn’t do it then, and he can’t do it now.
Thus, Jose must except that he is not fitter than a fifth grader, at least not fitter that this Nietzschen über –fifth greater that the President’s Council on Physical Fitness has pressed upon us like a crown of thorns or batting helmet of nettles.
But Jose will not be defeated. Rather he will stand strong, and in the finest American tradition, he will not yield to the unreasonable demands of lofty goals. No! He will insist upon the soft bigotry of low expectations. He will demand it. Prepare to limbo friends, because Jose is lowering the bar
Instead of offering this foolish “are you fitter than a fifth greater promotion” the problems of which begin with it referencing a Jeff Foxworthy vehicle and spiral from there, Jose offers a different question “Are you fitter than Curt Euro?”
Now there is a reasonable standard, fit enough to be a professional athlete, not fit enough to look good in a tight t-shirt. Even better, since Curt is a big supporter of the President’s perhaps he can get through to the increasingly isolated fitness guru in chief.
In order to meet this more reasonable standard, one would still have to pass five tests.
- See your feet: 1 inch or more.
- Strike out Wily Mo Pena in a simulated game: 2 or more times.
- Write about baseball on line: 10,000 words in one hour.
- Stay awake playing Everquest: 36 consecutive hours.
- Fit into a suit for weird wine commercial: 1 time
If you can do all of those, congratulations, you are as fit as Curt Euro. The President salutes you, and invites you to enlist. If not, perhaps you can receive a lesser commendation for being as fit as Rich Garces.
2. A musical tribute to tonight’s Royals starter to the tune of “Oh Mandy” by Barry Manilow.
Come on, sing along! Cue up the youtube video and join in.
I remember in LA
You pitched great and came to play
You picked up 15 wins
Were on the All-Star team
2002 goes by
And slides into
Year 2003,
What kind of season will it be?
Your ERA got high
And you began to cry
Because you realized
How crappy you’re playing, Odalis
Well you give up home runs, we’re not taking
Pitches for strikes today, Odalis
Well you know that our bats, they are waking
We need you today, Odalis
You’re on the worst team in the game
Missing all your long lost fame
Caught up in a world of nickel and diming
Kaufman’s waterfall like tears
And nothing is rhyming, Odalis
Well you give up home runs, we’re not taking
Pitches for strikes today, Odalis
Well you know that our bats, they are waking
We need you today, Odalis
Well you give up home runs, we’re not taking
Pitches for strikes today, Odalis
Well you know that our bats, they are waking
We need you today, Odalis
3. Jose has a new role model. It’s Yi Jianlian, the Chinese basketball player drafted by the Milwaukee Bucks with the sixth pick in this year’s NBA draft.
What Jose loves about Yi isn’t his size, his soft hands, or his much celebrated ability to post up a folding chair. (Note: Bill Simmons has gotten a lot of mileage out of that joke, but he shouldn’t diminish the accomplishment. Beyond Al Jefferson, do the Celtics have any big men who could post up a chair? Jose is pretty sure that the chair would stuff Kendrick Perkins.) No, what Jose loves is that Yi is refusing to play in Milwaukee because there aren’t enough Chinese people living there.
Actually, Jose is amazed that there is anyplace without a lot of Chinese. Jose once had a friend who came from the Czech Republic near the border with Poland. Jose asked him if there were many Poles who lived in his town and his friend answered “No, but there are a lot of Chinese.” Anyway, someone should let the Czech leagues know that they may be a good fit for Yi.
Buy Yi’s defiance has gotten Jose thinking. Is it really appropriate for Jose to be devoting himself to the Boston Red Sox? Sure they have two Japanese and one Jew, but do they have even a single Japanese-German-Jew? And if so, does that person have a Puerto Rican alter ego? And the city writ large is just as bad. In his 30 years in the region, Jose hasn’t seen a single Japanese-German-Jewish American social club, ethnic festival or awareness day. Have you ever seen gefilte fish sushi with sauerkraut? Nope. This city does not have adequate representation for Jose’s ethnic group, and it is starting to piss him off.
So here’s an ultimatum. Find Mr. Matsu and Okajima some nice Jewish girls or get Youks a Japanese girlfriend and let’s get them banging or Jose is out of here faster than Wily Mo on three straight sliders.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Tuesday, July 17
Wily Mo's Space
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Jose was originally going to use this space today to talk about Khe-Sanh Gabbard’s remarkable complete game shut out against the Royals last night. He was going to discuss the silent lefties grace under pressure and his surprising success in the big leagues. But that was before and astute reader sent Jose Wily Mo Pena’s Myspace page.
Is it real? Who knows? But sometimes it’s fun to just crack out the old jump to conclusions mat and get hopping and this is one of those times. At this site you can learn important facts, such as that Wily Mo has never cried (note: Does that means he thinks Wade Boggs is a sissy?) and that his favorite movie is somehow Man on Fire.
Moreover, it includes some interesting tidbits, such as the fact that Wily Mo, would end the sentence “Let’s walk on the” with the word “phone.” Presumably, he misread, and thought it said “Let’s talk on the,” but still, Jose suspects that even had he read it properly, his answer would not have been “base paths.”
There is good news though. The site reveals that Wily Mo has never done a drug (note: go screw George Mitchell), hates pitchers when they get him out and regards baseball as the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
So good for Wily Mo. After all, the only think we ever got from Balki Arroyo were some sketchy pictures in a Northeastern University dorm room.
2. As part of his rehabilitation program, Curt Euro pitched a simulated game against Alex Cora, Eric Hinske, Doug Mirabelli and Wily Mo Pena. This leads Jose to ask the a question: Who, exactly, was being simulated? The worst line up in baseball history? Are there four straight batters in any major league line up who would be as bad as those four?
Jose supposes this was a simulated game in the same way astronaut ice cream was simulated ice cream, that is, not at all.
3. As some of you may have noticed, Jose has added a neat little widget to KEYS on the lower right hand side that shows exactly how many visitors from each country and city Jose is getting to his little corner of the internet. Jose would like to offer a big KEYS welcome to his three readers in Erbil, in Iraqi Kurdistan. He would like to say howdy to his three new friends in Pomorie, Bulgaria. And he would like to make a gracious welcome to his trio of fans in Santo Domingo, in what baseball indicates is the greatest country on Earth. Heck, Jose would like to welcome you all. Whether you’re from Bombay or Boca del Rio, Jose is happy to have you here. Unless you are the reader from Cranbury, New Jersey, in which case you stay the hell away.
It just goes to show, that baseball has become a truly international phenomenon and the KEYS right along with it. Who’d have ever thought we would reach a day where shepherds in Gabon could join with German factory workers and Jordanian shopkeeps to together share a love of baseball, professional wrestling and jokes about park benches.
Yes, Jose knows that most of you are actually Americans working, soldiering or playing abroad and trying to keep abreast of your beloved Red Sox, but that’s not going to keep Jose from enjoying the fantasy that KEYS has become a kind of virtual “Small World” ride. He prefers to imagine Indians in Saris, Japanese in kimonos, Arabs in galabeas, and Americans in Megadeth T-Shirts sitting down at internet terminals to bask in the gentle glow of Jose’s wisdom,
Because, no matter whom you are, it is a small world, after all. It’s a small, small world.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Jose was originally going to use this space today to talk about Khe-Sanh Gabbard’s remarkable complete game shut out against the Royals last night. He was going to discuss the silent lefties grace under pressure and his surprising success in the big leagues. But that was before and astute reader sent Jose Wily Mo Pena’s Myspace page.
Is it real? Who knows? But sometimes it’s fun to just crack out the old jump to conclusions mat and get hopping and this is one of those times. At this site you can learn important facts, such as that Wily Mo has never cried (note: Does that means he thinks Wade Boggs is a sissy?) and that his favorite movie is somehow Man on Fire.
Moreover, it includes some interesting tidbits, such as the fact that Wily Mo, would end the sentence “Let’s walk on the” with the word “phone.” Presumably, he misread, and thought it said “Let’s talk on the,” but still, Jose suspects that even had he read it properly, his answer would not have been “base paths.”
There is good news though. The site reveals that Wily Mo has never done a drug (note: go screw George Mitchell), hates pitchers when they get him out and regards baseball as the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
So good for Wily Mo. After all, the only think we ever got from Balki Arroyo were some sketchy pictures in a Northeastern University dorm room.
2. As part of his rehabilitation program, Curt Euro pitched a simulated game against Alex Cora, Eric Hinske, Doug Mirabelli and Wily Mo Pena. This leads Jose to ask the a question: Who, exactly, was being simulated? The worst line up in baseball history? Are there four straight batters in any major league line up who would be as bad as those four?
Jose supposes this was a simulated game in the same way astronaut ice cream was simulated ice cream, that is, not at all.
3. As some of you may have noticed, Jose has added a neat little widget to KEYS on the lower right hand side that shows exactly how many visitors from each country and city Jose is getting to his little corner of the internet. Jose would like to offer a big KEYS welcome to his three readers in Erbil, in Iraqi Kurdistan. He would like to say howdy to his three new friends in Pomorie, Bulgaria. And he would like to make a gracious welcome to his trio of fans in Santo Domingo, in what baseball indicates is the greatest country on Earth. Heck, Jose would like to welcome you all. Whether you’re from Bombay or Boca del Rio, Jose is happy to have you here. Unless you are the reader from Cranbury, New Jersey, in which case you stay the hell away.
It just goes to show, that baseball has become a truly international phenomenon and the KEYS right along with it. Who’d have ever thought we would reach a day where shepherds in Gabon could join with German factory workers and Jordanian shopkeeps to together share a love of baseball, professional wrestling and jokes about park benches.
Yes, Jose knows that most of you are actually Americans working, soldiering or playing abroad and trying to keep abreast of your beloved Red Sox, but that’s not going to keep Jose from enjoying the fantasy that KEYS has become a kind of virtual “Small World” ride. He prefers to imagine Indians in Saris, Japanese in kimonos, Arabs in galabeas, and Americans in Megadeth T-Shirts sitting down at internet terminals to bask in the gentle glow of Jose’s wisdom,
Because, no matter whom you are, it is a small world, after all. It’s a small, small world.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Monday, July 16
How Much Can You Bench?
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. How are the Boston Red Sox like the U.S Supreme Court? In both cases, Jose doesn’t like who is on the bench.
We’re more than half way through the season now, and a bench that was supposed to be a strength of this team is emerging as a glaring weakness. Never was it more obvious than yesterday afternoon when Jose was forced to watch Doug Mirabelli bat with the game on the line because Jason Varitek had a sore thumb. Now, obviously Jose is not suggesting that the Red Sox carry three catchers; two is fine, as long as one of them isn’t Doug Mirabelli. Don’t we still have Carlton Fiske on the payroll? He could probably out hit Dougie these days. Does John Henry have a son? If he does, we could try the Marc Sullivan approach. (Note: Can we get a police escort to speed Mirabelli back to Logan Airport?)
But catcher is not the only problem. We have, in Wily Mo Pena, a player whose greatest asset is that he has an awesome name. Sure, if he ever got regular at bats he could do some damage, but, as he was born to DH, that’s never going to happen on this team. And Eric Hinske is just as big a problem. Sure, he can play four positions… poorly… But is below average defense all over the diamond really worth carrying a pinch hitter who can’t pinch hit? Sadly, both Wily Mo and Hinske appear to be the sorts of players who can hit respectably (note: well, tolerably) when playing every day, but not at all when cold off the bench. Is there almost any situation wherein you’d like to see one of our starters pinch hit for? Nope, and it’s not because our starters are so great.
The only bright spot on the bench is “The Coral Axe,” Alex Cora, who has the rare distinction of being an elite bench player on this squad by virtue of not being below average. He’s fine. Not great, but fine, and Jose is perfectly happy to have him as a utility man.
So the bench situation is grim. But perhaps Jose has not yet explained it in a properly KEYS-style manner. So far, what he’s written seems downright analytical. Not with numbers and stats and all, but in the sense that he’s talking about the merits and deficits of each player on the bench, rather than comparing them each to a general in the Boer War or a brand of anisette liqueur. So let’s remedy that by indulging in some of Jose’s famous secondary analysis. Let’s compare the bench to… let’s see… a bench.
The 2004 bench would be the gold standard of benches, a classic mahogany piano bench, lovingly hand-lacquered by Trappist monks—the sort of place where a virtuoso might sit in order to bring ancient concertos of rare beauty to life. At the other end of the spectrum would be 2000 Red Sox bench, which included Andy Sheets, Ed Sprague, Mike Lansing and ‘roid freak Manny Alexander. The bench was so bad that the best bench option would have been either Mike Stanley, who complemented his .222 batting average with 10 home runs or Lou Merloni, who was, well, mocked by Ben Affleck. That bench would have been like a public bench in a bad part of town. Not only is it slathered in graffiti, not only is its low-grade wood splintered and weak, but there is a big pile of dog excrement on it.
That leaves this year’s bench somewhere in between. Jose would compare it to a public bench in the heart of downtown. At first glance, it looks okay. It’s shiny, it’s more or less clean, there are no obvious spills on it. But when you get closer, you notice that there’s a homeless drug addict on the bench swigging from a bottle of Old Mr. Boston vodka. Could you sit on the bench? Sure you could, if you had a leg problem and absolutely needed a break. But would you want to sit on the bench? No, not unless it was absolutely necessary. And that’s how it is with the 2007 Red Sox. Can you go to the postseason with this bench? Sure, you could, but you probably don’t want to. And just like when you sit next to the drug addict, if you go ahead and use this bench, there is a pretty good chance that you are going to get beaten.
2. You know what’s missing from this year’s Red Sox? A good gimmick. Hell, even a bad gimmick. Or a nickname. Something like that. The 2003 Red Sox had “Cowboy Up.” The 2004 Championship squad was the band of idiots. But what have we had since then? Not a whole heck of a lot, and Jose thinks that if we want this team to really gel, we need something.
A few ideas:
1. How are the Boston Red Sox like the U.S Supreme Court? In both cases, Jose doesn’t like who is on the bench.
We’re more than half way through the season now, and a bench that was supposed to be a strength of this team is emerging as a glaring weakness. Never was it more obvious than yesterday afternoon when Jose was forced to watch Doug Mirabelli bat with the game on the line because Jason Varitek had a sore thumb. Now, obviously Jose is not suggesting that the Red Sox carry three catchers; two is fine, as long as one of them isn’t Doug Mirabelli. Don’t we still have Carlton Fiske on the payroll? He could probably out hit Dougie these days. Does John Henry have a son? If he does, we could try the Marc Sullivan approach. (Note: Can we get a police escort to speed Mirabelli back to Logan Airport?)
But catcher is not the only problem. We have, in Wily Mo Pena, a player whose greatest asset is that he has an awesome name. Sure, if he ever got regular at bats he could do some damage, but, as he was born to DH, that’s never going to happen on this team. And Eric Hinske is just as big a problem. Sure, he can play four positions… poorly… But is below average defense all over the diamond really worth carrying a pinch hitter who can’t pinch hit? Sadly, both Wily Mo and Hinske appear to be the sorts of players who can hit respectably (note: well, tolerably) when playing every day, but not at all when cold off the bench. Is there almost any situation wherein you’d like to see one of our starters pinch hit for? Nope, and it’s not because our starters are so great.
The only bright spot on the bench is “The Coral Axe,” Alex Cora, who has the rare distinction of being an elite bench player on this squad by virtue of not being below average. He’s fine. Not great, but fine, and Jose is perfectly happy to have him as a utility man.
So the bench situation is grim. But perhaps Jose has not yet explained it in a properly KEYS-style manner. So far, what he’s written seems downright analytical. Not with numbers and stats and all, but in the sense that he’s talking about the merits and deficits of each player on the bench, rather than comparing them each to a general in the Boer War or a brand of anisette liqueur. So let’s remedy that by indulging in some of Jose’s famous secondary analysis. Let’s compare the bench to… let’s see… a bench.
The 2004 bench would be the gold standard of benches, a classic mahogany piano bench, lovingly hand-lacquered by Trappist monks—the sort of place where a virtuoso might sit in order to bring ancient concertos of rare beauty to life. At the other end of the spectrum would be 2000 Red Sox bench, which included Andy Sheets, Ed Sprague, Mike Lansing and ‘roid freak Manny Alexander. The bench was so bad that the best bench option would have been either Mike Stanley, who complemented his .222 batting average with 10 home runs or Lou Merloni, who was, well, mocked by Ben Affleck. That bench would have been like a public bench in a bad part of town. Not only is it slathered in graffiti, not only is its low-grade wood splintered and weak, but there is a big pile of dog excrement on it.
That leaves this year’s bench somewhere in between. Jose would compare it to a public bench in the heart of downtown. At first glance, it looks okay. It’s shiny, it’s more or less clean, there are no obvious spills on it. But when you get closer, you notice that there’s a homeless drug addict on the bench swigging from a bottle of Old Mr. Boston vodka. Could you sit on the bench? Sure you could, if you had a leg problem and absolutely needed a break. But would you want to sit on the bench? No, not unless it was absolutely necessary. And that’s how it is with the 2007 Red Sox. Can you go to the postseason with this bench? Sure, you could, but you probably don’t want to. And just like when you sit next to the drug addict, if you go ahead and use this bench, there is a pretty good chance that you are going to get beaten.
2. You know what’s missing from this year’s Red Sox? A good gimmick. Hell, even a bad gimmick. Or a nickname. Something like that. The 2003 Red Sox had “Cowboy Up.” The 2004 Championship squad was the band of idiots. But what have we had since then? Not a whole heck of a lot, and Jose thinks that if we want this team to really gel, we need something.
A few ideas:
- KEC-- (Note: Which stands for the Kosovo Electric Company)—Because power outages are a major problem. (Note: Ever since Jose was in Kosovo, anytime something doesn’t work, he explains the problem as “No KEC.” For instance, if a flashlight has a dead battery the problem is no KEC.)
- The Gulag Archipelago—They have lots of people from islands (note: Dominican, Japan, though the DR is not an archipelago), and as in the gulag, no one has any idea what tomorrow is going to bring.
- The British Bulldogs—No reason, they were just an awesome tag team.
- The Partridge Family—Every time Jose looks at the standings he thinks he loves you. But then he sees a game like yesterday’s 2-1 loss to the BJays, and wonder’s, so what is he so afraid of.
3. Do you think the British Army would send Gil Meche to Iraq or would the fact that he’s a Royal make him too much of a target?
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
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