It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Every so often one has the opportunity to do something to benefit the cause of science and, by direct extension, poke the Pope in the eye.
Galileo had his lenses, Newton had his apple, Einstein had his tram and now Jose has his stupid little Web survey. Okay, Jose admits that it is not, strictly speaking, his Web survey. It belongs to a friend, mentor, and fellow Red Sox fan, who has made the terrible, terrible mistake of pursuing a PhD in communications. Apparently the PhD program in fractions at the University of Washington was too difficult to get into.
Still, even pseudoscience is a kind of science, just ask the President, and thus Jose supports it uncritically.
So here is the deal. If you click on this link, you will get to answer a few basic questions about baseball. Once you have done that you will be directed to a sort of futures market for 2008 statistics. You get 10,000 hypothetical dollars (note: 9345 hypothetical Canadian dollars, 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 hypothetical Zimbabwe dollars ) that you can spend betting on 2008 statistics like the number of home runs Big Papi will hit or the numbers of herpetic lesions Derek Jeter will experience. What’s better still is that merely by participating, you will be entered to win two tickets to a Boston Red Sox game in 2008 and possibly the Nobel Prize in Communications.
But that is really aside from the point. What matters here is that this is your opportunity to benefit science without having medical students cut into your body and mock your genitalia after you are dead. Did you ever think that just by making pretend wagers online you could help cure cancer, land a man on Mars or, if you are very lucky, inadvertently destroy the universe?
That day has arrived, and Jose, for one, is glad that you are alive to see it.
2. The big news as the Red Sox return to the Eastern Time Zone is the hawk attack at Fenway Park. During a tour yesterday, a red-tailed hawk nesting at Fenway attacked a 13-year-old girl named, of all things, Alexa Rodriguez, drawing blood, but thankfully causing no serious injury.
Now the temptation is to make the easy jokes based on the victim’s name, but that’s pretty tacky.
Sure, you could run headlines like “Fenway Gives Rodriguez the Bird”, “For a Change A-Rod Gets Dropped,” “Color War: Red-Tail vs. Yellow-Belly,” or even “Ornithologists: Slapping not effective against hawks,” but that would be really, really silly.
We all know that the similar name notwithstanding, this poor, brave kid has absolutely nothing to do with the Yankees third baseman. You can tell because if the hawk had attacked the actual Alex Rodriguez there would be five million Yankees fans criticizing the hawk for not removing its beak before hitting the slugger in the head.
3. Jose wrote last week that Bartolo Colon skipped the trip to Japan because the hefty righty did not want to spend any time in a country run by an elected body called “The Diet.”
This left Jose confused today as to why Colon has not joined the team in Toronto. Canada is run by a “parliament” a name that not even Jose can stretch into a fat joke, so why would Colon be avoiding the trip? But then Jose figured it out. It’s not that Colon is avoiding Toronto, it’s that he desperately wants to spend time in Pawtucket.
The Pawtucket Wikipedia page points out that the film version of the David Mamet play American Buffalo was filmed in Pawtucket. Jose will bet just about anything (note: nothing) that Colon saw that and assumed it was a movie about hot wings. Hence his interest in Pawtucket. In addition Jose is almost positive that the Board of Aldermen for the city of Pawtucket is technically referred to as “The Smorgas Board.”
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Friday, April 4
Wednesday, April 2
Apples and Oranges
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Jose got a weird and absurd email yesterday from an old friend comparing KEYS to the writings of David Foster Wallace, Chuck Klosterman, Bill Simmons and the lesser works of Herman Melville. (Note: KEYS stacks up nicely against Benito Cereno.)
The comparison is not only ridiculous because these men of letters probably never screw up “its” and “it’s” but also because each of them has an in-depth knowledge of his subject that goes far beyond anything Jose can offer. Klosterman really knows a lot about heavy metal. Simmons is, strangely enough, the best NBA writer around. Hermann Melville knows so much about whales that he can apply phrenology to them. And Jose? Jose doesn’t know that much about anything. These guys are specialists. Sure, they can do shtick, they make their living connecting their subjects to seeming unrelated topics, but at the end of the day, each has real, specialized knowledge on one or more subjects. Jose does not.
If these fellows are Josh Becketts, men who live on their fastball, yet can occasionally mix it up with a decent curve or change up, Jose is Daisuke Matsuzaka. Daisuke doesn’t have any pitch that is dominant, but he has about seven that are above average. Jose brings a similar approach to writing. Sure, Jose writes primarily about the Red Sox, but he’s not an expert. He can’t tell you about the prospects in Portland or compare the merits of two seam and four-seam fastballs. All he can do is contrast the two-seam fastball with the Paris Peace Accords with WrestleMania 2, with Suicide by Emile Durkheim. Could Jose give you great depth on any of those subjects? Not really. He can tell give you the overview of the Paris Accords and tell you that Suicide is about suicide, but he can’t write a book or even a good essay about either subject.
Where Jose does his work is in comparing apples to oranges. He makes comparisons that are against the laws of God and man, and somehow finds coherence in them.
What Daisuke did last night is not that different. Over his 6 2/3 of 1 run, 0 walk pitching, he succeeded on account of the very incoherence of his pitching approach. He was not a fastball pitcher, he was not a breaking ball pitcher. Rather, he was a guy who threw apples and oranges, pineapples and breadfruit, and he threw them all for strikes.
For Daisuke, as for Jose, it is not his brilliance in any one facet of his endeavor that makes him effective. It is his mastery of contrast; it is the genius of demanding that round pegs fit into square holes.
What the Red Sox need this season is for Daisuke to embrace the madness, to slide face first down the toboggan run of absurdity, to, in the words of Weird Al Yankovic, “Dare to be stupid. It’s so easy to do.”
2. In other news, new Yankees manager Joe Girardi ordered an ice cream freezer removed from the team’s clubhouse as part of a ban on junk food.
In related news, former Yankees pitcher and ice cream aficionado Corey Lidle told reporters “I’m glad I’m dead. Way better than playing for Girardi.”
1. Jose got a weird and absurd email yesterday from an old friend comparing KEYS to the writings of David Foster Wallace, Chuck Klosterman, Bill Simmons and the lesser works of Herman Melville. (Note: KEYS stacks up nicely against Benito Cereno.)
The comparison is not only ridiculous because these men of letters probably never screw up “its” and “it’s” but also because each of them has an in-depth knowledge of his subject that goes far beyond anything Jose can offer. Klosterman really knows a lot about heavy metal. Simmons is, strangely enough, the best NBA writer around. Hermann Melville knows so much about whales that he can apply phrenology to them. And Jose? Jose doesn’t know that much about anything. These guys are specialists. Sure, they can do shtick, they make their living connecting their subjects to seeming unrelated topics, but at the end of the day, each has real, specialized knowledge on one or more subjects. Jose does not.
If these fellows are Josh Becketts, men who live on their fastball, yet can occasionally mix it up with a decent curve or change up, Jose is Daisuke Matsuzaka. Daisuke doesn’t have any pitch that is dominant, but he has about seven that are above average. Jose brings a similar approach to writing. Sure, Jose writes primarily about the Red Sox, but he’s not an expert. He can’t tell you about the prospects in Portland or compare the merits of two seam and four-seam fastballs. All he can do is contrast the two-seam fastball with the Paris Peace Accords with WrestleMania 2, with Suicide by Emile Durkheim. Could Jose give you great depth on any of those subjects? Not really. He can tell give you the overview of the Paris Accords and tell you that Suicide is about suicide, but he can’t write a book or even a good essay about either subject.
Where Jose does his work is in comparing apples to oranges. He makes comparisons that are against the laws of God and man, and somehow finds coherence in them.
What Daisuke did last night is not that different. Over his 6 2/3 of 1 run, 0 walk pitching, he succeeded on account of the very incoherence of his pitching approach. He was not a fastball pitcher, he was not a breaking ball pitcher. Rather, he was a guy who threw apples and oranges, pineapples and breadfruit, and he threw them all for strikes.
For Daisuke, as for Jose, it is not his brilliance in any one facet of his endeavor that makes him effective. It is his mastery of contrast; it is the genius of demanding that round pegs fit into square holes.
What the Red Sox need this season is for Daisuke to embrace the madness, to slide face first down the toboggan run of absurdity, to, in the words of Weird Al Yankovic, “Dare to be stupid. It’s so easy to do.”
2. In other news, new Yankees manager Joe Girardi ordered an ice cream freezer removed from the team’s clubhouse as part of a ban on junk food.
In related news, former Yankees pitcher and ice cream aficionado Corey Lidle told reporters “I’m glad I’m dead. Way better than playing for Girardi.”
Why won't the Yankees honor my memory?
3. The Boston Globe, “The Amazing Shrinking Newspaper,” reported today that with a payroll of $133,440,037 the Boston Red Sox have fallen to fourth in the majors in this year. This puts them behind the Yankees at $209,081,579, the Tigers at $138,685,197 and the Mets at $138,293,378.
This news comes as a shock to fans and pundits nationwide who have grown comfortable with the notion that the Red Sox have become “just like the Yankees.” To be honest, Jose feels bad for the folks who have become deeply invested in this narrative, so he thought he would give them a few talking points for how the Red Sox and the Yankees are exactly the same, while he waits to see that first column on how the Tigers are now nothing more than the Yankees.
Here goes:
- They are both baseball teams.
Okay, got it?
The comparison was always flawed (note: read asinine). How could you argue the Red Sox were just like the Yankees, when the Bronx Bombers haven’t won a single World Series in the 21st century and the Red Sox aren’t owned by a convicted felon. See it’s just silly.
Still, if you feel absolutely compelled to argue that they are the same, Jose supposes you could point out that neither team has a single Swedish national on its 25 man roster.
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Tuesday, April 1
No Excuses
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Whatever happens in tonight’s U.S. opener, can the Red Sox promise Jose something? Don’t blame anything on jet lag.
Blaming failures on jet lag is a handy excuse, but a poor one. “I have cancer”—that’s an excuse. “I was struck by lighting”—that’s an excuse. But “I didn’t do well because I have jet lag, because I’m a little sleepy”—that’s no excuse at all.
If Jose couldn’t perform when he is sleepy, every single KEYS would look like this
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE
GAME.
1. F*ck Jose is
tired!!!!!!
2.
2weriwe#$%SDFVJ
3. Seriously, f*ck you
guys.
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
And yet people persist in using jet lag as an excuse. Jose had a boss once who blamed jet lag for absentmindedness after flying to Boston from Miami. She might has well have said, “I just drove up from Weymouth, so I’m really jet lagged.” Just about the only time when jet lag is a legitimate excuse is when one is returning from Newfoundland, with that weird half hour time zone. And then it’s not because one is tired, but because the idea of changing by only half an hour is a total mindf*ck. (Note: In fairness, confusion over crossing the International Date Line is also a good excuse. You move an hour forward, then another hour forward, then suddenly you’re 24 hours in the past? Can you imagine Manny trying to figure that one out?)
The fact of the matter is that in this day and age, where jet lag can be easily remedied through a combination of alcohol and the abuse of prescription drugs, no one should complain about it ever.
The Red Sox also shouldn’t complain about parasites. First of all, how the hell did Kevin Brown and Jason Giambi get parasites in Japan? Are you seriously telling Jose that Brown never picked up a parasite in his hometown of Milledgeville, Georgia (note: Lastings Milledge, founder) but he got something in a country where taxi drivers where white gloves and have doilies on the seat backs?
The only time Jose will allow anyone on the Red Sox team to blame a loss on a parasite is if Javier Lopez gives up a home run to a lefty.
2. It’s April Fools today, and while Jose isn’t much for pranks, you know those wacky Red Sox are. Here are just a few of the hysterical jokes that are happening today:
- Noted prankster Dustin Pedroia replaces manager Terry Eurona’s Metamucil with the ashes of former manager/racist Pinky Higgins.
- Theo Epstein calls Josh Bard and tells him the Red Sox have reacquired him to catch Tim Wakefield. The joke ends poorly, as Bard throws himself from a bridge.
- Kevin Cash is announced as opening day backup catcher.
- Having accepted assignment to AAA, outfielder Bobby Kielty shows up to work at offices of AAA of New England.
- Bobby Kielty announces intention to convert to Judaism, explaining “It kept Kapler on the big club.”
- Theo Epstein calls Doug Mirabelli to tell him the Red Sox would like him back, when Mirabelli arrives, Theo turns out the lights and hides under his desk.
- Red Sox announce signing of Sidd Finch, not the mythical pitcher who could throw 168 mph, but an actual truck driver from Eau Claire Wisconsin.
- DJ Dru announces that he is ready to play tonight. No one is fooled.
- Dr. Charles Steinberg announces that Dodgers and Red Sox will play an exhibition game in a field that is only 200 feet down the left field line. Wait. That one’s real? Really?
3. One of the most heavily hyped matchups at WrestleMania XXIV was a battle between a 440 lb. behemoth called the Big Show and the 150 lb. welterweight boxing champion Floyd “Money” Mayweather. It was a mismatch of epic proportions.
In a lot of ways, Jose sees this contest as a good analogy for tonight’s game between the Red Sox and the Oakland Athletics. The Red Sox are the giant, the monster, crushing everything in their path, and the Athletics are the munchkin, game and tough, but at a catastrophic disadvantage.
“Now wait, just a minute,” some of you may be saying. “Mayweather won that matchup. Does that mean you think the A’s are going to win tonight?”
Well, to be blunt. Yes.
The A’s are going to win tonight provided that the analogy holds. This means that they will win if a) Joe Blanton is allowed to punch David Ortiz in the face with brass knuckles and b) the entire contest is scripted for the A’s to win.
If brass knucks are allowed and the game is fixed, Jose has a hard time seeing the Sox pulling this one out.
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Wednesday, March 26
So...Very... Tired
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Thoughts on the opening day victory.
• Upon receiving a 1,000,000 yen for being the player of the game Manny Ramirez quipped, “I think I’ll use it for gas money.”
This is downright irresponsible and could drive rampant speculation that gas prices will climb still higher. Manny is no longer on Jose’s list for fed chairman.
• Baseball at breakfast is great! You wake up in the morning with no food in your stomach, so you get drunk a lot faster.,
• How many times do you think Manny has asked to see the Great Wall?
• When the Sox get back to the postseason, does Tim McCarver call Brandon Moss “Bronson” Moss or does he call him something completely different?
• Wait you want more? Jose is writing this at one in the morning. Ungrateful bastards.
2. In today’s installment of “baseball for evasive politicians” Jose will examine how Hillary Rodham Clinton could use baseball to gloss over the fact that her dangerous trip to Tuzala, Bosnia and Herzegovina was actually a cakewalk with Sinbad and Sheryl Crow.
If Jose were handling crisis communications her statement today would have read
3. In 1762, the great French Philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau (note: not to be confused with French-Canadian wrestler, Jacques Rousseau a.k.a “The Mountie”) wrote a book entitled Emile: Or, On Education. The treatise outlines an elaborate educational philosophy that includes the teaching of citizenship, morality, a trade and sentiment.
It does not, however, teach baserunning, which is unfortunate for Oakland outfielder Emil Brown. Brown, representing the tying run, was caught between second and third with one out in the bottom of the tenth.
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Thoughts on the opening day victory.
• Upon receiving a 1,000,000 yen for being the player of the game Manny Ramirez quipped, “I think I’ll use it for gas money.”
This is downright irresponsible and could drive rampant speculation that gas prices will climb still higher. Manny is no longer on Jose’s list for fed chairman.
• Baseball at breakfast is great! You wake up in the morning with no food in your stomach, so you get drunk a lot faster.,
• How many times do you think Manny has asked to see the Great Wall?
• When the Sox get back to the postseason, does Tim McCarver call Brandon Moss “Bronson” Moss or does he call him something completely different?
• Wait you want more? Jose is writing this at one in the morning. Ungrateful bastards.
2. In today’s installment of “baseball for evasive politicians” Jose will examine how Hillary Rodham Clinton could use baseball to gloss over the fact that her dangerous trip to Tuzala, Bosnia and Herzegovina was actually a cakewalk with Sinbad and Sheryl Crow.
If Jose were handling crisis communications her statement today would have read
While it is obvious to anyone who reviews the video that my trip to Tuzla was not dangerous, and my vivid accounts of sniper fire, mad dashes and bear attacks were exaggerated, you cannot, must no judge these comments without putting them in the appropriate cultural context.OK, maybe this one is a bit of an uphill struggle, but its still way better than her campaign’s current argument that she “misspoke” How does one say “sniper fire” by mistake? The only possible misspeaking Jose can think of is that she meant to say she was there on a “snipe hunt” which is, by definition, a fool’s errand.
As you know, I represent the state of New York in the U.S. Senate, and for New Yorkers and a Yankee fans, it is custom to exaggerate to the point of nonsense. In recent years, the cultural bias against my people has receded, and rather than pointing out the inconsistencies of New Yorkers, our fellow Americans have supported our traditions. For instance, when New Yorkers claimed that Derek Jeter was an excellent shortstop, did the nation protest? When he gained acclaim by making routine plays look spectacular did FOX mouthpieces object? No, they complemented his elegant gait and awarded him with a gold glove award.
Under this standard, the Jeter Standard, my spectacular effort to make a routine ceremonial mission look like a spectacular diplomatic coup should be heralded by the employees of Rupert Murdoch and lead to me winning the Nobel Peace Prize.
3. In 1762, the great French Philosopher Jean-Jacques Rousseau (note: not to be confused with French-Canadian wrestler, Jacques Rousseau a.k.a “The Mountie”) wrote a book entitled Emile: Or, On Education. The treatise outlines an elaborate educational philosophy that includes the teaching of citizenship, morality, a trade and sentiment.
It does not, however, teach baserunning, which is unfortunate for Oakland outfielder Emil Brown. Brown, representing the tying run, was caught between second and third with one out in the bottom of the tenth.
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Tuesday, March 25
Same (Expletive), Different Year
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. There is a tendency on these days of pomp and pageantry for self-important scribes to exaggerate the significance of human events. It is this inclination that leads inevitably to the endless march of picayune prose that marks any occasion of note. Even worse, it can lead to alliteration. From inaugurations, to opening days, to graduations, the spirit of the story is the same year after year and too often the words are as well.
Jose began to write this KEY last night with the declaration, thrice repeated “Thank God for baseball.” After getting stuck in a clumsy metaphor of desert and oasis, Jose turned to the opening day KEYS from last year in search of inspiration and there he found it.
“Thank God for Opening Day. "
It was a striking rebuke to his sense of himself as an original, as a one of a kind. Simply replacing a comparison between himself and a heroin addict with a vague reference to Battlestar Galactica (note: so say we all), was not enough to sooth his soul. The introduction would have to go and with it Jose’s smug certainty of his own cleverness. This has all happened before, it will all happen again. (Note: There’s the Battlestar reference. See what Jose is reduced to when there is no baseball on—James Edward Olmos. Not good.)
Now into his fifth year of writing, Jose is as much a hack as any beat writer or world-weary columnist. He is just as prone to tired gimmicks and weary metaphors.
And does the Red Sox historic trek to Japan provide relief? Only in the sense that Ken Ryan provided relief in 1995. Rather, the significance of the occasion simultaneously raises the stakes and opens new, trap doors of cliché and ponderousness.
The Red Sox are in Japan? Why not write about sushi? Or sumo? Or bowing? Or karaoke? Or sex with space octopi?
Why wouldn’t Jose suggest that it is curious that 156 years after Commodore Matthew Perry opened Japan, Japan is opening the American League. (Note: With the obligatory quip that opening Japan and staring in Friends makes the Commodore versatile indeed.)
Why wouldn’t Jose imply that the Oakland A’s may already be operating under Article 9 of the Japanese Constitution, which expressly bans going on offense?
Why wouldn’t Jose quip that the reason Bartolo Colon didn’t go on the trip is that he heard the country is run by The Diet?
Why indeed?
This is opening day of the baseball season. Today, the records are all 0-0. Today Kevin Cash is batting the same as David Ortiz. (Note: Check that, Kevin Cash actually starts the season batting -.162) Today, everyone is in first place. Today, everyone gets a fresh start. And that includes Jose. Maybe he’ll run out old stories and reuse obsolete nicknames because this is spring training and everything old is new again… except for Curt Euro… and Tim Wakefield…and Mike Lowell… and… well, Ellsbury’s new.
2. In the absence of baseball for the last few months, Jose has been paying attention to politics. On the one hand, this is a bad thing, because it turns out, Jose hates you. Your beliefs are wrong, your candidate’s tactics are vile and if your champion is elected (s)he will most likely destroy America, except for Florida, which even in the absence of 49 other states would still somehow get a massive federal bailout.
On the other hand, it is a good thing, because it has convinced Jose that there is a baseball related excuse for pretty much every gaff made on the campaign trail with the exception of Gerald Ford’s 1976 claim that Poland was not under Soviet domination. The only baseball-related explanation for that would be if he took a fastball in the ear sometime during the campaign.
Consider one recent example. When Dr. Samantha Power, an Obama foreign policy advisor got in hot water for calling Hilary Rodham Clinton “a monster,” she could have wriggled out of it if only she had invoked her Red Sox fandom. (Note: Jose is a big fan of Dr. Power’s work. However, her decision to call her book about genocide “A Problem From Hell” made it impossible, even callous for Jose to use the title for his book about managing the 1997 Red Sox bullpen. It would have been called “A Problem From Hell: The Red Sox in the Age of Slocumb and Trlicek”.)
If Jose had been doing crisis communications for the Obama campaign, he would have urged Dr. Power to recontextualize the statement rather than disavow it. Her statement should have been
Similarly, Jose is certain that former Congresswoman and Clinton advisor Geraldine Ferraro could have explained away her comment that Senator Obama is “lucky” to be black. All she needed to do was to clarify that Obama was “lucky” in the same sense that Jackie Robinson was “lucky” because his skin color won him the first baseman’s job on the 1947 Dodgers vastly more experienced Ed Stevens.
Of course, the analogy is not perfect, as Ed Stevens never claimed marriage to long time Dodgers first baseman Dolph Camili as his primary experience.
3. Kudos to the Boston Globe for rightly calling Terry Eurona the best manager in Red Sox history. After all of the garbage he taken from fans and press alike en route to two titles in four years, the commendation is well-deserved. As long as we’re heaping praise on the bald and the beautiful, Jose would also like to congratulate Tito on being a reincarnation of the Buddha.
Even putting the baldness, aside, it makes sense. When asked about how he was dealing with jet lag, Tito told the Boston Globe “I feel like [expletive] today, but I feel like [expletive] every day, so I'm fine. We're fine.”
Have you ever heard a more elegant explanation of noble truths one, three, four and possibly two?
One: Tito acknowledges that existence is suffering. “I feel like [expletive] today”
Two: Okay, this one is only implicit. Tito does not specifically state that his desire—his desire to not have been on a plane for 18 hours—is the cause of his suffering, but it is totally in the subtext.
Three: Tito extinguishes his suffering by no longer desiring not to suffer. “But I feel like [expletive] every day, so I'm fine.”
Four: Tito walks the middle path, desiring only to do his duty. “We're fine.”
This is heavy stuff. Now if only Jose could determine the religious significance of "I've seen [Youkilis] in the shower and, let me tell you, he's not the Greek God of anything." It probably has something to with Chinese rule in Tibet.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. There is a tendency on these days of pomp and pageantry for self-important scribes to exaggerate the significance of human events. It is this inclination that leads inevitably to the endless march of picayune prose that marks any occasion of note. Even worse, it can lead to alliteration. From inaugurations, to opening days, to graduations, the spirit of the story is the same year after year and too often the words are as well.
Jose began to write this KEY last night with the declaration, thrice repeated “Thank God for baseball.” After getting stuck in a clumsy metaphor of desert and oasis, Jose turned to the opening day KEYS from last year in search of inspiration and there he found it.
“Thank God for Opening Day. "
It was a striking rebuke to his sense of himself as an original, as a one of a kind. Simply replacing a comparison between himself and a heroin addict with a vague reference to Battlestar Galactica (note: so say we all), was not enough to sooth his soul. The introduction would have to go and with it Jose’s smug certainty of his own cleverness. This has all happened before, it will all happen again. (Note: There’s the Battlestar reference. See what Jose is reduced to when there is no baseball on—James Edward Olmos. Not good.)
Now into his fifth year of writing, Jose is as much a hack as any beat writer or world-weary columnist. He is just as prone to tired gimmicks and weary metaphors.
And does the Red Sox historic trek to Japan provide relief? Only in the sense that Ken Ryan provided relief in 1995. Rather, the significance of the occasion simultaneously raises the stakes and opens new, trap doors of cliché and ponderousness.
The Red Sox are in Japan? Why not write about sushi? Or sumo? Or bowing? Or karaoke? Or sex with space octopi?
Why wouldn’t Jose suggest that it is curious that 156 years after Commodore Matthew Perry opened Japan, Japan is opening the American League. (Note: With the obligatory quip that opening Japan and staring in Friends makes the Commodore versatile indeed.)
Why wouldn’t Jose imply that the Oakland A’s may already be operating under Article 9 of the Japanese Constitution, which expressly bans going on offense?
Why wouldn’t Jose quip that the reason Bartolo Colon didn’t go on the trip is that he heard the country is run by The Diet?
Why indeed?
This is opening day of the baseball season. Today, the records are all 0-0. Today Kevin Cash is batting the same as David Ortiz. (Note: Check that, Kevin Cash actually starts the season batting -.162) Today, everyone is in first place. Today, everyone gets a fresh start. And that includes Jose. Maybe he’ll run out old stories and reuse obsolete nicknames because this is spring training and everything old is new again… except for Curt Euro… and Tim Wakefield…and Mike Lowell… and… well, Ellsbury’s new.
2. In the absence of baseball for the last few months, Jose has been paying attention to politics. On the one hand, this is a bad thing, because it turns out, Jose hates you. Your beliefs are wrong, your candidate’s tactics are vile and if your champion is elected (s)he will most likely destroy America, except for Florida, which even in the absence of 49 other states would still somehow get a massive federal bailout.
On the other hand, it is a good thing, because it has convinced Jose that there is a baseball related excuse for pretty much every gaff made on the campaign trail with the exception of Gerald Ford’s 1976 claim that Poland was not under Soviet domination. The only baseball-related explanation for that would be if he took a fastball in the ear sometime during the campaign.
Consider one recent example. When Dr. Samantha Power, an Obama foreign policy advisor got in hot water for calling Hilary Rodham Clinton “a monster,” she could have wriggled out of it if only she had invoked her Red Sox fandom. (Note: Jose is a big fan of Dr. Power’s work. However, her decision to call her book about genocide “A Problem From Hell” made it impossible, even callous for Jose to use the title for his book about managing the 1997 Red Sox bullpen. It would have been called “A Problem From Hell: The Red Sox in the Age of Slocumb and Trlicek”.)
If Jose had been doing crisis communications for the Obama campaign, he would have urged Dr. Power to recontextualize the statement rather than disavow it. Her statement should have been
When I called Senator Clinton a “monster” I did not mean that she is a terrible person who would stoop to any level to get elected, and I regret that she viewed it that way. As you know, I am a Red Sox fan, and thus view the term “monster” as a reference to Fenway Park’s famous left field wall. What I meant to communicate when I called Senator Clinton a “monster” is that she is far too green, looks more imposing than she actually is, is gradually being sold to corporate interests and is confusing to the Japanese.
Similarly, Jose is certain that former Congresswoman and Clinton advisor Geraldine Ferraro could have explained away her comment that Senator Obama is “lucky” to be black. All she needed to do was to clarify that Obama was “lucky” in the same sense that Jackie Robinson was “lucky” because his skin color won him the first baseman’s job on the 1947 Dodgers vastly more experienced Ed Stevens.
Of course, the analogy is not perfect, as Ed Stevens never claimed marriage to long time Dodgers first baseman Dolph Camili as his primary experience.
3. Kudos to the Boston Globe for rightly calling Terry Eurona the best manager in Red Sox history. After all of the garbage he taken from fans and press alike en route to two titles in four years, the commendation is well-deserved. As long as we’re heaping praise on the bald and the beautiful, Jose would also like to congratulate Tito on being a reincarnation of the Buddha.
Even putting the baldness, aside, it makes sense. When asked about how he was dealing with jet lag, Tito told the Boston Globe “I feel like [expletive] today, but I feel like [expletive] every day, so I'm fine. We're fine.”
Have you ever heard a more elegant explanation of noble truths one, three, four and possibly two?
One: Tito acknowledges that existence is suffering. “I feel like [expletive] today”
Two: Okay, this one is only implicit. Tito does not specifically state that his desire—his desire to not have been on a plane for 18 hours—is the cause of his suffering, but it is totally in the subtext.
Three: Tito extinguishes his suffering by no longer desiring not to suffer. “But I feel like [expletive] every day, so I'm fine.”
Four: Tito walks the middle path, desiring only to do his duty. “We're fine.”
This is heavy stuff. Now if only Jose could determine the religious significance of "I've seen [Youkilis] in the shower and, let me tell you, he's not the Greek God of anything." It probably has something to with Chinese rule in Tibet.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Wednesday, March 5
Count all the Games
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO SPRING TRAINING.
1. March 5, 2008
Jupiter--New York Yankees President Hank Steinbrenner today called on Major League Baseball to count all preseason games toward the Major League Baseball Standings.
"The people of Jupiter will have their voices heard," screamed Steinbrenner. "We will not allow the tens of thousands of fans who have attended these games in good faith to be told they wasted three hours of their lives."
When asked why the Yankees had reserved their position prior to the pre-season that the games would not count, Steinbrenner responded angrily.
"These are the games that matter. You cannot win the AL East without taking games against important rivals like Toronto. How could a game against Toronto not count, while regular season Red Sox wins against unimportant teams like Kansas City and Minnesota be allowed to count?"
Critics responded harshly to Steinbrenner's claim.
"Hank Steinbrenner wants to change the rules when it suits him," said Red Sox CEO John W. Henry. “He didn’t favor this change until it gave the Yankees a 1.5 game lead over the Red Sox.”
Steinbrenner also, reportedly has been lobbying heavily for the inclusion of “supergames” games that would not be won on the field, but would be determined by a complex formula.
“The supergames should be free to send whoever is the best American League prospect for November,” insisted Steinbrenner.
2. When Jose first posted the press release above, someone suggest that it was from The Onion. Immediately, Jose got incredibly paranoid, because he goes to great lengths to avoid plagiarism. He is the sort of guy who footnotes excessively, and feels obliged, when mentioning batting averages, to point out that he is not the guy who invented the stat.
But that’s how it is these days. With the proliferation of the internet and large numbers of idiots writing at great length, it is exceedingly difficult to write anything that has not been vaguely mentioned somewhere or conceived by someone else.
As a result, Jose gets paranoid, very paranoid. He gets paranoid not least of all because it is often unclear exactly what is plagiarism and what is not. Sure, it’s plagiarism for an academic or a journalist to use someone else’s words or ideas without attribution, but is it when someone in a different profession does effectively the same thing?
Is it plagiarism when someone throws a circle change without thanking Frank Viola for the pitch? Every time Bartolo Colon puts on a pair of 64-inch waist pants this year, should he have to acknowledge Rich Garces for developing the idea of pants with a 64 inch waist?
When an ump calls a phantom tag, shouldn’t he have to cite Tim Tschida? When a pitcher loses a playoff game to Jeff Suppan, shouldn’t he have to cite Roger Clemens?
These are serious issues, and Jose demands a Congressional inquiry.
3. Quick question: Do Hank Steinbrenner and Serb Prime Minster Vojislav Kostuncia have the same speech writers? Let’s compare:
Steinbrenner: "Red Sox Nation? What a bunch of (nonsense) that is. "That was a creation of the Red Sox and ESPN, which is filled with Red Sox fans.”
Kostunica: “For the citizens of Serbia, for Serbia, there is no and will never be a fake state of Kosovo on its territory”
Steinbrenner: “This is a Yankee country. We're going to put the Yankees back on top and restore the universe to order.”
Kostunica “We must focus on decisions of historic importance and annul once and for all any act of the separatist Albanians and confirm that Kosovo is an integral part of Serbia"
It’s not precisely the same, it’s just that if Kostunica had said “"The Republic of Kosovo? What a bunch of (nonsense) that is. That was a creation of the U.S. and Europe, which is filled with Albanians.” Would it have sounded odd to anyone?
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO SPRING TRAINING.
1. March 5, 2008
Jupiter--New York Yankees President Hank Steinbrenner today called on Major League Baseball to count all preseason games toward the Major League Baseball Standings.
"The people of Jupiter will have their voices heard," screamed Steinbrenner. "We will not allow the tens of thousands of fans who have attended these games in good faith to be told they wasted three hours of their lives."
When asked why the Yankees had reserved their position prior to the pre-season that the games would not count, Steinbrenner responded angrily.
"These are the games that matter. You cannot win the AL East without taking games against important rivals like Toronto. How could a game against Toronto not count, while regular season Red Sox wins against unimportant teams like Kansas City and Minnesota be allowed to count?"
Critics responded harshly to Steinbrenner's claim.
"Hank Steinbrenner wants to change the rules when it suits him," said Red Sox CEO John W. Henry. “He didn’t favor this change until it gave the Yankees a 1.5 game lead over the Red Sox.”
Steinbrenner also, reportedly has been lobbying heavily for the inclusion of “supergames” games that would not be won on the field, but would be determined by a complex formula.
“The supergames should be free to send whoever is the best American League prospect for November,” insisted Steinbrenner.
2. When Jose first posted the press release above, someone suggest that it was from The Onion. Immediately, Jose got incredibly paranoid, because he goes to great lengths to avoid plagiarism. He is the sort of guy who footnotes excessively, and feels obliged, when mentioning batting averages, to point out that he is not the guy who invented the stat.
But that’s how it is these days. With the proliferation of the internet and large numbers of idiots writing at great length, it is exceedingly difficult to write anything that has not been vaguely mentioned somewhere or conceived by someone else.
As a result, Jose gets paranoid, very paranoid. He gets paranoid not least of all because it is often unclear exactly what is plagiarism and what is not. Sure, it’s plagiarism for an academic or a journalist to use someone else’s words or ideas without attribution, but is it when someone in a different profession does effectively the same thing?
Is it plagiarism when someone throws a circle change without thanking Frank Viola for the pitch? Every time Bartolo Colon puts on a pair of 64-inch waist pants this year, should he have to acknowledge Rich Garces for developing the idea of pants with a 64 inch waist?
When an ump calls a phantom tag, shouldn’t he have to cite Tim Tschida? When a pitcher loses a playoff game to Jeff Suppan, shouldn’t he have to cite Roger Clemens?
These are serious issues, and Jose demands a Congressional inquiry.
3. Quick question: Do Hank Steinbrenner and Serb Prime Minster Vojislav Kostuncia have the same speech writers? Let’s compare:
Steinbrenner: "Red Sox Nation? What a bunch of (nonsense) that is. "That was a creation of the Red Sox and ESPN, which is filled with Red Sox fans.”
Kostunica: “For the citizens of Serbia, for Serbia, there is no and will never be a fake state of Kosovo on its territory”
Steinbrenner: “This is a Yankee country. We're going to put the Yankees back on top and restore the universe to order.”
Kostunica “We must focus on decisions of historic importance and annul once and for all any act of the separatist Albanians and confirm that Kosovo is an integral part of Serbia"
It’s not precisely the same, it’s just that if Kostunica had said “"The Republic of Kosovo? What a bunch of (nonsense) that is. That was a creation of the U.S. and Europe, which is filled with Albanians.” Would it have sounded odd to anyone?
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO SPRING TRAINING.
Thursday, February 14
Jose Told You So
BUY THE KEYS BOOK, STILL ON SALE: STILL WITH A HAPPY ENDING
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO SPRING TRAINING.
1. A truck? You people are excited about a freaking truck? We won the World Series and you have the audacity to be excited that a glorified moving van has headed on down to Florida signifying the beginning of the end of the winter of our content?
You want something to be excited about, be excited about the fact that after, as the boxing announcers would put it, his longest period of inactivity, Jose Melendez is back!
Jose hasn’t written at all in two months, and only three times since the World Series, and you know what it garnered him? An endorsement deal. That’s right after begging and pleading for folks to buy his books, after spending years forcing out cruddy winter columns in order to have a chance to plug his latest volume, Jose was rewarded for his sloth by an actual advertiser, paying him in actual money. If other advertisers want to reward Jose you know what to do.
Now, a lot of you may be asking why Jose didn’t write much during the Hot Stove season past. The reason, simply enough, is that there wasn’t that much to write about. Aside from the Santana saga and the steroids imbroglio, both of which warranted a few clicks of the keys, what was there to write about?
Did the Sox make any big free agent signings? Did they make any crazy trades? Did they do anything that would warrant Jose stepping lively?
Nope, that left Jose to dwell on the Patriots, at least until 10 days ago, and the election. Sure he could have written, but what would he have written about? You want to know what you missed. Fine, but don’t say Jose didn’t warn you.
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Santana is not coming to Boston.
• Which was worse the 1994 Baseball Strike or the Hollywood writers strike? (Note: This actually had the potential to be good, hell it still could be. The baseball strike was good because it screwed up a possible Yankees Championship run; the writers’ strike was good because it screwed up a season of Grey’s Anatomy. The baseball strike was bad because it screwed up Tony Gwynn chasing .400. The writer’s strike was bad because it screwed up Lost. Wait, no it didn’t. It ended in time. Thank God.)
• Sean Casey: The next J.T. Snow or the next Mike Marshall?
• Jose’s reflections on the assassination of Benazir Bhutto: If her husband is called Mister 10% does that mean she’s married to Craig Grebeck. (Note: See, it’s a batting average joke.)
• The Giuliani Candidacy vs. The 2004 Yankees vs. the 2007 Mets, Triple threat match to determine the Greatest New York Collapse of the Century
Jose will stop there. He might actually need to use some of these if he is going to stagger through another season.
2. Let’s see where did Jose leave off? What was it that he wrote the last time he put finger to key?
Here it is:
“Jose is just wondering but did the Mitchell report say anything about Debbie Clemens and steroids? Have you seen her/him? If she's not on steroids, the only other possible explanation is a y chromosome.”
Now we have learned that Mrs. Clemens was, if fact, using human growth hormone, a fact confirmed by Mr. Clemens in his testimony to Congress yesterday.
Jose, of course, is not one to say, “I told you so.”
He is, however, one to say, “Jose told you so.”
JOSE TOLD YOU SO! JOSE TOLD YOU SO!
Dear God that feels good.
There is good news in all of this for Roger, however.
Sure, he is disgraced, he may never make the Hall-of-Fame and there is a reasonable chance he will be indicted for perjury or witness tampering, but rest assured it does not turn out that he has been married to a man for all these many years. Given that the only explanation other than drug abuse was androgyny, Roger should really be pretty happy that another guy gave his wife an injection the glutes.
3. Funny thing is that Jose was actually in the Rayburn Building for a meeting yesterday at the same time that Roger was testifying before the committee.
Jose had a number of conversations that day with his colleagues, who are not quite the same baseball fans he is, and they kept saying things like “Doesn’t Congress have better things to do? What a waste of taxpayer money.”
This got Jose thinking, what would he rather have his tax dollars spent on? Sure, there are a lot of things that the federal government does that are important to him like defense, roads, human services and aid to Kosovo, but don’t they do lots of other things that are far less important to him?
Doesn’t seeing his tax dollars go to the public humiliation of Roger Clemens, whom he loathes, seem like a pretty good deal?
Let’s think about this. Has Jose gotten more utility from these hearings or the MX Missile? The hearings have definitely been more valuable, though he thinks that the Midgetman Missile might have been a slightly better use of funds than the Clemens hearings because it has a funny name.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO SPRING TRAINING.
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO SPRING TRAINING.
1. A truck? You people are excited about a freaking truck? We won the World Series and you have the audacity to be excited that a glorified moving van has headed on down to Florida signifying the beginning of the end of the winter of our content?
You want something to be excited about, be excited about the fact that after, as the boxing announcers would put it, his longest period of inactivity, Jose Melendez is back!
Jose hasn’t written at all in two months, and only three times since the World Series, and you know what it garnered him? An endorsement deal. That’s right after begging and pleading for folks to buy his books, after spending years forcing out cruddy winter columns in order to have a chance to plug his latest volume, Jose was rewarded for his sloth by an actual advertiser, paying him in actual money. If other advertisers want to reward Jose you know what to do.
Now, a lot of you may be asking why Jose didn’t write much during the Hot Stove season past. The reason, simply enough, is that there wasn’t that much to write about. Aside from the Santana saga and the steroids imbroglio, both of which warranted a few clicks of the keys, what was there to write about?
Did the Sox make any big free agent signings? Did they make any crazy trades? Did they do anything that would warrant Jose stepping lively?
Nope, that left Jose to dwell on the Patriots, at least until 10 days ago, and the election. Sure he could have written, but what would he have written about? You want to know what you missed. Fine, but don’t say Jose didn’t warn you.
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Is Santana coming to Boston?
• Santana is not coming to Boston.
• Which was worse the 1994 Baseball Strike or the Hollywood writers strike? (Note: This actually had the potential to be good, hell it still could be. The baseball strike was good because it screwed up a possible Yankees Championship run; the writers’ strike was good because it screwed up a season of Grey’s Anatomy. The baseball strike was bad because it screwed up Tony Gwynn chasing .400. The writer’s strike was bad because it screwed up Lost. Wait, no it didn’t. It ended in time. Thank God.)
• Sean Casey: The next J.T. Snow or the next Mike Marshall?
• Jose’s reflections on the assassination of Benazir Bhutto: If her husband is called Mister 10% does that mean she’s married to Craig Grebeck. (Note: See, it’s a batting average joke.)
• The Giuliani Candidacy vs. The 2004 Yankees vs. the 2007 Mets, Triple threat match to determine the Greatest New York Collapse of the Century
Jose will stop there. He might actually need to use some of these if he is going to stagger through another season.
2. Let’s see where did Jose leave off? What was it that he wrote the last time he put finger to key?
Here it is:
“Jose is just wondering but did the Mitchell report say anything about Debbie Clemens and steroids? Have you seen her/him? If she's not on steroids, the only other possible explanation is a y chromosome.”
Now we have learned that Mrs. Clemens was, if fact, using human growth hormone, a fact confirmed by Mr. Clemens in his testimony to Congress yesterday.
Jose, of course, is not one to say, “I told you so.”
He is, however, one to say, “Jose told you so.”
JOSE TOLD YOU SO! JOSE TOLD YOU SO!
Dear God that feels good.
There is good news in all of this for Roger, however.
Sure, he is disgraced, he may never make the Hall-of-Fame and there is a reasonable chance he will be indicted for perjury or witness tampering, but rest assured it does not turn out that he has been married to a man for all these many years. Given that the only explanation other than drug abuse was androgyny, Roger should really be pretty happy that another guy gave his wife an injection the glutes.
3. Funny thing is that Jose was actually in the Rayburn Building for a meeting yesterday at the same time that Roger was testifying before the committee.
Jose had a number of conversations that day with his colleagues, who are not quite the same baseball fans he is, and they kept saying things like “Doesn’t Congress have better things to do? What a waste of taxpayer money.”
This got Jose thinking, what would he rather have his tax dollars spent on? Sure, there are a lot of things that the federal government does that are important to him like defense, roads, human services and aid to Kosovo, but don’t they do lots of other things that are far less important to him?
Doesn’t seeing his tax dollars go to the public humiliation of Roger Clemens, whom he loathes, seem like a pretty good deal?
Let’s think about this. Has Jose gotten more utility from these hearings or the MX Missile? The hearings have definitely been more valuable, though he thinks that the Midgetman Missile might have been a slightly better use of funds than the Clemens hearings because it has a funny name.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO SPRING TRAINING.
Thursday, December 13
l'Affaire Clemens
BUY THE 2007 KEYS BOOK—STEROID/HGH FREE*
*Except for Gagne and Donnelly
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE MITCHELL REPORT.
1.
1856 The Supreme Court rules that escaped slave Dred Scott, is property and cannot be taken away from his owner without due process.
1894 French soldier Alfred Dreyfus is convicted of passing military secrets to the Germans.
1986 Randy “Macho Man” Savage takes the Intercontinental Title from Tito Santana after hitting him with a foreign object (Note: In the last KEYS Jose claimed Tito Santana was part of the Can-Am Connection, not only is that wrong, it makes no sense, as Tito is Mexican. We regret the error.)
2007 Roger Clemens is accused of steroid abuse by Sen. George Mitchell.
Do you see where Jose is going with this? You must. There is injustice in the world. There has always been injustice. Some days, there is more than on others.
Sometimes injustice is driven by racism and greed. Other times it is caused by anti-Semitism. On still other occasions, it is due to an abhorrent lack of instant replay in professional wrestling. Yet today in our country injustice burns a little hotter, stings a little sharper, for in our national pastime, it has happened again. Bu not only has injustice transpired once more, it has taken a more odious form.
The victim of today’s injustice is not a slave, a Jew or even a Mexican. No he is a victim more reviled than even these once loathed classes. The sad soul is a white Christian millionaire. Yes, gasp. Gasp in horror at the evil in the world. And unlike those who have come before him this man, this poor pathetic man, does not even get the dignity of unjust imprisonment, loss of liberty or confiscation of property to illustrate his plight. His punishment is nothing less horrible than being named in a non-binding report to the Commissioner of Baseball that has no legal weight whatsoever and cannot result in any meaningful sanction.
Truly, Jose weeps for Roger Clemens.
Today’s injustice was not caused by bigotry or the lust for glory, but rather by a deviant devotion to empiricism and a madman’s commitment to the notion that overwhelming evidence is indicative of guilt. What would Jefferson say?
Yes, this is the kind of country we have become.
The United States of America is now a place where a man, a great man, a man who stood face to face with Jeff Suppan and almost won, can be openly slandered by a convicted felon, and never given the opportunity during the investigation to refute claims. Or more specifically, where a man who has several times almost made it through the first few innings of critical ALCS games can be given an opportunity to refute accusations, decline that opportunity, and then complain that there has never been an opportunity to dispute the story. If this continues rest assured that the disappearance of habeas corpus is next. Or possibly, before. Jose gets confused.
As you go to bed tonight, filled perhaps with shadenfreude or fahrvergnuegen, Jose want you to think: What if it were you?
What if you had just made tens of millions of dollars for a few below average innings on top of more than $100 million over the course of your career? What if you were regarded by many as the greatest pitcher of all time? Wouldn’t you trade it all away for a clean reputation? Wouldn’t you offer those achievements up like so many Jacoby Ellsburys and Jed Lowries for the Johann Santana of vindication?
No, you probably wouldn’t.
Jose weeps for the nation.
2. Jose is just wondering but did the Mitchell report say anything about Debbie Clemens and steroids? Have you seen her/him? Jose doesn’t want to say that she’s mannish or anything, but he’s heard that when Suzyn Waldman was gushing about Roger’s return to the Bronx, all noted she-he fan A-Rod could say was “Debbie’s back?” “Debbie’s BACK!!!!!!!!!”
If she's not on steroids, the only other possible explaination is a y chromosome
3. Why did Mo have to be in there?
Mo Vaughan did it. He absolutely did it. They even have a check from him. The case against Mo Vaughn is tighter than Jeff Loria on Marlins payday.
There was a time when this would have broken Jose’s heart. That time was 2PM this afternoon. To Jose, Mo always represented what was good about baseball, what he loved about the game. Mo loved baseball, he loved Boston and he loved being a leader in the community. For Christ’s sake, Jose bought his children’s book “Follow Your Dreams” and got it autographed.
And now this. Jose would have preferred that it was anyone from the pre-2004 Series Red Sox. Nomar, Rich Garces, Toby Boreland, anyone but Mo.
Jose supposes he can take some comfort from the fact that evidence indicates that Mo did not try the stuff until the end of his career when he was with the Mets desperately trying resuscitate a deteriorating body ravaged by sore knees and fried dough. There is something less odious, though perhaps more pathetic, about an athlete using drugs to keep a career alive, rather than to go from good to great.
Still, it makes Jose weep. Mo Vaughn was his first baseball hero. Not his first favorite player, Jose was in college by the time Mo won the MVP, but the first player Jose truly saw as heroic. He was noble and decent and committed. And now what is he? A tragic hero, Jose supposes, a good man with a pronounced weakness for strippers and fleeting glory.
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE MITCHELL REPORT.
*Except for Gagne and Donnelly
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE MITCHELL REPORT.
1.
1856 The Supreme Court rules that escaped slave Dred Scott, is property and cannot be taken away from his owner without due process.
1894 French soldier Alfred Dreyfus is convicted of passing military secrets to the Germans.
1986 Randy “Macho Man” Savage takes the Intercontinental Title from Tito Santana after hitting him with a foreign object (Note: In the last KEYS Jose claimed Tito Santana was part of the Can-Am Connection, not only is that wrong, it makes no sense, as Tito is Mexican. We regret the error.)
2007 Roger Clemens is accused of steroid abuse by Sen. George Mitchell.
Do you see where Jose is going with this? You must. There is injustice in the world. There has always been injustice. Some days, there is more than on others.
Sometimes injustice is driven by racism and greed. Other times it is caused by anti-Semitism. On still other occasions, it is due to an abhorrent lack of instant replay in professional wrestling. Yet today in our country injustice burns a little hotter, stings a little sharper, for in our national pastime, it has happened again. Bu not only has injustice transpired once more, it has taken a more odious form.
The victim of today’s injustice is not a slave, a Jew or even a Mexican. No he is a victim more reviled than even these once loathed classes. The sad soul is a white Christian millionaire. Yes, gasp. Gasp in horror at the evil in the world. And unlike those who have come before him this man, this poor pathetic man, does not even get the dignity of unjust imprisonment, loss of liberty or confiscation of property to illustrate his plight. His punishment is nothing less horrible than being named in a non-binding report to the Commissioner of Baseball that has no legal weight whatsoever and cannot result in any meaningful sanction.
Truly, Jose weeps for Roger Clemens.
Today’s injustice was not caused by bigotry or the lust for glory, but rather by a deviant devotion to empiricism and a madman’s commitment to the notion that overwhelming evidence is indicative of guilt. What would Jefferson say?
Yes, this is the kind of country we have become.
The United States of America is now a place where a man, a great man, a man who stood face to face with Jeff Suppan and almost won, can be openly slandered by a convicted felon, and never given the opportunity during the investigation to refute claims. Or more specifically, where a man who has several times almost made it through the first few innings of critical ALCS games can be given an opportunity to refute accusations, decline that opportunity, and then complain that there has never been an opportunity to dispute the story. If this continues rest assured that the disappearance of habeas corpus is next. Or possibly, before. Jose gets confused.
As you go to bed tonight, filled perhaps with shadenfreude or fahrvergnuegen, Jose want you to think: What if it were you?
What if you had just made tens of millions of dollars for a few below average innings on top of more than $100 million over the course of your career? What if you were regarded by many as the greatest pitcher of all time? Wouldn’t you trade it all away for a clean reputation? Wouldn’t you offer those achievements up like so many Jacoby Ellsburys and Jed Lowries for the Johann Santana of vindication?
No, you probably wouldn’t.
Jose weeps for the nation.
2. Jose is just wondering but did the Mitchell report say anything about Debbie Clemens and steroids? Have you seen her/him? Jose doesn’t want to say that she’s mannish or anything, but he’s heard that when Suzyn Waldman was gushing about Roger’s return to the Bronx, all noted she-he fan A-Rod could say was “Debbie’s back?” “Debbie’s BACK!!!!!!!!!”
If she's not on steroids, the only other possible explaination is a y chromosome3. Why did Mo have to be in there?
Mo Vaughan did it. He absolutely did it. They even have a check from him. The case against Mo Vaughn is tighter than Jeff Loria on Marlins payday.
There was a time when this would have broken Jose’s heart. That time was 2PM this afternoon. To Jose, Mo always represented what was good about baseball, what he loved about the game. Mo loved baseball, he loved Boston and he loved being a leader in the community. For Christ’s sake, Jose bought his children’s book “Follow Your Dreams” and got it autographed.
And now this. Jose would have preferred that it was anyone from the pre-2004 Series Red Sox. Nomar, Rich Garces, Toby Boreland, anyone but Mo.
Jose supposes he can take some comfort from the fact that evidence indicates that Mo did not try the stuff until the end of his career when he was with the Mets desperately trying resuscitate a deteriorating body ravaged by sore knees and fried dough. There is something less odious, though perhaps more pathetic, about an athlete using drugs to keep a career alive, rather than to go from good to great.
Still, it makes Jose weep. Mo Vaughn was his first baseball hero. Not his first favorite player, Jose was in college by the time Mo won the MVP, but the first player Jose truly saw as heroic. He was noble and decent and committed. And now what is he? A tragic hero, Jose supposes, a good man with a pronounced weakness for strippers and fleeting glory.
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE MITCHELL REPORT.
Monday, December 3
Is Santana Claus Coming to Town?
BUY THE 2007 KEYS BOOK—BECAUSE WHO KNOWS IF SANTANA IS COMING DOWN YOUR CHIMNEY
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.
1. You probably think that Jose has been taking it easy since the Red Sox won the World Series. And why wouldn’t you? He only wrote one entry in the entirety of November.
Yes, it’s true that Jose is looking to ease up on his workload this off-season after absolutely spending himself in the playoffs, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t staying actively involved in the hot stove season. For instance, Jose has been following the Johann Santana saga with enormous interest.
Jose thinks the Sox are playing the game brilliantly so far in offering a competitive package that will either win the star lefty or force the Yankees to overpay. Jose particularly likes the fact that with Jacoby Ellsbury now part of the deal, the Twins will have to include “another significant piece” in order to get Jon Lester as well. While most speculation has been that the piece would be either reliever Joe Nathan or his bullpen mate Pat Neshek, Jose believes that the media is way off on this one. The most likely extra piece appears to be former White Sox farm hand Norm Martel, who could combine with Santana to reform the legendary tag team Strikeforce. This would of course be followed by an ugly split and Martel starting a career as a male model.
However, the kink in this proposal is that if the Red Sox are prepared to call up Sanata’s previous tag team partner Charlie Zink (formerly Zenk) from the minors, Martel would be an unnecessary addition, as the Red Sox could look forward to having a new “Can-Am Connection” in the rotation.
But what if the Yankees do offer the better deal and manage to snag Santana? The Red Sox best bet then might be to acquire Winchester resident Brutus Beefcake and reunite him with his old tag team partner Bobby “The Hammer” Valentine in order to reform the “Dream Team.”
So don’t think that Jose hasn’t been thinking about the hot stove—he has. He just clearly hasn’t been thinking very hard about it.
2. Santana Claus Is Coming To Town
Jon Lester is out,
Jacoby’s now in,
His groupies will pout,
And we’ll lose Masterson,
Santana Claus is coming to town.
His changeup is great,
His fastball is nice,
We want him to pitch with Beckett and Dice,
Santana Claus is coming to town.
He comes from Venezuela,
Where Chavez reigns supreme,
But Johan will give Yanks more pain,
Than Hugo in his dreams.
Hank said he’d give up,
Both Melky and Hughes,
An offer that still, will probably lose,
Santana Claus is coming to town.
Santana Claus is coming to town.
3. Santana notwithstanding, there are lots of wonderful things going on this off-season. Perhaps most importantly Red Sox starter and KEYS BFF Curt Euro has endorsed Sen. John McCain for president and plans to campaign with the Arizona Senator. This comes shortly after the news that wrestling legend “Nature Boy” Ric Flair has endorsed former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee.
These bold moves have left other campaigns in a quandary. With elderly yet active professional athletes becoming political king makers in the Republican party, Jose’s sources have reported that competition has grown intense for the endorsement of Carolina Panthers Quarterback Vinny Testaverde and Boxing legend Evander Holyfield.
Meanwhile, former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney has been aggressively seeking the endorsement of Roger Clemens, citing their numerous similarities:
· They both purport to love Massachusetts yet have done everything possible to make its residents look like jackasses.
· They are both obsessed with earning every last dollar no matter who it hurts.
· They both have large numbers of robotic sons with weird names.
· They are both on Jose’s sh*t list.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.
1. You probably think that Jose has been taking it easy since the Red Sox won the World Series. And why wouldn’t you? He only wrote one entry in the entirety of November.
Yes, it’s true that Jose is looking to ease up on his workload this off-season after absolutely spending himself in the playoffs, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t staying actively involved in the hot stove season. For instance, Jose has been following the Johann Santana saga with enormous interest.
Jose thinks the Sox are playing the game brilliantly so far in offering a competitive package that will either win the star lefty or force the Yankees to overpay. Jose particularly likes the fact that with Jacoby Ellsbury now part of the deal, the Twins will have to include “another significant piece” in order to get Jon Lester as well. While most speculation has been that the piece would be either reliever Joe Nathan or his bullpen mate Pat Neshek, Jose believes that the media is way off on this one. The most likely extra piece appears to be former White Sox farm hand Norm Martel, who could combine with Santana to reform the legendary tag team Strikeforce. This would of course be followed by an ugly split and Martel starting a career as a male model.
However, the kink in this proposal is that if the Red Sox are prepared to call up Sanata’s previous tag team partner Charlie Zink (formerly Zenk) from the minors, Martel would be an unnecessary addition, as the Red Sox could look forward to having a new “Can-Am Connection” in the rotation.
But what if the Yankees do offer the better deal and manage to snag Santana? The Red Sox best bet then might be to acquire Winchester resident Brutus Beefcake and reunite him with his old tag team partner Bobby “The Hammer” Valentine in order to reform the “Dream Team.”
So don’t think that Jose hasn’t been thinking about the hot stove—he has. He just clearly hasn’t been thinking very hard about it.
2. Santana Claus Is Coming To Town
Jon Lester is out,
Jacoby’s now in,
His groupies will pout,
And we’ll lose Masterson,
Santana Claus is coming to town.
His changeup is great,
His fastball is nice,
We want him to pitch with Beckett and Dice,
Santana Claus is coming to town.
He comes from Venezuela,
Where Chavez reigns supreme,
But Johan will give Yanks more pain,
Than Hugo in his dreams.
Hank said he’d give up,
Both Melky and Hughes,
An offer that still, will probably lose,
Santana Claus is coming to town.
Santana Claus is coming to town.
3. Santana notwithstanding, there are lots of wonderful things going on this off-season. Perhaps most importantly Red Sox starter and KEYS BFF Curt Euro has endorsed Sen. John McCain for president and plans to campaign with the Arizona Senator. This comes shortly after the news that wrestling legend “Nature Boy” Ric Flair has endorsed former Arkansas Governor Mike Huckabee.
These bold moves have left other campaigns in a quandary. With elderly yet active professional athletes becoming political king makers in the Republican party, Jose’s sources have reported that competition has grown intense for the endorsement of Carolina Panthers Quarterback Vinny Testaverde and Boxing legend Evander Holyfield.
Meanwhile, former Massachusetts Governor Mitt Romney has been aggressively seeking the endorsement of Roger Clemens, citing their numerous similarities:
· They both purport to love Massachusetts yet have done everything possible to make its residents look like jackasses.
· They are both obsessed with earning every last dollar no matter who it hurts.
· They both have large numbers of robotic sons with weird names.
· They are both on Jose’s sh*t list.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.
Thursday, November 15
The Euphoria is Wearing Off
Buy the 2007 KEYS BOOK—THEY WIN IN THIS ONE!
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.
1. The euphoria is finally wearing off.
Jose’s blood pressure is down, the adrenalin in his blood has thinned to watery broth and the pleasant fog that has cloaked and soothed him for lo these many months is finally lifting.
Yes, the ecstasy of winning the 2004 World Series has at long last dissipated.
Thank God we won another one. Now Jose can be assured of another three years of low-level elation.
But in all seriousness, Jose is no longer constantly giddy, and the benign sense that all is well with the world is gradually giving way to the melancholy that comes every year at this time as surely as the leaves glide to the ground.
It really is better this way. Ecstasy, it turns out gets boring eventually. (Note: No, it doesn’t.) Pain. Now that’s the ticket. Pain and ennui, ennui and pain, those are the rich loam in which decent writing germinates and blooms.
Strangely enough it was last night, as Jose strolled the streets of Denver, that the melancholy descended. One would imagine that the sight of so much Rockies NL Champion merchandise would start the endorphins flowing, but it was not to be. No he could not even muster the energy to make a bankruptcy joke to a guy he met named Jack Clark. There are lots of good things going on, but none of them could counter the little slip of paper in the breast pocket of his jacket.
The paper was marked 11/14/2005. Exactly two years ago to the day yesterday, how odd. How odd it is that two years after the occasion, Jose would find this little reminder of the last time he had certainty in his life. Without going into what the paper represented (note: no, it was sadly not a lottery ticket), it was the seeming guarantee of a clear path in Jose’s life, it was the phone ringing with his calling at the other end, it was the lead blocker opening that seam for him to sprint though. But soon after that date, too soon, Jose saw his future, then so neatly laid out, disintegrate as surely and as painfully as Andy Yount’s at a graveyard so long ago. Yount’s future was shattered by glass and Jose’s by red tape, different, yet so, so the same.
And then came the uncertainty. Who was Jose? Who was he going to be? It is frightening, this uncertainty. Just ask Alex Rodriguez. He was brave. He chose uncertainty. He dove headfirst into the churn, but then made a horrifying discovery. He didn’t much care for it. It turns out that he did not understand that uncertainty is, well, uncertain. While Rodriguez left the trail clear and true to go off into the brush, he somehow failed to grasp that there might be snakes there. Rodriquez chose the uncertain path confident that it would lead to a certain outcome, but as soon as it turned that first dark corner, he got scared and ran back to the safe embrace of Steinbrenner Inc and their $275 to $300 million arms.
What a shame. What Alex doesn’t understand is that certainty secure and comfortable though it is, is boring. And even worse, it is limiting. Jose lost the certainty of his calling, but after the initial anxiety, he has embraced it. He can do anything; he can be anything. And he will be.
Alex Rodriguez, by contrast, will know exactly who and what he is the moment he signs this deal. He will be a Yankee; he will be a Hall-of-Famer; he will even be the greatest player of all time. But that’s not all. He will also be unloved, forever made to somehow look small by inferior teammates with superior shadows.
It is a good choice, perhaps, for the weak, for the cautious, for poor, lonely Alex, but not for Jose. Jose is made of sterner stuff. Jose welcomes the uncertainty. He embraces the stress, and the anxiety and the… Opportunity?
So let the melancholy come, let it sound smooth and dark like Scottish rock. Let is crash to the earth in sheets. Jose is ready; Jose is intoxicated by the melancholy. And unlike Alex Rodriguez, he is not afraid
2. Congratulations to Kevin Youkilis for winning a gold glove for his errorless season at first.
Now, a lot of you may not know why they give out gold gloves to the best defenders. You probably think that it is symbolism, that because gold is valuable they give it to the best fielders as a way of honoring them. Of course, that doesn’t make any sense. If that were the case they would give them platinum gloves, as platinum is more valuable than gold.
No, what the gold glove is actually about is equity. The original concept of the gold glove was that it would create more parity by burdening the best fielders with snazzy, but painfully heavy and inflexible gloves made literally out of gold. By forcing Willie Mays to play with a gold glove, you could level the playing field between him and say, Pete Incaviglia. Of course, over time, this gave way to the current, metaphorical gold glove, which doesn’t really do the job, because, as everyone knows, metaphors are not very heavy.
This is why Jose is so excited about the presidential candidacy of Ron Paul. Sure Paul is an ultra-libertarian who is convinced that everything would be great if only government did nothing, which is, of course, crazy, but Jose does think he is brining an important issues to the table by calling for a return to the gold standard.
By calling for every gold glove to be made out of actual gold, Paul will return sanity to the gold glove process and fight the absurd defensive inflation that has lead to Derek Jeter winning the award.
Be honest, doesn’t that make a lot more sense than just having so-called “gold gloves” that float freely against foreign currency backed up by nothing?
3. The other big news in Red Sox nation is that Curt Euro has resigned a one year deal with the Red Sox that will pay him $8 million plus as much as five million in incentives tied to performance and his ability to report to camp in shape. In fact, he can get $2 million just for showing up to camp at weight.
If this works, Jose imagines we will see a proliferation of diet plans wherein you give a contractor $2 million and they give it back only if you meet weight targets. In honor of Curt, they’re going to call it the Mouth Speech Diet.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.
1. The euphoria is finally wearing off.
Jose’s blood pressure is down, the adrenalin in his blood has thinned to watery broth and the pleasant fog that has cloaked and soothed him for lo these many months is finally lifting.
Yes, the ecstasy of winning the 2004 World Series has at long last dissipated.
Thank God we won another one. Now Jose can be assured of another three years of low-level elation.
But in all seriousness, Jose is no longer constantly giddy, and the benign sense that all is well with the world is gradually giving way to the melancholy that comes every year at this time as surely as the leaves glide to the ground.
It really is better this way. Ecstasy, it turns out gets boring eventually. (Note: No, it doesn’t.) Pain. Now that’s the ticket. Pain and ennui, ennui and pain, those are the rich loam in which decent writing germinates and blooms.
Strangely enough it was last night, as Jose strolled the streets of Denver, that the melancholy descended. One would imagine that the sight of so much Rockies NL Champion merchandise would start the endorphins flowing, but it was not to be. No he could not even muster the energy to make a bankruptcy joke to a guy he met named Jack Clark. There are lots of good things going on, but none of them could counter the little slip of paper in the breast pocket of his jacket.
The paper was marked 11/14/2005. Exactly two years ago to the day yesterday, how odd. How odd it is that two years after the occasion, Jose would find this little reminder of the last time he had certainty in his life. Without going into what the paper represented (note: no, it was sadly not a lottery ticket), it was the seeming guarantee of a clear path in Jose’s life, it was the phone ringing with his calling at the other end, it was the lead blocker opening that seam for him to sprint though. But soon after that date, too soon, Jose saw his future, then so neatly laid out, disintegrate as surely and as painfully as Andy Yount’s at a graveyard so long ago. Yount’s future was shattered by glass and Jose’s by red tape, different, yet so, so the same.
And then came the uncertainty. Who was Jose? Who was he going to be? It is frightening, this uncertainty. Just ask Alex Rodriguez. He was brave. He chose uncertainty. He dove headfirst into the churn, but then made a horrifying discovery. He didn’t much care for it. It turns out that he did not understand that uncertainty is, well, uncertain. While Rodriguez left the trail clear and true to go off into the brush, he somehow failed to grasp that there might be snakes there. Rodriquez chose the uncertain path confident that it would lead to a certain outcome, but as soon as it turned that first dark corner, he got scared and ran back to the safe embrace of Steinbrenner Inc and their $275 to $300 million arms.
What a shame. What Alex doesn’t understand is that certainty secure and comfortable though it is, is boring. And even worse, it is limiting. Jose lost the certainty of his calling, but after the initial anxiety, he has embraced it. He can do anything; he can be anything. And he will be.
Alex Rodriguez, by contrast, will know exactly who and what he is the moment he signs this deal. He will be a Yankee; he will be a Hall-of-Famer; he will even be the greatest player of all time. But that’s not all. He will also be unloved, forever made to somehow look small by inferior teammates with superior shadows.
It is a good choice, perhaps, for the weak, for the cautious, for poor, lonely Alex, but not for Jose. Jose is made of sterner stuff. Jose welcomes the uncertainty. He embraces the stress, and the anxiety and the… Opportunity?
So let the melancholy come, let it sound smooth and dark like Scottish rock. Let is crash to the earth in sheets. Jose is ready; Jose is intoxicated by the melancholy. And unlike Alex Rodriguez, he is not afraid
2. Congratulations to Kevin Youkilis for winning a gold glove for his errorless season at first.
Now, a lot of you may not know why they give out gold gloves to the best defenders. You probably think that it is symbolism, that because gold is valuable they give it to the best fielders as a way of honoring them. Of course, that doesn’t make any sense. If that were the case they would give them platinum gloves, as platinum is more valuable than gold.
No, what the gold glove is actually about is equity. The original concept of the gold glove was that it would create more parity by burdening the best fielders with snazzy, but painfully heavy and inflexible gloves made literally out of gold. By forcing Willie Mays to play with a gold glove, you could level the playing field between him and say, Pete Incaviglia. Of course, over time, this gave way to the current, metaphorical gold glove, which doesn’t really do the job, because, as everyone knows, metaphors are not very heavy.
This is why Jose is so excited about the presidential candidacy of Ron Paul. Sure Paul is an ultra-libertarian who is convinced that everything would be great if only government did nothing, which is, of course, crazy, but Jose does think he is brining an important issues to the table by calling for a return to the gold standard.
By calling for every gold glove to be made out of actual gold, Paul will return sanity to the gold glove process and fight the absurd defensive inflation that has lead to Derek Jeter winning the award.
Be honest, doesn’t that make a lot more sense than just having so-called “gold gloves” that float freely against foreign currency backed up by nothing?
3. The other big news in Red Sox nation is that Curt Euro has resigned a one year deal with the Red Sox that will pay him $8 million plus as much as five million in incentives tied to performance and his ability to report to camp in shape. In fact, he can get $2 million just for showing up to camp at weight.
If this works, Jose imagines we will see a proliferation of diet plans wherein you give a contractor $2 million and they give it back only if you meet weight targets. In honor of Curt, they’re going to call it the Mouth Speech Diet.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE HOT STOVE.
Monday, October 29
KEYS TO THE WORLD SERIES
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE WORLD SERIES.
1. It is 2090 already?
Dear God how the time’s gone by. Jose will confess he is still a little surprised to be alive at 114, but modern medicine is pretty amazing stuff. He’s even more surprised to still be working in the same job for the same pay.
Wait… What day is it? What day is it??? You out there, what is the date?
It’s October 29? But of what year?
2007? Then… But how… that would mean… The New York Daily News was wrong? How can that be? We’re talking about the New York Daily News and they assured, they assured us all on October 28, 2004 that the Red Sox wouldn’t win another World Series until 2090, another 86 year drought.
Jose looks forward to the correction.
2. As Jose writes this the players the owners and even the newspaper columnists have already taken up all of the best clichés.
“I think 2004 was for the parents and grandparents who suffered t, Dru, Lhrough eight decades. This is for us and our children and everyone in Red Sox Nation, proving that we could do it again.'' – Tom Werner, Red Sox Chairmen.
“See this is what happens when you win it all under the simple guise of being the best team, absent the melodrama.” Bob Ryan, Boston Globe Columnist
“Now, when history repeats itself, the refrain is one of celebration, not condemnation.” Tony Castrati, Boston Herald Columnist
“If you go to a high school graduation in the year 2026, you will hear a lot of Jacobys, Dustins, Jonathans, and Hidekis when they call the roll.” – Dan Shaughnessy, Local Cynic.
It doesn’t leave many angles for those blessed among us who do not write on deadline. Yes, having the convenience of being able to go into the streets of Boston and celebrate without having to worry about pounding out copy in time for the first edition was a relief, but it left naught but scraps for World Series perspective.
Thankfully, for Jose, there is always Steinbeck.
In The Acts of King Arthur and his Noble Knights, Steinbeck wrote “Somewhere in the world there is defeat for everyone. Some are destroyed by defeat, and some made small and mean by victory. Greatness lives in one who triumphs equally over defeat and victory.”
This is the true story of the Boston Red Sox. For 86 years we were defeated and defeated and defeated again. We found our defeat in the world and were gravely wounded by it, but we never allowed it to destroy us. Ted Williams was not destroyed by defeat. Carl Yastrzemski was not destroyed by defeat. Johnny Pesky was not destroyed by defeat. Jim Rice was not destroyed by defeat. Bill Buckner, Calvin Schiraldi, maybe they were destroyed by defeat, but if so, they are not us. These fathers of the Red Sox Nation knew defeat and knew it well, but they rose above it, towered above it to become loved, revered made into icons both sacred and profane. We fans loved them no less for their failure to win, saw no less in their brilliance for their lack of the big, shiny trophy. Yes, for generations Red Sox nation triumphed over defeat.
And then came 2004. Victory. Sweet, sweet victory, for which, as General MacArthur reminds us, there is no substitute. But what would victory do to us? Who would we become? Would be made small and mean by victory like a turtle necked shipbuilder? Would we grow smug and self-satisfied, content with nothing but endless affirmation of our own superiority? No. We would triumph over victory just as surely as we triumphed over defeat.
We saw the nobility in the quixotic quest of wounded 2005 squad to defend its championship. And even as the 2006 team crumbled into dust, we rejoiced at the brilliance of David Ortiz, and were grateful to live in this time, in this town, with this team.
And when 2007 arrived, and when we struggled to maintain our 14 ½ game lead, we did not fret and fumble and insist on playing the role of tragic hero. And when we held the lead and clinched the division, we celebrated with a divine silliness rather than self-righteous entitlement. The Idiots were, perhaps, gone to history, but they were not succeeded by fools in cap and gown. If the 2003 team, the last to know truly bitter defeat were cowboys and the 2004 team, the first to know true victory were idiots, then perhaps this 2007 squad were prospectors, content to labor hard day after day, month after month, in the optimistic hope that they would eventually find gold.
And when the pan was shook, and the silt had slid through the little holes and back into the stream of the season all that was left were shiny nuggets of victory. It was not the shallow victory of inherited wealth, of having the good fortune to be born rounding third, but victory won methodically, through persistence, through effort and through grit.
Far from destroying them, defeat made the Red Sox strong and humble, and victory did not make them small and mean, but great and good.
They are our Boston Red Sox, and once more they are the Champions of the World.
3. Poetry has meant a lot to Jose this year, and thus he closes this season where we won with the brutal meter of ruthless consistency, in a final verse.
When Euro took the ball on opening day,
And Boston bowed to Kansas City’s nine,
The pundits screamed and started to inveigh,
Against the Red Sox and their quick decline.
Our team rebounded and soon took the lead
And grabbed the A.L. East about its throat.
And though the Yankees never did concede,
Their competition soon became remote.
The youngsters hit and pitched the veterans too,
Though some might say we failed to dominate,
And placed the blame on Lugo and on Dru,
But Boston’s team would not deny its fate.
With bats, and starting pitching and our pen,
Your Red Sox are WORLD CHAMPIONS ONCE AGAIN!!!!!!!!
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE WORLD SERIES.
1. It is 2090 already?
Dear God how the time’s gone by. Jose will confess he is still a little surprised to be alive at 114, but modern medicine is pretty amazing stuff. He’s even more surprised to still be working in the same job for the same pay.
Wait… What day is it? What day is it??? You out there, what is the date?
It’s October 29? But of what year?
2007? Then… But how… that would mean… The New York Daily News was wrong? How can that be? We’re talking about the New York Daily News and they assured, they assured us all on October 28, 2004 that the Red Sox wouldn’t win another World Series until 2090, another 86 year drought.
Jose looks forward to the correction.
2. As Jose writes this the players the owners and even the newspaper columnists have already taken up all of the best clichés.
“I think 2004 was for the parents and grandparents who suffered t, Dru, Lhrough eight decades. This is for us and our children and everyone in Red Sox Nation, proving that we could do it again.'' – Tom Werner, Red Sox Chairmen.
“See this is what happens when you win it all under the simple guise of being the best team, absent the melodrama.” Bob Ryan, Boston Globe Columnist
“Now, when history repeats itself, the refrain is one of celebration, not condemnation.” Tony Castrati, Boston Herald Columnist
“If you go to a high school graduation in the year 2026, you will hear a lot of Jacobys, Dustins, Jonathans, and Hidekis when they call the roll.” – Dan Shaughnessy, Local Cynic.
It doesn’t leave many angles for those blessed among us who do not write on deadline. Yes, having the convenience of being able to go into the streets of Boston and celebrate without having to worry about pounding out copy in time for the first edition was a relief, but it left naught but scraps for World Series perspective.
Thankfully, for Jose, there is always Steinbeck.
In The Acts of King Arthur and his Noble Knights, Steinbeck wrote “Somewhere in the world there is defeat for everyone. Some are destroyed by defeat, and some made small and mean by victory. Greatness lives in one who triumphs equally over defeat and victory.”
This is the true story of the Boston Red Sox. For 86 years we were defeated and defeated and defeated again. We found our defeat in the world and were gravely wounded by it, but we never allowed it to destroy us. Ted Williams was not destroyed by defeat. Carl Yastrzemski was not destroyed by defeat. Johnny Pesky was not destroyed by defeat. Jim Rice was not destroyed by defeat. Bill Buckner, Calvin Schiraldi, maybe they were destroyed by defeat, but if so, they are not us. These fathers of the Red Sox Nation knew defeat and knew it well, but they rose above it, towered above it to become loved, revered made into icons both sacred and profane. We fans loved them no less for their failure to win, saw no less in their brilliance for their lack of the big, shiny trophy. Yes, for generations Red Sox nation triumphed over defeat.
And then came 2004. Victory. Sweet, sweet victory, for which, as General MacArthur reminds us, there is no substitute. But what would victory do to us? Who would we become? Would be made small and mean by victory like a turtle necked shipbuilder? Would we grow smug and self-satisfied, content with nothing but endless affirmation of our own superiority? No. We would triumph over victory just as surely as we triumphed over defeat.
We saw the nobility in the quixotic quest of wounded 2005 squad to defend its championship. And even as the 2006 team crumbled into dust, we rejoiced at the brilliance of David Ortiz, and were grateful to live in this time, in this town, with this team.
And when 2007 arrived, and when we struggled to maintain our 14 ½ game lead, we did not fret and fumble and insist on playing the role of tragic hero. And when we held the lead and clinched the division, we celebrated with a divine silliness rather than self-righteous entitlement. The Idiots were, perhaps, gone to history, but they were not succeeded by fools in cap and gown. If the 2003 team, the last to know truly bitter defeat were cowboys and the 2004 team, the first to know true victory were idiots, then perhaps this 2007 squad were prospectors, content to labor hard day after day, month after month, in the optimistic hope that they would eventually find gold.
And when the pan was shook, and the silt had slid through the little holes and back into the stream of the season all that was left were shiny nuggets of victory. It was not the shallow victory of inherited wealth, of having the good fortune to be born rounding third, but victory won methodically, through persistence, through effort and through grit.
Far from destroying them, defeat made the Red Sox strong and humble, and victory did not make them small and mean, but great and good.
They are our Boston Red Sox, and once more they are the Champions of the World.
3. Poetry has meant a lot to Jose this year, and thus he closes this season where we won with the brutal meter of ruthless consistency, in a final verse.
When Euro took the ball on opening day,
And Boston bowed to Kansas City’s nine,
The pundits screamed and started to inveigh,
Against the Red Sox and their quick decline.
Our team rebounded and soon took the lead
And grabbed the A.L. East about its throat.
And though the Yankees never did concede,
Their competition soon became remote.
The youngsters hit and pitched the veterans too,
Though some might say we failed to dominate,
And placed the blame on Lugo and on Dru,
But Boston’s team would not deny its fate.
With bats, and starting pitching and our pen,
Your Red Sox are WORLD CHAMPIONS ONCE AGAIN!!!!!!!!
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE WORLD SERIES.
Sunday, October 28
World Series Game 4: Thus Spake Nietzsche
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. “God is dead.”
Thus spake Nietzsche.
Of course, Jose doesn’t believe that God is dead, he’s something of a Pascal man, determining that the potential benefits of belief are a far better gamble than atheism.
But the Colorado Rockies must be wondering this morning if Nietzsche wasn’t right after all? Because if God is alive, why oh why would the Rockies be down three games to none?
Jose wants to be clear. He is not mocking God. He is not mocking religion. Heck, his parents just went to church two minutes ago. Sure, it’s a Unitarian church so it doesn’t count, but at least they’re going through the motions.
What Jose is mocking is the incredibly foolish and self-indulgent notion that God is the equation changer in baseball games. It is nonsense, and it holds one’s faith up to ridicule and doubt. If one proclaims as Rockies Chairman and CEO Charlie Monfort did that “I believe God sends signs, we're seeing those" or as Team President Keli McGregor told Time that God is "using [The Rockies] in a powerful way," does it not follow inevitably that should the Rockies lose this series one of two things is true: either a) the Rockies have done something displeasing to God or b) if God really does care about baseball games, He is not powerful enough to actually win them?
The way Jose sees it the Rockies have put God in a terribly awkward position, and if Jose were God (note: he is not) he would be really resentful.
This is why God is best left out of baseball. Jose decided long ago after praying for Celtic playoff wins, that athletic victories were too small, too unimportant in a world of suffering to waste valuable prayers on.
We do not need religion in baseball; the intermixing of the two demeans them both. What we need in baseball is what we have—superstition. For decades, forever really, the true faith of baseball has been the soft animism of superstition. When Curt Euro hops over the base lines is he not appealing to some mysterious force in the universe? When Wade Boggs shoved chicken after chicken down his curious gullet was it not a form of prayer?
When Jose crosses his fingers, or kneels on the floor or rocks back and forth or visualizes base hits, is it not an appeal to some troublesome spirit? (Note: Or possible signs of an anxiety disorder?)
That said, the funny thing is that Jose has become a baseball atheist. Out in the world he is a deist, but with his eyes on the ball field, he has come, albeit slowly, to reject the heathen gods of bat and ball. It does not matter if he crosses his fingers. It is irrelevant if Curt Euro steps on a baseline. What matters is having the best players, the best preparation and the strongest minds. Now ritual can play a role in that. Simple repetition can focus the mind and relax the body, but it is vestigial, nothing more than the token remains of a rite that once had meaning.
Perhaps this is the legacy of 2004, the lesson at last learned by Red Sox fans, that one wins or loses not on the strength of one’s superstition, but on the strength of one’s bats and arms, and on the competence of one’s management.
Superstition would demand that Jose now, yell out “UNO!!!!” as he did three years ago, to proclaim, as in the card game, that there is just one win remaining. But he no longer feels the need. What he says and what he does are irrelevant to the outcome. What matters are the men on the field and the minds in the dugout.
UNO! UNO! UNO! UNO! UNO! Of course, Jose did say he tends toward Pascal’s Wager, so let’s not anger the baseball gods, just in case they are real.
2. As the seen shifted to Denver and National League rules, there has been an absolutely appalling amount of silly talk about how the Red Sox should rejigger their defense to keep David Ortiz, Kevin Youkilis, and Mike Lowell all in the lineup. While the solution last night was to sit Youkilis, that is not particularly creative. We have heard calls for Youk to play right field, for Mike Lowell to play shortstop, and for all Jose knows, for David Ortiz to catch. (Note: David Ortiz has bad knees. He should not catch.)
But no one has come up with the most obvious solution—let Mike Lowell pitch. Jose knows it sounds crazy at first, but this could totally work. The guy’s got a gun for an arm, and… well, that’s about all Jose’s got. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea.
Okay, let’s try a variation on that. Mike Lowell should be on the lineup card as the pitcher and should bat in the nine hole, but Jon Lester should do the actual pitching. How would this work? Disguise.
How hard can it be for Jon Lester to pass for Mike Lowell? They are both cancer survivors, so if Lester just constantly chats up the ump about “When I had cancer,” and remembers not to say it was lymphoma, as Lowell had testicular cancer, that’s a start right there. Then all you need is some modified Groucho glasses that keep the eyebrows but shrinks the nose a little bit, and some makeup to make Lester look 50 years older and presto—Mike Lowell is your pitcher.
Now, Jose knows what some of you are thinking “Hey, that’s cheating!” But come on, it’s not that bad. It’s not like they’re doing something really reprehensible like video taping the game or hitting umpire Chuck Meriwether with a steel chair or anything.
3. As Jose searched desperately for material for this Game 4 KEYS, he naturally looked back to Game 4 of the 2004 World Series for inspiration, and what he found surprised him. Three years ago yesterday, Jose in his second KEY relied heavily on the Transformers, the cartoon about robots that transformed into vehicles, comparing Derek Lowe to Megatron and St. Louis starter Jason Marquis to Bumblebee.
Cut to today and Major League Baseball has finally caught up with Jose, flashing Transformers logos throughout the World Series in efforts to move DVDs of the ho-hum summer blockbuster. The result, naturally enough, is that Jose needs another shtick. As an aspiring hipster Jose cannot keep using Transformers references once they get in vogue any more than he can keep drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon once they start underwriting National Public Radio.
Ergo, Jose will now explain to you how the 2007 Colorado Rockies are exactly like Go-Bots, the Tonka equivalent of Transformers.
Like the Go-Bots, the Rockies entered the series with a lot of hype and to significant excitement, but ultimately they were simply defeated by a vastly superior product.
Also, Jose is almost positive that there was a Go-Bot that changed into a bird called Latroy Hawk-Ins and one that was a three-way changer from a robot to a diet book to a TV maid named Garret Atkins.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. “God is dead.”
Thus spake Nietzsche.
Of course, Jose doesn’t believe that God is dead, he’s something of a Pascal man, determining that the potential benefits of belief are a far better gamble than atheism.
But the Colorado Rockies must be wondering this morning if Nietzsche wasn’t right after all? Because if God is alive, why oh why would the Rockies be down three games to none?
Jose wants to be clear. He is not mocking God. He is not mocking religion. Heck, his parents just went to church two minutes ago. Sure, it’s a Unitarian church so it doesn’t count, but at least they’re going through the motions.
What Jose is mocking is the incredibly foolish and self-indulgent notion that God is the equation changer in baseball games. It is nonsense, and it holds one’s faith up to ridicule and doubt. If one proclaims as Rockies Chairman and CEO Charlie Monfort did that “I believe God sends signs, we're seeing those" or as Team President Keli McGregor told Time that God is "using [The Rockies] in a powerful way," does it not follow inevitably that should the Rockies lose this series one of two things is true: either a) the Rockies have done something displeasing to God or b) if God really does care about baseball games, He is not powerful enough to actually win them?
The way Jose sees it the Rockies have put God in a terribly awkward position, and if Jose were God (note: he is not) he would be really resentful.
This is why God is best left out of baseball. Jose decided long ago after praying for Celtic playoff wins, that athletic victories were too small, too unimportant in a world of suffering to waste valuable prayers on.
We do not need religion in baseball; the intermixing of the two demeans them both. What we need in baseball is what we have—superstition. For decades, forever really, the true faith of baseball has been the soft animism of superstition. When Curt Euro hops over the base lines is he not appealing to some mysterious force in the universe? When Wade Boggs shoved chicken after chicken down his curious gullet was it not a form of prayer?
When Jose crosses his fingers, or kneels on the floor or rocks back and forth or visualizes base hits, is it not an appeal to some troublesome spirit? (Note: Or possible signs of an anxiety disorder?)
That said, the funny thing is that Jose has become a baseball atheist. Out in the world he is a deist, but with his eyes on the ball field, he has come, albeit slowly, to reject the heathen gods of bat and ball. It does not matter if he crosses his fingers. It is irrelevant if Curt Euro steps on a baseline. What matters is having the best players, the best preparation and the strongest minds. Now ritual can play a role in that. Simple repetition can focus the mind and relax the body, but it is vestigial, nothing more than the token remains of a rite that once had meaning.
Perhaps this is the legacy of 2004, the lesson at last learned by Red Sox fans, that one wins or loses not on the strength of one’s superstition, but on the strength of one’s bats and arms, and on the competence of one’s management.
Superstition would demand that Jose now, yell out “UNO!!!!” as he did three years ago, to proclaim, as in the card game, that there is just one win remaining. But he no longer feels the need. What he says and what he does are irrelevant to the outcome. What matters are the men on the field and the minds in the dugout.
UNO! UNO! UNO! UNO! UNO! Of course, Jose did say he tends toward Pascal’s Wager, so let’s not anger the baseball gods, just in case they are real.
2. As the seen shifted to Denver and National League rules, there has been an absolutely appalling amount of silly talk about how the Red Sox should rejigger their defense to keep David Ortiz, Kevin Youkilis, and Mike Lowell all in the lineup. While the solution last night was to sit Youkilis, that is not particularly creative. We have heard calls for Youk to play right field, for Mike Lowell to play shortstop, and for all Jose knows, for David Ortiz to catch. (Note: David Ortiz has bad knees. He should not catch.)
But no one has come up with the most obvious solution—let Mike Lowell pitch. Jose knows it sounds crazy at first, but this could totally work. The guy’s got a gun for an arm, and… well, that’s about all Jose’s got. Maybe it isn’t such a good idea.
Okay, let’s try a variation on that. Mike Lowell should be on the lineup card as the pitcher and should bat in the nine hole, but Jon Lester should do the actual pitching. How would this work? Disguise.
How hard can it be for Jon Lester to pass for Mike Lowell? They are both cancer survivors, so if Lester just constantly chats up the ump about “When I had cancer,” and remembers not to say it was lymphoma, as Lowell had testicular cancer, that’s a start right there. Then all you need is some modified Groucho glasses that keep the eyebrows but shrinks the nose a little bit, and some makeup to make Lester look 50 years older and presto—Mike Lowell is your pitcher.
Now, Jose knows what some of you are thinking “Hey, that’s cheating!” But come on, it’s not that bad. It’s not like they’re doing something really reprehensible like video taping the game or hitting umpire Chuck Meriwether with a steel chair or anything.
3. As Jose searched desperately for material for this Game 4 KEYS, he naturally looked back to Game 4 of the 2004 World Series for inspiration, and what he found surprised him. Three years ago yesterday, Jose in his second KEY relied heavily on the Transformers, the cartoon about robots that transformed into vehicles, comparing Derek Lowe to Megatron and St. Louis starter Jason Marquis to Bumblebee.
Cut to today and Major League Baseball has finally caught up with Jose, flashing Transformers logos throughout the World Series in efforts to move DVDs of the ho-hum summer blockbuster. The result, naturally enough, is that Jose needs another shtick. As an aspiring hipster Jose cannot keep using Transformers references once they get in vogue any more than he can keep drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon once they start underwriting National Public Radio.
Ergo, Jose will now explain to you how the 2007 Colorado Rockies are exactly like Go-Bots, the Tonka equivalent of Transformers.
Like the Go-Bots, the Rockies entered the series with a lot of hype and to significant excitement, but ultimately they were simply defeated by a vastly superior product.
Also, Jose is almost positive that there was a Go-Bot that changed into a bird called Latroy Hawk-Ins and one that was a three-way changer from a robot to a diet book to a TV maid named Garret Atkins.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Saturday, October 27
World Series Game 3: Free and Hungry
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Has it really been three years?
Has it really been three years since Jose got down on his knees in a grimy East Cambridge saloon and begged for the minute to arrive?
Has it really been three years since the moon hung blood red in the sky guiding us to a new age like the Star of Bethlehem?
And in just three years can the miraculous become passé? Can the joy of redemption, in just three revolutions of the Earth, become something as ignoble as the arrogance of victory?
That is the charge against us now you know— that the Red Sox have gone in three short years from loveable losers humbled by tragic history to entitled bullies, supercilious and arrogant. Our enemies, both foreign and domestic, charge that we have lost our appreciation for the sacred, for the miraculous, and have descended into the profane assumption that our wealth is our guarantee of success and our virtue.
This would be the natural course of events, Jose supposes. Even the Virgin Mary, with three year old child must have eventually ceased to be amazed by strange monarchs showing up in the night with shiny baubles, with astronomical phenomena following her child around and with angels disturbing her sleep with announcements of this prophecy or that. She must have begun to feel entitled.
Surely, when talking to the other mothers she must have uttered, almost incredulously, “You mean your child never turns your breast milk into wine? Really? I just thought that was a part of motherhood.”
And the other mothers would whisper behind he back or in columns in the Jerusalem Globe, “That Mary used to be so nice when we all just thought she as barren, but now it’s like she expects her kid to multiply loaves and fishes. I honestly think she expects him to a be a king or messiah or something. So she had a miracle baby? Good for her. We were all hoping she’d be able to have one. But she doesn’t need to be all smug about it. I don’t see why she has to go to other births and ask ‘When are the kings showing up with the presents?’ Well, not everyone can be as special as your little Jesus, Mary. Dear God, she’s starting to get on my nerves. And you know what I heard? Just between you and me, I heard Joseph isn’t even the father.”
But that is not who we are three years on, it is not what we have become. Are our pilgrimages to foreign ballparks a sign of arrogance and vice? How is devotion a sin? If for us to go in droves to Colorado is a sin, then so too are Christian pilgrimages to the Holy Land, Muslims making the Hajj, or Jose, as a Jew, driving all the way to Rein’s Deli in Vernon, Connecticut just for some really excellent rugelach.
Our devotion is not a sin, our passion is not self-righteousness.
In the Grand Inquisitor, a story within the Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky tells the story of Christ appearing in the heart of the Inquisition and being brought before the Grand Inquisitor himself. The Inquisitor, in monologue, insists that Christ has it all wrong, that demanding people obey spiritual commandments without attending to their physical needs, bread, for instance, is impossible, that man cannot stand to be free and hungry.
As Red Sox fans, we defy this dark view of man. For generations, we Red Sox fans were free and hungry and it was our choice. We could have changed teams, resumed interest only when victory grew nigh or abandoned baseball altogether, but we did not. We chose, freely and without coercion, to back our team, though they left us hungry and hungry and hungry again. And then three years ago on a crisp October night they gave us bread. They gave it freely, not as a reward for loyalty, or a bribe for further devotion, and our acceptance did not change our passion, our loyalty, our fealty at all.
We continued to keep our faith in the Red Sox and to practice our fandom, our civic religion, just as before. Yes, our stomachs were full with the nourishing protein of victory, but that did not make our faith in our team, our devotion, any less virtuous, pure or sincere.
So onward Red Sox soldiers, eat the bread and drink the wine, for there will again be a time when we are both free and hungry, but that time is not today. Today our stomachs are full, but our faith in the Red Sox remains pure and good.
2. If the Red Sox win tonight, you might as well call Tito Edwin Moses the way he’s dominating Hurdles.
Actually, the funny thing is that with Tito completely and utterly outmanaging Clint Hurdle thus far, it seems eminently reasonable that he could beat him in the next 120 consecutive contests to match the great Olympian’s mark for mastery over the hurdles.
3.
Lynn, Lynn city of sin,
In World Series Games their pitchers don’t win.
Ask for water they give you a gin
And Josh Fogg is gonna take one on the chin.
Or perhaps you prefer a different rhyme.
Trot, trot to Denver,
Trot, trot from Lynn,
When you get to Game 3,
Junk balls don’t win.
That’s right the starting pitcher for the Colorado Rockies in tonight’s critical Game 3 contest is Lynn, Massachusetts native Josh Fogg. Fogg has had a, well, not awful year, putting up an ERA of just under five, but he has picked up two post-season wins thus far.
Still the question we must address is whether a guy from Lynn can actually win in the World Series. History says he can, but probably won’t. The most recent pitcher from Lynn to take a World Series mound was Ken Hill who went 0-1 for the Cleveland Indians while pitching 6.1 innings in two relief appearances in the 1995 World Series.
However, if you want to go back further, Irving Darius “Bump” Hadley went 2-1 for the Yankees with one start in each of the 1936, 1937 and 1939 Fall Classics. His career World Series ERA was however, 4.15 due to a disastrous 1937 start when he yielded 5 earned runs in just 1 1/3 innings.
So what does this tell us about tonight’s pitching matchup?
Well, if you contrast the performance of pitchers from Lynn with Japanese pitchers, it is no contest. Japanese pitchers have never yielded a single run, or even a hit, in World Series competition. But let’s look a bit deeper shall we and do a compare and contrast on Japan and Lynn.
Nationally prominent politicians
Japan: Tokugawa
Lynn: Lyndon LaRouche
Edge: Japan
Major industrial products
Japan: Cars, TVs
Lynn: Jet engines, Marshmallow fluff
Edge: Japan
Founders of religions
Japan: Asaharo Shoko, Aum Shinrikyo
Lynn: Mary Baker Eddy, Christian Science
Edge: Lynn
Feudal systems
Japan: Samurai
Lynn: Lynn city council
Edge: Japan
Lost territory
Japan: Kuril Islands
Lynn: Swampscott
Edge: Lynn
Greatest shame
Japan: World War II
Lynn: Stupid “city of sin” rhyme
Edge: Lynn
Best current Major League starter
Japan: Daisuke Matsuzaka
Lynn: Josh Fogg
And when you add up all the pluses and minuses, it’s really only that last one that matters. Edge: Japan.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Has it really been three years?
Has it really been three years since Jose got down on his knees in a grimy East Cambridge saloon and begged for the minute to arrive?
Has it really been three years since the moon hung blood red in the sky guiding us to a new age like the Star of Bethlehem?
And in just three years can the miraculous become passé? Can the joy of redemption, in just three revolutions of the Earth, become something as ignoble as the arrogance of victory?
That is the charge against us now you know— that the Red Sox have gone in three short years from loveable losers humbled by tragic history to entitled bullies, supercilious and arrogant. Our enemies, both foreign and domestic, charge that we have lost our appreciation for the sacred, for the miraculous, and have descended into the profane assumption that our wealth is our guarantee of success and our virtue.
This would be the natural course of events, Jose supposes. Even the Virgin Mary, with three year old child must have eventually ceased to be amazed by strange monarchs showing up in the night with shiny baubles, with astronomical phenomena following her child around and with angels disturbing her sleep with announcements of this prophecy or that. She must have begun to feel entitled.
Surely, when talking to the other mothers she must have uttered, almost incredulously, “You mean your child never turns your breast milk into wine? Really? I just thought that was a part of motherhood.”
And the other mothers would whisper behind he back or in columns in the Jerusalem Globe, “That Mary used to be so nice when we all just thought she as barren, but now it’s like she expects her kid to multiply loaves and fishes. I honestly think she expects him to a be a king or messiah or something. So she had a miracle baby? Good for her. We were all hoping she’d be able to have one. But she doesn’t need to be all smug about it. I don’t see why she has to go to other births and ask ‘When are the kings showing up with the presents?’ Well, not everyone can be as special as your little Jesus, Mary. Dear God, she’s starting to get on my nerves. And you know what I heard? Just between you and me, I heard Joseph isn’t even the father.”
But that is not who we are three years on, it is not what we have become. Are our pilgrimages to foreign ballparks a sign of arrogance and vice? How is devotion a sin? If for us to go in droves to Colorado is a sin, then so too are Christian pilgrimages to the Holy Land, Muslims making the Hajj, or Jose, as a Jew, driving all the way to Rein’s Deli in Vernon, Connecticut just for some really excellent rugelach.
Our devotion is not a sin, our passion is not self-righteousness.
In the Grand Inquisitor, a story within the Brothers Karamazov, Dostoevsky tells the story of Christ appearing in the heart of the Inquisition and being brought before the Grand Inquisitor himself. The Inquisitor, in monologue, insists that Christ has it all wrong, that demanding people obey spiritual commandments without attending to their physical needs, bread, for instance, is impossible, that man cannot stand to be free and hungry.
As Red Sox fans, we defy this dark view of man. For generations, we Red Sox fans were free and hungry and it was our choice. We could have changed teams, resumed interest only when victory grew nigh or abandoned baseball altogether, but we did not. We chose, freely and without coercion, to back our team, though they left us hungry and hungry and hungry again. And then three years ago on a crisp October night they gave us bread. They gave it freely, not as a reward for loyalty, or a bribe for further devotion, and our acceptance did not change our passion, our loyalty, our fealty at all.
We continued to keep our faith in the Red Sox and to practice our fandom, our civic religion, just as before. Yes, our stomachs were full with the nourishing protein of victory, but that did not make our faith in our team, our devotion, any less virtuous, pure or sincere.
So onward Red Sox soldiers, eat the bread and drink the wine, for there will again be a time when we are both free and hungry, but that time is not today. Today our stomachs are full, but our faith in the Red Sox remains pure and good.
2. If the Red Sox win tonight, you might as well call Tito Edwin Moses the way he’s dominating Hurdles.
Actually, the funny thing is that with Tito completely and utterly outmanaging Clint Hurdle thus far, it seems eminently reasonable that he could beat him in the next 120 consecutive contests to match the great Olympian’s mark for mastery over the hurdles.
3.
Lynn, Lynn city of sin,
In World Series Games their pitchers don’t win.
Ask for water they give you a gin
And Josh Fogg is gonna take one on the chin.
Or perhaps you prefer a different rhyme.
Trot, trot to Denver,
Trot, trot from Lynn,
When you get to Game 3,
Junk balls don’t win.
That’s right the starting pitcher for the Colorado Rockies in tonight’s critical Game 3 contest is Lynn, Massachusetts native Josh Fogg. Fogg has had a, well, not awful year, putting up an ERA of just under five, but he has picked up two post-season wins thus far.
Still the question we must address is whether a guy from Lynn can actually win in the World Series. History says he can, but probably won’t. The most recent pitcher from Lynn to take a World Series mound was Ken Hill who went 0-1 for the Cleveland Indians while pitching 6.1 innings in two relief appearances in the 1995 World Series.
However, if you want to go back further, Irving Darius “Bump” Hadley went 2-1 for the Yankees with one start in each of the 1936, 1937 and 1939 Fall Classics. His career World Series ERA was however, 4.15 due to a disastrous 1937 start when he yielded 5 earned runs in just 1 1/3 innings.
So what does this tell us about tonight’s pitching matchup?
Well, if you contrast the performance of pitchers from Lynn with Japanese pitchers, it is no contest. Japanese pitchers have never yielded a single run, or even a hit, in World Series competition. But let’s look a bit deeper shall we and do a compare and contrast on Japan and Lynn.
Nationally prominent politicians
Japan: Tokugawa
Lynn: Lyndon LaRouche
Edge: Japan
Major industrial products
Japan: Cars, TVs
Lynn: Jet engines, Marshmallow fluff
Edge: Japan
Founders of religions
Japan: Asaharo Shoko, Aum Shinrikyo
Lynn: Mary Baker Eddy, Christian Science
Edge: Lynn
Feudal systems
Japan: Samurai
Lynn: Lynn city council
Edge: Japan
Lost territory
Japan: Kuril Islands
Lynn: Swampscott
Edge: Lynn
Greatest shame
Japan: World War II
Lynn: Stupid “city of sin” rhyme
Edge: Lynn
Best current Major League starter
Japan: Daisuke Matsuzaka
Lynn: Josh Fogg
And when you add up all the pluses and minuses, it’s really only that last one that matters. Edge: Japan.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Thursday, October 25
World Series Game 2: These Things Jose Believes
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
`. There are two ways to write after an epic drubbing like the 13-1 Red Sox victory we saw last night in Game 1 of the World Series.
The first is the preference of homers, boosters and the weak-willed sorts who are easily swept up in the emotion of a single, profoundly unscientific sample. These are the articles declaring the series all but over by reporters who frolic like pigs in the thick slop of the Red Sox’s brilliance and the Rockies’ languor
The other option is the bailiwick of cynics and contrarians, “haters” in the vernacular of the day. It is to write defiantly, perhaps even arrogantly that the series is decidedly not over, to speak gravely of the 1960 Yankees, or the 2004 Yankees both of whom folded after posting dominant wins. It is to warn with the crusty cynicism (note: or is it narcissism?), of someone who has been around for far too long the series is far from over, and that it may well end in calamity.
It is Jose’s intention to avoid either of these worn and wanting formulae, each as tired as the sitcom episode where the cast goes to Vegas, and blaze his own trail through the thick jungle of rhetoric that surrounds the World Series.
For Jose, the story is not about what happened last night or what will happen as the series progresses, but about what is happening right now. Tonight. St. Josh a Beckett is the only given in this series. He will pitch well; it is as close to certain as can be that the Red Sox will win games that he starts. But he is not pitching tonight.
What about tonight?
What about it?
Jose has his own dreadful cliché for this evening. Tonight is the classic battle of youth and power versus experience and control as fireballer Ubaldo Jimenez pitches against born again finesse pitcher Curt Euro.
Who will Ubaldo Jimenez be tonight? Will he be Bret Saberhagen in 1985 or Josh Beckett in 2003, stunning baseball with his haughty brilliance? Or will he be Jeff Francis last night, a young man clearly in over his head?
And what about Curt Euro? Will he be the grizzled 1991 Jack Morris, throwing World Series gems well into his dotage or the tired 1992 Jack Morris, getting shelled in the World Series where he had thrived so recently?
The answer is that we don’t know. We have no idea. We can speculate and prognosticate, ruminate and marinate, but we do not know. We cannot know.
And it is at times like these, times of great uncertainty, that people do well to retreat to the calming confines of those few things we do know to be true. For some it is a faith in God, for others a belief in the power of love and for others still it is the certainty that no hitter is looking curve on a 3-2 count.
Here is what Jose knows to be true.
Jose knows that the beer will be cold and his house will be warm. He knows that Tim McCarver will say many foolish things. He knows that someone in spoken or written word will rhyme Fox with Rox or Sox. He knows that Dustin Pedroia will swing big and swing hard. He knows that Jacoby Ellsbury will run fast. He knows that Colorado pitchers fear Manny and Papi.
He knows that regardless of whether his arm is ready, Curt Euro’s mind will be sending current across synapses and every electron will contain some little, critical piece of data about how to get batters out.
These things Jose does not believe. These things, he knows.
2. Fox News host Bill O’Reilly today announced his intention to organize a boycott of the 2007 World Series, on the grounds that it is part of what the fiery right winger calls “the War on Christmas.”
“This is disgraceful; this is absurd. This is a classic example of the fanatics on the cultural left trying to push their secular agenda on the county,” fumed O’Reilly without explaining what he was talking about.
“You want me to explain myself? Fine we’ll take it right into the no spin zone. Matt Holliday. That’s the problem. Why won’t the liberals and the secularists just call him Matt Christmas? You know why? Because they want to take religion out of American life. If using a baseball player’s name to commemorate the birth of Jesus Christ, even if his name has nothing to do with Jesus is banned by the secular left, then any tradition can come under attack, dropping the ball at New Year’s, singing the national anthem at baseball game, talking about what you’d like to do to female employees with a loofah, anything.”
O’Reilly went on to express his disgust that even on a highly Christian team such as the Rockies, players felt pressured by Major League Baseball to conceal symbols of their faith.
In bolstering his argument, O’Reilly pointed to Washington Nationals shortstop Cristian Guzman being forced to play under the name “Cristian. Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Zoroastrian, Buddhist, Shinto, Wiccan, Scientologist, Agnostic or Atheist Guzman, and the Nationals’ Jesus Colome being required to play under the name, Deity of Your Choice Colome.
Sane people were not available for comment.
3. Different people root for the Red Sox for different reasons it turns out. Some people, most people, root for them because they love the Red Sox. But that is not the only reason. Others, such as Rudy Giuliani, the renowned Yankee fan, has decided to root for the Red Sox in an effort to pick up a few more votes in New Hampshire. Still others root because of the possible unintended consequences of a Red Sox win. For instance, Jose’s friend Mark, a Japan scholar who travels frequently to Tokyo, is rooting for the Red Sox because he believes that a World Series Championship for Mr. Matsu could lead to a direct Boston to Narita flight.
This got Jose thinking: What other reasons might unconventional fans be pulling for the Old Towne Team?
· Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, Atheists: Rooting for the Red Sox because the defeat of aggressively Christian Colorado Rockies might prove there is no God.
· The Burmese Military Junta: Because when blood continues to flow crimson and ankle deep in the streets of Rangoon, they can claim it is just tribute to the Red hosiery of the World Champions. (Note: In all seriousness, screw those guys.)
· The Denver Broncos: If the Rockies go down, every one in Colorado will have to start paying attention again to awful Broncos team.
· Woody Paige Denver columnist: Already has a book written called “The Curse of Dante Bichette” which just takes Dan Shaughnessy’s curse book and substitutes Bichette for Ruth.
· Mork from Ork: Lives in Colorado, feels like Orser would be more interested in reaction of humans to losing, than winning.
See, there are lots of reasons to root for the Red Sox. For Jose it’s that they give meaning to an otherwise empty existence.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
`. There are two ways to write after an epic drubbing like the 13-1 Red Sox victory we saw last night in Game 1 of the World Series.
The first is the preference of homers, boosters and the weak-willed sorts who are easily swept up in the emotion of a single, profoundly unscientific sample. These are the articles declaring the series all but over by reporters who frolic like pigs in the thick slop of the Red Sox’s brilliance and the Rockies’ languor
The other option is the bailiwick of cynics and contrarians, “haters” in the vernacular of the day. It is to write defiantly, perhaps even arrogantly that the series is decidedly not over, to speak gravely of the 1960 Yankees, or the 2004 Yankees both of whom folded after posting dominant wins. It is to warn with the crusty cynicism (note: or is it narcissism?), of someone who has been around for far too long the series is far from over, and that it may well end in calamity.
It is Jose’s intention to avoid either of these worn and wanting formulae, each as tired as the sitcom episode where the cast goes to Vegas, and blaze his own trail through the thick jungle of rhetoric that surrounds the World Series.
For Jose, the story is not about what happened last night or what will happen as the series progresses, but about what is happening right now. Tonight. St. Josh a Beckett is the only given in this series. He will pitch well; it is as close to certain as can be that the Red Sox will win games that he starts. But he is not pitching tonight.
What about tonight?
What about it?
Jose has his own dreadful cliché for this evening. Tonight is the classic battle of youth and power versus experience and control as fireballer Ubaldo Jimenez pitches against born again finesse pitcher Curt Euro.
Who will Ubaldo Jimenez be tonight? Will he be Bret Saberhagen in 1985 or Josh Beckett in 2003, stunning baseball with his haughty brilliance? Or will he be Jeff Francis last night, a young man clearly in over his head?
And what about Curt Euro? Will he be the grizzled 1991 Jack Morris, throwing World Series gems well into his dotage or the tired 1992 Jack Morris, getting shelled in the World Series where he had thrived so recently?
The answer is that we don’t know. We have no idea. We can speculate and prognosticate, ruminate and marinate, but we do not know. We cannot know.
And it is at times like these, times of great uncertainty, that people do well to retreat to the calming confines of those few things we do know to be true. For some it is a faith in God, for others a belief in the power of love and for others still it is the certainty that no hitter is looking curve on a 3-2 count.
Here is what Jose knows to be true.
Jose knows that the beer will be cold and his house will be warm. He knows that Tim McCarver will say many foolish things. He knows that someone in spoken or written word will rhyme Fox with Rox or Sox. He knows that Dustin Pedroia will swing big and swing hard. He knows that Jacoby Ellsbury will run fast. He knows that Colorado pitchers fear Manny and Papi.
He knows that regardless of whether his arm is ready, Curt Euro’s mind will be sending current across synapses and every electron will contain some little, critical piece of data about how to get batters out.
These things Jose does not believe. These things, he knows.
2. Fox News host Bill O’Reilly today announced his intention to organize a boycott of the 2007 World Series, on the grounds that it is part of what the fiery right winger calls “the War on Christmas.”
“This is disgraceful; this is absurd. This is a classic example of the fanatics on the cultural left trying to push their secular agenda on the county,” fumed O’Reilly without explaining what he was talking about.
“You want me to explain myself? Fine we’ll take it right into the no spin zone. Matt Holliday. That’s the problem. Why won’t the liberals and the secularists just call him Matt Christmas? You know why? Because they want to take religion out of American life. If using a baseball player’s name to commemorate the birth of Jesus Christ, even if his name has nothing to do with Jesus is banned by the secular left, then any tradition can come under attack, dropping the ball at New Year’s, singing the national anthem at baseball game, talking about what you’d like to do to female employees with a loofah, anything.”
O’Reilly went on to express his disgust that even on a highly Christian team such as the Rockies, players felt pressured by Major League Baseball to conceal symbols of their faith.
In bolstering his argument, O’Reilly pointed to Washington Nationals shortstop Cristian Guzman being forced to play under the name “Cristian. Jew, Muslim, Hindu, Zoroastrian, Buddhist, Shinto, Wiccan, Scientologist, Agnostic or Atheist Guzman, and the Nationals’ Jesus Colome being required to play under the name, Deity of Your Choice Colome.
Sane people were not available for comment.
3. Different people root for the Red Sox for different reasons it turns out. Some people, most people, root for them because they love the Red Sox. But that is not the only reason. Others, such as Rudy Giuliani, the renowned Yankee fan, has decided to root for the Red Sox in an effort to pick up a few more votes in New Hampshire. Still others root because of the possible unintended consequences of a Red Sox win. For instance, Jose’s friend Mark, a Japan scholar who travels frequently to Tokyo, is rooting for the Red Sox because he believes that a World Series Championship for Mr. Matsu could lead to a direct Boston to Narita flight.
This got Jose thinking: What other reasons might unconventional fans be pulling for the Old Towne Team?
· Richard Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, Atheists: Rooting for the Red Sox because the defeat of aggressively Christian Colorado Rockies might prove there is no God.
· The Burmese Military Junta: Because when blood continues to flow crimson and ankle deep in the streets of Rangoon, they can claim it is just tribute to the Red hosiery of the World Champions. (Note: In all seriousness, screw those guys.)
· The Denver Broncos: If the Rockies go down, every one in Colorado will have to start paying attention again to awful Broncos team.
· Woody Paige Denver columnist: Already has a book written called “The Curse of Dante Bichette” which just takes Dan Shaughnessy’s curse book and substitutes Bichette for Ruth.
· Mork from Ork: Lives in Colorado, feels like Orser would be more interested in reaction of humans to losing, than winning.
See, there are lots of reasons to root for the Red Sox. For Jose it’s that they give meaning to an otherwise empty existence.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Wednesday, October 24
World Series Game 1: Bending Time and Space
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
Clink. The first cube of ice hits the bottom of the glass.
Clonk. The second cube ricochets off the first and settles into an uneasy tower of frozen water, braced only by the invisible arc of silicon fused solid.
Tunk…tunk…tunk… The Scotch pours over the ice in rhythmic spurts, one then two fingers deep
Tunk… tunk… Better make it three.
They call alcohol liquid courage for a reason. Not so much because it increases one’s bravery, but because it eases one’s fear, and fear is the enemy of performance. The stakes are high now, frighteningly high, and there is little choice but to deliver. Three years ago, Jose did this without the sweet kiss of alcohol, his skin ravaged by infection and antibiotics the only thing standing between him and disaster. He worked clean in 2004, having to rely on the courage in his soul, rather than the courage in the glass to get him through four games of World Series tension.
Not this year. This year he is healthy. This year he is strong. The first sip burns, burns as it always does, burns with anticipation, burns with exhilaration. The second is easier, so much easier. And then come the words.
Jose is jealous. He is wildly, passionately jealous of Josh Beckett, of St. Josh a Beckett. Beckett will walk on to the Fenway mound at just a bit passed 8:30 this evening calm as can be yet with a frightening intensity. His emotions cooled, not by the cracked ice in a glass entwining with intoxicating liquors, but by the ice in his heart, in his arteries in his veins, intoxicated by the ecstasy of 37,000 madmen who want nothing save to bask in his brilliance.
Josh Beckett, on this good evening, is who Jose wants to be. He is who you want to be as well—Confident, assured and completely and utterly in control of his destiny. There are stories in fiction, in comics, in movies of men who can control molecules, who can shape the very reality around them to conform to their needs and their demands. Those men are fictional but their power is not.
Perhaps it does not take the comical form of an old tire morphing into an ice cream cone, but the power is real. With each pitch Josh Beckett can stop time; he can bend space. You know it is possible because you have seen it before. You saw it in 1999, when a sore and broken Pedro Martinez defied the cruel truth of a devastated shoulder, to make his own reality. You saw it in 2004, when a hobbled Curt Euro demanded that his physical limitations yield to his indomitable will. And you will see it tonight. No, Josh Beckett will not have to overcome a fraying shoulder or an ankle torn asunder, but he will defy reality. He will defy that most basic law of the universe that says simply, “no one can be that good.”
But he is. He is that good.
And for today, and perhaps only today, so is Jose, so are you, so are we. Jose sets down the glass and lets the ice melt slowly in its crystal cage, until the amber scotch grows gradually warmer, even as Jose’s gaze grows gradually colder.
And the words continue to come. They come quickly like a fastball; sentences veer off into new ideas like a curve, and all fear drops out of sight like a splitter to the dirt.
Jose does not need liquid courage, not tonight. He has Josh Beckett on the mound, and that is courage enough for anyone.
2. From time to time, Jose likes to inject a bit of political commentary into his KEYS, to use the bully pulpit of his little corner of the Web to advocate for causes near and dear to America’s powerful Japanese-German-Jewish-Unitarian lobby. This is not one of those times.
That said, Jose does feel that it is an imperative for him to take a few moments on this historic occasion to comment on the war. He does this with nothing but the deepest respect and gratitude for our fighting men and women, but duty calls and Jose must respond.
It has become the tritest of jokes to say “If we don’tthe terrorist have won.” Jose will not dishonor himself by using that line. He will however, point out that if you put an “I” before “Rockies” you get the Irockies, or in apple speak iRockies.
Sun Tzu urged us to know our enemy, and thus it is incumbent upon us to understand the nature of this adversary, these iRockies on the baseball field and understand how they differ from the Iraqis in the desert.
Clink. The first cube of ice hits the bottom of the glass.
Clonk. The second cube ricochets off the first and settles into an uneasy tower of frozen water, braced only by the invisible arc of silicon fused solid.
Tunk…tunk…tunk… The Scotch pours over the ice in rhythmic spurts, one then two fingers deep
Tunk… tunk… Better make it three.
They call alcohol liquid courage for a reason. Not so much because it increases one’s bravery, but because it eases one’s fear, and fear is the enemy of performance. The stakes are high now, frighteningly high, and there is little choice but to deliver. Three years ago, Jose did this without the sweet kiss of alcohol, his skin ravaged by infection and antibiotics the only thing standing between him and disaster. He worked clean in 2004, having to rely on the courage in his soul, rather than the courage in the glass to get him through four games of World Series tension.
Not this year. This year he is healthy. This year he is strong. The first sip burns, burns as it always does, burns with anticipation, burns with exhilaration. The second is easier, so much easier. And then come the words.
Jose is jealous. He is wildly, passionately jealous of Josh Beckett, of St. Josh a Beckett. Beckett will walk on to the Fenway mound at just a bit passed 8:30 this evening calm as can be yet with a frightening intensity. His emotions cooled, not by the cracked ice in a glass entwining with intoxicating liquors, but by the ice in his heart, in his arteries in his veins, intoxicated by the ecstasy of 37,000 madmen who want nothing save to bask in his brilliance.
Josh Beckett, on this good evening, is who Jose wants to be. He is who you want to be as well—Confident, assured and completely and utterly in control of his destiny. There are stories in fiction, in comics, in movies of men who can control molecules, who can shape the very reality around them to conform to their needs and their demands. Those men are fictional but their power is not.
Perhaps it does not take the comical form of an old tire morphing into an ice cream cone, but the power is real. With each pitch Josh Beckett can stop time; he can bend space. You know it is possible because you have seen it before. You saw it in 1999, when a sore and broken Pedro Martinez defied the cruel truth of a devastated shoulder, to make his own reality. You saw it in 2004, when a hobbled Curt Euro demanded that his physical limitations yield to his indomitable will. And you will see it tonight. No, Josh Beckett will not have to overcome a fraying shoulder or an ankle torn asunder, but he will defy reality. He will defy that most basic law of the universe that says simply, “no one can be that good.”
But he is. He is that good.
And for today, and perhaps only today, so is Jose, so are you, so are we. Jose sets down the glass and lets the ice melt slowly in its crystal cage, until the amber scotch grows gradually warmer, even as Jose’s gaze grows gradually colder.
And the words continue to come. They come quickly like a fastball; sentences veer off into new ideas like a curve, and all fear drops out of sight like a splitter to the dirt.
Jose does not need liquid courage, not tonight. He has Josh Beckett on the mound, and that is courage enough for anyone.
2. From time to time, Jose likes to inject a bit of political commentary into his KEYS, to use the bully pulpit of his little corner of the Web to advocate for causes near and dear to America’s powerful Japanese-German-Jewish-Unitarian lobby. This is not one of those times.
That said, Jose does feel that it is an imperative for him to take a few moments on this historic occasion to comment on the war. He does this with nothing but the deepest respect and gratitude for our fighting men and women, but duty calls and Jose must respond.
It has become the tritest of jokes to say “If we don’t
Sun Tzu urged us to know our enemy, and thus it is incumbent upon us to understand the nature of this adversary, these iRockies on the baseball field and understand how they differ from the Iraqis in the desert.
- Everyone knows exactly why we’re playing the iRockies. They won the National League, we have to play them; it’s really straightforward. By contrast, it is not totally clear why we had to go to war with the Iraqis. If we applied the same logic we used in the war with the World Series. We would be getting ready to go play the Washington Nationals, because they seem like a more desirable opponent, and as we speak, Theo Epstein would be making speeches connecting the Nationals to Colorado’s 2-1 series win over Boston this summer, and discussing how Dmitri Young could not be allowed to threaten our championship ambitions.
- We know that the iRockies, the whole of the iRockies are our opponents. No one on that team is trying to help us, there are no iRocky factions trying to undermine other parts of the team. The pitchers aren’t trying to seize control over the batters or face versa. This is helpful.
- The iRockies definitely want us there. They want us to come to Colorado and bring economic prosperity and liberation from watching the pathetic Denver Broncos. The Iraqis? Not as clear.
- Unlike the Iraqis, people close to the iRockies don’t seem to have cared about their situation at all until recently. If, before the war, you asked any Iraqi out of distance of the secret police, you can bet he had an opinion about how his country was governed. If you asked an iRocky fan about the management of the iRockies last April, he probably didn’t have a clue.
- Jose will bet that almost every single person in Baghdad can name, three, ten even twenty five Iraqis. Do you think most people in Denver can name three iRockies?
- The map to victory against the iRockies is clear—score more runs. Fighting against Iraqi insurgents, not so much. Also, regardless of whether a surge helps against the Iraqis, we definitely cannot add more players in the battle against the iRockies.
Coming up tomorrow: How fighting the Taliban is like pitching to Todd Helton. (Note: Beards are involved.) Jose would add that he really doesn’t like the Taliban. He thinks it is terrible that they made all of the women cover themselves with former Sox pitcher and excellent bowler John Burkett. They weren’t even allowed to go outside without a Burkett on.
3. Speaking of the Rockies, Jose doesn’t get the name. He’s been going through famous people named Rocky left and right and he can’t find anyone from Colorado.
Rocky Marciano was from Brockton. Rocky Graziano was born in New York and was played in the movies by Paul Newman who was born in Cleveland. Rocky Balboa was Philly through and through. Rocky the Flying Squirrel? Frostbite Falls Minnesota. Rocky Johnson is from Nova Scotia, and his son Rocky Maivia, a.k.a. Dwayne Johnson, a.k.a. the Rock grew up all over, but not in Colorado. Rocky Colavito played for six teams, none of whom was in Colorado. Rocky Anderson, the Mayor of Salt Lake City, is kind of close to Colorado, but not nearly close enough. Rocky the Bull is the mascot of the University of South Florida, which is a little far away.
This leaves us, Jose supposes, with mountains, which’ let’s be honest, is a little absurd. Would we ever call a baseball team here the Appalachians? Would we break it down and have it be the Boston Berkshires? No, of course not. That would be stupid. Now maybe, you could argue that the mountains, while part of New England, are not really part of Boston. Fair enough, but would you want our club named for any other feature of our city? Would the Boston Harbors be a good name? The Boston Commons? The Boston Bars close at 2AM? No, of course not.
Instead we chose a simple, likeable mascot in the form of hosiery of an incredibly flamboyant hue. What’s not to like? So Jose suggests that if the Colorado baseball team wants to be taken seriously, they change their ridiculous name and choose something that reflects the clothing of their cowboy ethos, perhaps the Colorado Brown Chaps. Chaps, also has the benefit of being an acronym for Cow Herd Appraisal Performance Software, which would make a great sponsor for the team every time the National Western Stock Show comes to town.
I’m Jose Melendez, and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
Sunday, October 21
ALCS Game 7: The Ballad of East and West (brook)
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. The Ballad of East and West(brook) with apologies to Rudyard Kipling
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till DiceK meets Jake Westbrook and they both strive to defeat,
The other, East vs. Westbrook, and the Indians ‘gainst the Sox,
When these two men stand face to face, you’ll doubt that Cleveland Rocks.
The Dice man comes from far Japan, to Boston he was sent,
To ship a hefty sack of gold back to the Orient.
He came here just to be a man, just one of 25,
But now his shining golden arm’s what keep’s them all alive.
We know of epic battles that he has fought in his past,
Of innings one through seventeen he pitched from first to last,
And when 250 times he swiftly hurled the ball,
And led his school to victory, and made the whole East call,
His name as blessed miracle, as hero of Japan,
And from that moment Daisuke was more than just a man.
He blossomed as a symbol, like a star in yonder East,
And stood before the media as if to feed the beast.
And then he pitched for Seibu, was a Lion as it were,
But Japanese he still remained, and thus was quite demure.
He then pitched for his country, gainst the best from in The Show,
And won support from legends past like Sadaharu Oh.
He won the baseball classic that was played against the world,
And had himself named MVP, an honor that unfurled,
The eyes of men in Boston, in the Athens of the West,
Who thought this Matsuzaka was a man who they’d invest,
A fortune in, and buy the rights to bring him to their team,
And watch him rise up to the top like sweet and fatty cream.
They won the bid and brought the eastern hero to their park,
And signs in Japanese, showed up at Popeye’s after dark,
And restaurant reviews in Japanese were all the rage,
As merchants in the Fenway thought that this might help assuage,
The fears of hungry Easterners, who sought something to eat,
And happened by their restaurant while walking down the street.
This, DiceK pitched and often well, for our own Boston squad.
And yet, this eastern hero was not like unto a God.
He sometimes pitched like Pedro pulling strings from in his glove,
But other times, was just a rook, whom umpires gave no love,
The strike zone wasn’t big enough, the baseball not quite right,
And in the playoffs he has had some frustrating nights.
But now the hombre from the East will stride upon the mound
For seventh game, and hear the cheers that signal his renown.
And after he has pitched an inning, that goes one-two-three
He’ll walk away from yonder mound, and then he’ll surely see,
A man of West (brook) coming to the hill for Cleveland’s nine,
A man who’ll look towards heaven hoping he’ll receive a sign,
That in this clash of East and West, his culture can endure,
That he can pitch this evening without yielding a high score,
That fellowship that’s Christian can replace a tired arm,
And that his God, while he is pitching, can save him from harm.
But God, won’t intervene, he’ll find, in this ALCS,
Since God is great he’s got some bigger things he must address.
He doesn’t intervene to throw a strike or else a ball.
Upon his own two feet this man Jake will stand or fall.
He’ll look into his catcher’s eyes and pray his sinker sinks,
“For if it stays up in the zone, I’m surely doomed,” he thinks,
But just the fact that he had scored a win back in Game 3,
In no way guarantees that he again a hero be,
As Westbrook struggles with each pitch, Papi finds one he likes,
While over on the other side, DiceK throws naught but strikes.
And Westbrook gives up hits and hits and each run after run,
While DiceK’s getting bigger in the Land of Rising Sun.
With every pitch with every strike, with every single out,
The East is getting stronger while West (brook) is losing clout.
And in the land of Boston where the East collides with West,
There’s little doubt today concerning which one is the best.
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till DiceK meets Jakes Westbrook and they both strive to defeat
The other, East vs. Westbrook, and the Indians ‘gainst the Sox
When these two men stand face to face, you’ll doubt that Cleveland Rocks.
2. Game 7.
Game 7.
Game 7.
There’s something magic about the number 7 isn’t there? They could end series with Game 9, a fine and honorable baseball number. Hell, they used to end series at Game 9, and yet 7 is the number. Perhaps it’s the certain mysticism that goes along with it. There are seven wonders of the world, seven seas (note: except not really), seven is the most common roll on a pair of six sided die, and it’s the number of points on a sheriff’s star. It’s also Jose’s age when he first went to a Red Sox game.
But as much significance as that perfect prime number has for us Westerners, perhaps it has just a little more for the men of the East.
Bushido, the Japanese way of the warrior, has exactly seven principles. And while Jose is not much for ancient myths, or feudalism for that matter, Jose cannot help but believe, that if Daisuke can follow the seven virtues of Bushido tonight he cannot, he will not be defeated.
1. Gi: The right decision, taken with equanimity, the right attitude, the truth. When we must die, we must die. Rectitude.
• Choose your pitches wisely. Throw what must be thrown, and if is hit, so be it. Do not shy away from the fastball because Kenny Lofton gets lucky. Do not shy away from the curve because the ump is blind.
2. Yu: Bravery tinged with heroism.
• Trust in your breaking pitches. Have faith that even though they may not be hard or cruel, merely having the courage to throw to in the mid 80s to men of iron, is proof of bravery.
3. Jin: Universal love, benevolence toward mankind; compassion.
• Juniper flavored liquors are delicious and taste good with just a little vermouth, or if of lower quality, tonic water. Quaffed in large enough concentrations, this spirit leads to benevolence toward mankind. Or it makes one ornery. It depends. Anyway, when everyone else is doing shots of Jack, you know what to do,
4. Rei: Right action--a most essential quality, courtesy.
• When Kenny Lofton steps out of the box yet again. Bow humbly to him, bow deep and dignified. Then plant one in his ear.
5. Makoto: Utter sincerity; truthfulness.
• If you are out of gas, admit that you are out of gas. If Pedro had had more Makoto four years ago and told Grady to bleep himself history would be different.
ó. Melyo: Honor and glory.
• The glory is yours for the taking. Look at DJ Dru. All season, he struggled and strived, yet failed and flailed, and last night, with one magnificent swing all was forgotten and forgiven. You have performed well this season; you have pitched with honor, but the glory? The glory is yours to seize.
7. Chugo: Devotion, loyalty.
• Tito has been loyal to you, as he has been loyal to DJ Dru and Julio Lugo, and as he was loyal to Mark Bellhorn and Johnny Damon before them, and they have rewarded his loyalty with performance. Loyalty is, it must be, a two way street, reward Tito’s loyalty with your own.
Tonight, Daisuke Matsuzaka is a samurai. If he were a boxer or a wrestler, he would enter on a horse, clad in the venerable armor of old Japan. But he is not, he shall not enter from the bullpen on a sacred steed, but on his own two feet, protected by naught but the sacred B on his cap and a right arm more magnificent than Masamune’s steel.
And thus, I predict, humbly and in the first person, that the Red Sox will win.
3. Musical Interlude
Turning Japanese
I've got a pitcher his name is Dice,
We eat potatoes; he’s fueled by rice
I saw him staring at his locker—Here’s advice.
Oh mix your pitches, don’t just throw speed.
Don’t over nibble. Here’s what we need.
Five innings and a one run lead
I've got a pitcher, I've got a pitcher
He’s worth a hundred million out on the mound
I want a catcher to call for curveballs
So all the batters will hit balls on the ground.
We’ve got him pitching high and pitching low
and pitching fast and pitching a slow and
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
I've got a pitcher, I’ve got a pitcher
He threw a million pitches once in a game
I want Francona to use that pitcher, so he can get himself some U.S. acclaim.
You've got him throwing fastballs throwing curves
And throwing splitters, throwing slurves and
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
No hits, no walks, no runs, no bases
No balks, no bags no you, keep it inside the park
Everyone at bat is Mario Mendoza
Then we get to Papelbon the Closah
Everyone.
And DiceK’s Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. The Ballad of East and West(brook) with apologies to Rudyard Kipling
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till DiceK meets Jake Westbrook and they both strive to defeat,
The other, East vs. Westbrook, and the Indians ‘gainst the Sox,
When these two men stand face to face, you’ll doubt that Cleveland Rocks.
The Dice man comes from far Japan, to Boston he was sent,
To ship a hefty sack of gold back to the Orient.
He came here just to be a man, just one of 25,
But now his shining golden arm’s what keep’s them all alive.
We know of epic battles that he has fought in his past,
Of innings one through seventeen he pitched from first to last,
And when 250 times he swiftly hurled the ball,
And led his school to victory, and made the whole East call,
His name as blessed miracle, as hero of Japan,
And from that moment Daisuke was more than just a man.
He blossomed as a symbol, like a star in yonder East,
And stood before the media as if to feed the beast.
And then he pitched for Seibu, was a Lion as it were,
But Japanese he still remained, and thus was quite demure.
He then pitched for his country, gainst the best from in The Show,
And won support from legends past like Sadaharu Oh.
He won the baseball classic that was played against the world,
And had himself named MVP, an honor that unfurled,
The eyes of men in Boston, in the Athens of the West,
Who thought this Matsuzaka was a man who they’d invest,
A fortune in, and buy the rights to bring him to their team,
And watch him rise up to the top like sweet and fatty cream.
They won the bid and brought the eastern hero to their park,
And signs in Japanese, showed up at Popeye’s after dark,
And restaurant reviews in Japanese were all the rage,
As merchants in the Fenway thought that this might help assuage,
The fears of hungry Easterners, who sought something to eat,
And happened by their restaurant while walking down the street.
This, DiceK pitched and often well, for our own Boston squad.
And yet, this eastern hero was not like unto a God.
He sometimes pitched like Pedro pulling strings from in his glove,
But other times, was just a rook, whom umpires gave no love,
The strike zone wasn’t big enough, the baseball not quite right,
And in the playoffs he has had some frustrating nights.
But now the hombre from the East will stride upon the mound
For seventh game, and hear the cheers that signal his renown.
And after he has pitched an inning, that goes one-two-three
He’ll walk away from yonder mound, and then he’ll surely see,
A man of West (brook) coming to the hill for Cleveland’s nine,
A man who’ll look towards heaven hoping he’ll receive a sign,
That in this clash of East and West, his culture can endure,
That he can pitch this evening without yielding a high score,
That fellowship that’s Christian can replace a tired arm,
And that his God, while he is pitching, can save him from harm.
But God, won’t intervene, he’ll find, in this ALCS,
Since God is great he’s got some bigger things he must address.
He doesn’t intervene to throw a strike or else a ball.
Upon his own two feet this man Jake will stand or fall.
He’ll look into his catcher’s eyes and pray his sinker sinks,
“For if it stays up in the zone, I’m surely doomed,” he thinks,
But just the fact that he had scored a win back in Game 3,
In no way guarantees that he again a hero be,
As Westbrook struggles with each pitch, Papi finds one he likes,
While over on the other side, DiceK throws naught but strikes.
And Westbrook gives up hits and hits and each run after run,
While DiceK’s getting bigger in the Land of Rising Sun.
With every pitch with every strike, with every single out,
The East is getting stronger while West (brook) is losing clout.
And in the land of Boston where the East collides with West,
There’s little doubt today concerning which one is the best.
Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
Till DiceK meets Jakes Westbrook and they both strive to defeat
The other, East vs. Westbrook, and the Indians ‘gainst the Sox
When these two men stand face to face, you’ll doubt that Cleveland Rocks.
2. Game 7.
Game 7.
Game 7.
There’s something magic about the number 7 isn’t there? They could end series with Game 9, a fine and honorable baseball number. Hell, they used to end series at Game 9, and yet 7 is the number. Perhaps it’s the certain mysticism that goes along with it. There are seven wonders of the world, seven seas (note: except not really), seven is the most common roll on a pair of six sided die, and it’s the number of points on a sheriff’s star. It’s also Jose’s age when he first went to a Red Sox game.
But as much significance as that perfect prime number has for us Westerners, perhaps it has just a little more for the men of the East.
Bushido, the Japanese way of the warrior, has exactly seven principles. And while Jose is not much for ancient myths, or feudalism for that matter, Jose cannot help but believe, that if Daisuke can follow the seven virtues of Bushido tonight he cannot, he will not be defeated.
1. Gi: The right decision, taken with equanimity, the right attitude, the truth. When we must die, we must die. Rectitude.
• Choose your pitches wisely. Throw what must be thrown, and if is hit, so be it. Do not shy away from the fastball because Kenny Lofton gets lucky. Do not shy away from the curve because the ump is blind.
2. Yu: Bravery tinged with heroism.
• Trust in your breaking pitches. Have faith that even though they may not be hard or cruel, merely having the courage to throw to in the mid 80s to men of iron, is proof of bravery.
3. Jin: Universal love, benevolence toward mankind; compassion.
• Juniper flavored liquors are delicious and taste good with just a little vermouth, or if of lower quality, tonic water. Quaffed in large enough concentrations, this spirit leads to benevolence toward mankind. Or it makes one ornery. It depends. Anyway, when everyone else is doing shots of Jack, you know what to do,
4. Rei: Right action--a most essential quality, courtesy.
• When Kenny Lofton steps out of the box yet again. Bow humbly to him, bow deep and dignified. Then plant one in his ear.
5. Makoto: Utter sincerity; truthfulness.
• If you are out of gas, admit that you are out of gas. If Pedro had had more Makoto four years ago and told Grady to bleep himself history would be different.
ó. Melyo: Honor and glory.
• The glory is yours for the taking. Look at DJ Dru. All season, he struggled and strived, yet failed and flailed, and last night, with one magnificent swing all was forgotten and forgiven. You have performed well this season; you have pitched with honor, but the glory? The glory is yours to seize.
7. Chugo: Devotion, loyalty.
• Tito has been loyal to you, as he has been loyal to DJ Dru and Julio Lugo, and as he was loyal to Mark Bellhorn and Johnny Damon before them, and they have rewarded his loyalty with performance. Loyalty is, it must be, a two way street, reward Tito’s loyalty with your own.
Tonight, Daisuke Matsuzaka is a samurai. If he were a boxer or a wrestler, he would enter on a horse, clad in the venerable armor of old Japan. But he is not, he shall not enter from the bullpen on a sacred steed, but on his own two feet, protected by naught but the sacred B on his cap and a right arm more magnificent than Masamune’s steel.
And thus, I predict, humbly and in the first person, that the Red Sox will win.
3. Musical Interlude
Turning Japanese
I've got a pitcher his name is Dice,
We eat potatoes; he’s fueled by rice
I saw him staring at his locker—Here’s advice.
Oh mix your pitches, don’t just throw speed.
Don’t over nibble. Here’s what we need.
Five innings and a one run lead
I've got a pitcher, I've got a pitcher
He’s worth a hundred million out on the mound
I want a catcher to call for curveballs
So all the batters will hit balls on the ground.
We’ve got him pitching high and pitching low
and pitching fast and pitching a slow and
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
I've got a pitcher, I’ve got a pitcher
He threw a million pitches once in a game
I want Francona to use that pitcher, so he can get himself some U.S. acclaim.
You've got him throwing fastballs throwing curves
And throwing splitters, throwing slurves and
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
No hits, no walks, no runs, no bases
No balks, no bags no you, keep it inside the park
Everyone at bat is Mario Mendoza
Then we get to Papelbon the Closah
Everyone.
And DiceK’s Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
Pitching Japanese
DiceK is pitching Japanese
I really think so
I’m Jose Melendez and those are my KEYS TO THE GAME.
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