It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
Jose used to love rain delays. For the six years Jose lived in Kenmore Square a lengthy rain delay was his entrée to a cheap and enjoyable night at the ballpark. Jose would sit in his apartment drinking beers with friends or watching television, all the while keeping a close eye on the status of the delay. If the delay exceeded two hours, Jose would walk down to Fenway as soon as the game restarted. He’d pay his $12 for a bleacher ticket and then sit anywhere he pleased. Back in those days, the bleachers were cut off from the rest of the park, but as the crowd dwindled from 30,000 to 15,000 to 5,000 no one much cared where Jose sat.
Sitting in premium seats on the first baseline or behind home plate, Jose did what any bleacher bum would do in that situation, he made an ass of himself. One night he and friends taunted strip club loving Angles first baseman Mo Vaughn with a rendition of Foxy Lady every time he came into the field. When Vaughn reached on a single, Jose yelled, “Mo, if you steal second Jose will buy you a lap dance.” The slugger, one of Jose’s all time favorite Red Sox, looked over at Jose as if considering the offer, and then turned away. He did not attempt to steal second.
It’s too bad, really. The one time Jose went to The Foxy Lady, Mo Vaughn was there. Jose really would have bought him that lap dance if he had swiped the bag. But this rain delay was not all fun. No, sir. The copy of Flaubert’s Sentimental Education that Jose had brought with him in case the rain began again took a soaking, making a dense novel even more dense.
Another time, Jose went out for a game against the Blue Jays that had two rain delays consuming three and one-half hours. By the end of the second delay, there were fewer than 1,000 fans in the park and Jose sat behind home plate blowing into some sort of a brass horn that another fan had smuggled in. Otis Nixon could hear everyone asking about his cocaine habit. The game was actually called at 1 AM on account of the heretofore unknown American League curfew, to be completed the next day.
Bu today, on this dreary wet day, Jose already has tickets for the game. Rain delays are no longer his friends. Jose has had to learn to stay out of the park until after the delay. God forbid he should get stuck drinking watery six dollar beers for two hours. Jose loves the North End; he loves living in a real neighborhood and away from the throngs of students. But on days like this, days when the rains wash away the throngs of fans and leave only the die hard and deranged, Jose misses his life in Kenmore Square.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Thursday, September 15
Wednesday, September 14
9/14/05 — Wells vs. Half the Man Wells Is
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
Baseball has emerged as the predominant metaphor in the confirmation hearing of Supreme Court Chief Justice nominee John Roberts.
Roberts began the analogies by comparing judges to umpires who call balls and strikes rather than pitching and hitting. Jose is not sure whether this is a commentary on his judicial philosophy or the woeful state of the Supreme Court softball team.
Senator Joe Biden of Delaware then continued the metaphor by pointing out that the strike zone is defined as from the elbows to the knees by Rule Two of the baseball rulebook and that umpires may not change it, and can only judge whether the ball is in or out of it. Apparently, Biden doesn’t watch much baseball these days or he would know that much like the Constitution, the strike zone is a living thing constantly changing from era to era, umpire to umpire and, in some cases, from inning to inning.
Biden went on to compare questioning Roberts to pitching to Cincinnati Reds outfielder Ken Griffey Jr. To be honest, Jose has no idea what this analogy means, but he assumes that it means that Roberts will get off to a brilliant start as Chief Justice, be compared regularly to John Marshall, and then, after signing a deal to become Chief Justice of Mexico’s Supreme Court, will miss the better part of most sessions with injuries while still occasionally showing his old brilliance.
Since it doesn’t appear that the evasive nominee will be answering any non-baseball questions, perhaps Senators should take Biden’s lead and ask questions only in baseball terms. (Note: Though this isn’t really that bad. Jose went to a State House hearing yesterday that involved lengthy discussion of where to get the best hot dogs and fried clams in Massachusetts. Really. Even worse, Jose may try a few of these places out this weekend.)
Jose has transcribed this portion of today’s hearing.
Q: Judge Roberts, in the 1999 American League Championship Series umpired Tim Tschida ruled Jose Offerman out even though Chuck Knoblauch clearly failed to tag him. If you had been the chief of that umpiring crew, would you have overturned that call?
Roberts: Senator, on the one hand, I think that decision was a misinterpretation of the facts of the case. On the other hand, I have enormous respect for precedent.
Q: And what precedent would that be?
Roberts: The precedent of the Yankees getting all the calls in big series. If would refer you to the case of Baltimore v. Jeffrey Maier.
Q: So then when two calls, a home run call, and the infamous “slap” call were reversed during the 2004 American League Championship Series to harm the Yankees, you would say that the umpires ignored precedent in reversing those calls and were therefore mistaken?
Roberts: Not necessarily. On the one hand, this call did depart from past rulings. On the other hand, as the top umpiring crew in baseball they have the authority to reinterpret precedent.
Q: So, in your opinion, did the umpiring crew rule correctly in the 2004 case.
Roberts: As it is quite possible that the Red Sox and Yankees may meet in post season play again during my tenure, and in that event it is highly likely that Alex Rodriguez will slap some one again, it would be prejudicial for me to answer this question.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Baseball has emerged as the predominant metaphor in the confirmation hearing of Supreme Court Chief Justice nominee John Roberts.
Roberts began the analogies by comparing judges to umpires who call balls and strikes rather than pitching and hitting. Jose is not sure whether this is a commentary on his judicial philosophy or the woeful state of the Supreme Court softball team.
Senator Joe Biden of Delaware then continued the metaphor by pointing out that the strike zone is defined as from the elbows to the knees by Rule Two of the baseball rulebook and that umpires may not change it, and can only judge whether the ball is in or out of it. Apparently, Biden doesn’t watch much baseball these days or he would know that much like the Constitution, the strike zone is a living thing constantly changing from era to era, umpire to umpire and, in some cases, from inning to inning.
Biden went on to compare questioning Roberts to pitching to Cincinnati Reds outfielder Ken Griffey Jr. To be honest, Jose has no idea what this analogy means, but he assumes that it means that Roberts will get off to a brilliant start as Chief Justice, be compared regularly to John Marshall, and then, after signing a deal to become Chief Justice of Mexico’s Supreme Court, will miss the better part of most sessions with injuries while still occasionally showing his old brilliance.
Since it doesn’t appear that the evasive nominee will be answering any non-baseball questions, perhaps Senators should take Biden’s lead and ask questions only in baseball terms. (Note: Though this isn’t really that bad. Jose went to a State House hearing yesterday that involved lengthy discussion of where to get the best hot dogs and fried clams in Massachusetts. Really. Even worse, Jose may try a few of these places out this weekend.)
Jose has transcribed this portion of today’s hearing.
Q: Judge Roberts, in the 1999 American League Championship Series umpired Tim Tschida ruled Jose Offerman out even though Chuck Knoblauch clearly failed to tag him. If you had been the chief of that umpiring crew, would you have overturned that call?
Roberts: Senator, on the one hand, I think that decision was a misinterpretation of the facts of the case. On the other hand, I have enormous respect for precedent.
Q: And what precedent would that be?
Roberts: The precedent of the Yankees getting all the calls in big series. If would refer you to the case of Baltimore v. Jeffrey Maier.
Q: So then when two calls, a home run call, and the infamous “slap” call were reversed during the 2004 American League Championship Series to harm the Yankees, you would say that the umpires ignored precedent in reversing those calls and were therefore mistaken?
Roberts: Not necessarily. On the one hand, this call did depart from past rulings. On the other hand, as the top umpiring crew in baseball they have the authority to reinterpret precedent.
Q: So, in your opinion, did the umpiring crew rule correctly in the 2004 case.
Roberts: As it is quite possible that the Red Sox and Yankees may meet in post season play again during my tenure, and in that event it is highly likely that Alex Rodriguez will slap some one again, it would be prejudicial for me to answer this question.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Tuesday, September 13
9/13/05 -- Antipope Clement XV vs. Downs
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
Randy Johnson awoke one morning to find himself transformed into an enormous bug. Overnight, he had become a great gangly creature with cruel crooked limbs and angry snapping mandibles framed by wiry hairs.
Even in the cool September air, the blanket on his bed seemed suffocating. He struggled to be free of it driven by a lust for the crisp air, but by another desire as well, the desire to feed on the scraps of human existence. He could smell the kitchen garbage a floor away, and it called to him. Was it always so strong?
The blanket grasped him like a net ensnaring his the spiky structures on his six legs. Five of them he freed, but one could simply not escape. He pulled and pulled against the blanket until suddenly his leg tore right through it sending him sprawling on to the floor.
“Free,” he tried to say, but the English phonics would not come. Perhaps because he no longer had a tongue, the word sounded far different than it should have. It sounded like “Get that god damn camera out of my face.” But in a guttural rumble.
What was worse, he was not free. A completely different and totally unanticipated problem had presented itself. In his haste to liberate himself from the blanket, he had thrown himself clean off of the bed and on to his back. For a proper man, recovering from this supine position would be of little difficulty, but Randy Johnson was not a proper man. He lay there with his six legs in the air wiggling helplessly as he rocked on his hard exoskeletal shell.
For the longest time he continued to wiggle his legs, imagining that if only he wiggled them enough, he would eventually right himself. This would not happen, of course, but Randy Johnson, even before becoming a bug, was none too bright, and certainly not the sort of chap who would be dissuaded from doing something for the hundredth time just because it hadn't worked the first 99. But eventually even he tired of his futility.
Trying a different approach, he began to sway his legs from side to side, creating a constant rocking of his shell. When the shell swung to its furthest extreme in one direction he would shift the weight of his legs in the other direction. Over and over he repeated the motion, the arcs of movement growing larger and larger until-a snap-he had torn his rotator cuff, of perhaps three of his rotator cuffs, or whatever the insect equivalent is, but with the last effort as the tissues frayed, he swung his legs with such violence that he righted himself with a thud.
“Are you up Randy?” his wife yelled up in response to the thud.
“No, no,” yelled Randy Johnson, afraid of what she would think. But in his guttural bug voice it ended up sounding like. “My God I hate Alex Rodriguez. He's such a prick.”
“I know Alex is an SOB,” replied his wife. “But do we have to talk about him first thing in the morning?”
Suddenly, he heard the soft clomp of slippers on stairs. His wife was coming up to the room. Up to his room. Invading his cold and his dark. Her arrival was inevitable.
The doorknob turned with a gentle squeak. As her slender finger flipped the light switch, Randy scrambled under the bed, away from the horrible burning light. A thin trail of green ooze marked his path.
“Randy,” his wife complained. “Why do you always flee when the lights come on? Come out from under there this instant.”
Randy pondered his options. They were few. Either she could see him now, or she could see him a few minutes from now. There would be no escape.
“I can't come out,” he moaned.
“Why not?” she answered. How odd that she could understand him.
“I've been transformed into a giant bug.”
“Randy that's ridiculous. Come out now. I insist.”
“Yes… okay,” he yielded.
He slunk out from under the bed, each step sending fire up his damaged joints.
“See I'm a bug,” he cried.
“I'm not really seeing it,” she answered nonplussed.
“I'm hideous vermin.”
“Well yes, but you look kind of the same to me.”
“But can't you see that I have six legs?”
“Oh yes, now that you mention it. But otherwise. I fail to see the difference.”
“I've become a hideous giant insect. I'm ugly and disgusting,” he wailed.
“If anything, I'd say you look a little bit better she responded.”
And so began the metamorphosis of Randy Johnson.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Randy Johnson awoke one morning to find himself transformed into an enormous bug. Overnight, he had become a great gangly creature with cruel crooked limbs and angry snapping mandibles framed by wiry hairs.
Even in the cool September air, the blanket on his bed seemed suffocating. He struggled to be free of it driven by a lust for the crisp air, but by another desire as well, the desire to feed on the scraps of human existence. He could smell the kitchen garbage a floor away, and it called to him. Was it always so strong?
The blanket grasped him like a net ensnaring his the spiky structures on his six legs. Five of them he freed, but one could simply not escape. He pulled and pulled against the blanket until suddenly his leg tore right through it sending him sprawling on to the floor.
“Free,” he tried to say, but the English phonics would not come. Perhaps because he no longer had a tongue, the word sounded far different than it should have. It sounded like “Get that god damn camera out of my face.” But in a guttural rumble.
What was worse, he was not free. A completely different and totally unanticipated problem had presented itself. In his haste to liberate himself from the blanket, he had thrown himself clean off of the bed and on to his back. For a proper man, recovering from this supine position would be of little difficulty, but Randy Johnson was not a proper man. He lay there with his six legs in the air wiggling helplessly as he rocked on his hard exoskeletal shell.
For the longest time he continued to wiggle his legs, imagining that if only he wiggled them enough, he would eventually right himself. This would not happen, of course, but Randy Johnson, even before becoming a bug, was none too bright, and certainly not the sort of chap who would be dissuaded from doing something for the hundredth time just because it hadn't worked the first 99. But eventually even he tired of his futility.
Trying a different approach, he began to sway his legs from side to side, creating a constant rocking of his shell. When the shell swung to its furthest extreme in one direction he would shift the weight of his legs in the other direction. Over and over he repeated the motion, the arcs of movement growing larger and larger until-a snap-he had torn his rotator cuff, of perhaps three of his rotator cuffs, or whatever the insect equivalent is, but with the last effort as the tissues frayed, he swung his legs with such violence that he righted himself with a thud.
“Are you up Randy?” his wife yelled up in response to the thud.
“No, no,” yelled Randy Johnson, afraid of what she would think. But in his guttural bug voice it ended up sounding like. “My God I hate Alex Rodriguez. He's such a prick.”
“I know Alex is an SOB,” replied his wife. “But do we have to talk about him first thing in the morning?”
Suddenly, he heard the soft clomp of slippers on stairs. His wife was coming up to the room. Up to his room. Invading his cold and his dark. Her arrival was inevitable.
The doorknob turned with a gentle squeak. As her slender finger flipped the light switch, Randy scrambled under the bed, away from the horrible burning light. A thin trail of green ooze marked his path.
“Randy,” his wife complained. “Why do you always flee when the lights come on? Come out from under there this instant.”
Randy pondered his options. They were few. Either she could see him now, or she could see him a few minutes from now. There would be no escape.
“I can't come out,” he moaned.
“Why not?” she answered. How odd that she could understand him.
“I've been transformed into a giant bug.”
“Randy that's ridiculous. Come out now. I insist.”
“Yes… okay,” he yielded.
He slunk out from under the bed, each step sending fire up his damaged joints.
“See I'm a bug,” he cried.
“I'm not really seeing it,” she answered nonplussed.
“I'm hideous vermin.”
“Well yes, but you look kind of the same to me.”
“But can't you see that I have six legs?”
“Oh yes, now that you mention it. But otherwise. I fail to see the difference.”
“I've become a hideous giant insect. I'm ugly and disgusting,” he wailed.
“If anything, I'd say you look a little bit better she responded.”
And so began the metamorphosis of Randy Johnson.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Friday, September 9
9/9/05 — 1st Place Sox vs. 2nd Place Yankees
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
The curtain rises.
(The scene is a beach on the California coast, February 2005. A tall, gangly man is walking down the beach with a metal detector.)
Aaron Small: I’m never going to make it as a big league pitcher. It’s just not going to happen. I’m 33 years old. I’ve got a career ERA of 5.49, I’ve only pitched 218 big league innings in the last 10 years, and baseball-reference.com gives Rocky Coppinger as one of my comparables. Rocky broke in two years after me and he had the good sense to retire four years ago. It’s time for me to face the music and realize that I’m just not good enough to be a big league pitcher. So I might as well accept the fact that looking for treasure by metal detector is my new career now.
(The metal detector begins to beep furiously. Small drops to his knees and begins to dig.)
This is big. This is really big. One good treasure find now, and I won’t have to worry about ever pitching again. I wonder what it is. Gold? Platinum? The plate from Don Zimmer’s skull?
(He grabs hold of something and begins to pull. After much effort, he pulls out an old brass oil lamp.)
Great. A ratty freaking lamp. That’ll get me maybe two dollars at the Salvation Army. Well, something’s better than nothing, I suppose. I’d better brush it off.
(As he brushes it, a cloud emerges from the lamp, a cloud that coalesces into a turbaned and mustachioed human form with wisps of vapor where legs should be.)
What the hell?
Genie: I am the genie of the lamp. You have awakened me, and now I am bound to grant you three wishes.
Small: Excuse me?
Genie: Do you not know how this works? Do you not watch movies or TV?
Small: Only Home and Garden TV… and Lifetime. Is it on either of those channels?
Genie: What about Kazaam? Have you seen Kazaam?
Small: The one where Shaquille O’Neal comes out of the boom box?
Genie: Exactly.
Small: No.
Genie: (sighs) Look, the drill is that by rubbing the lamp, you have won three wishes. The only rules are that I can’t make anyone fall in love, I can’t raise the dead, I can’t grant more wishes and I can’t reverse the outcome of the 2004 ALCS.
Small: Sweet. What’s the catch?
Genie: The wishes all come with a terrible curse.
Small: Sounds good, can I start now?
Genie: Yes. What is your first wish?
Small: Well, for my first wish, I have this terrible jock itch on my balls; I wish that it would go away.
Genie: (Nods his head, there is a poof of smoke.) It is done.
Small: Hey, that’s great, my balls don’t itch anymore. Wait something feels weird.
(Looks down his pants)
What the hell!!! Where did my balls go?
Genie: You said you wanted to be rid of your jock itch.
Small: But I didn’t mean to get rid of my balls.
Genie: You should have been more specific.
Small: But that’s crazy… I’m… I’m a freak now… I can’t believe I have no balls.
Genie: You’re part of the Yankees organization aren’t you? You’ll fit it fine. Are you ready to make the second wish?
Small: Hmm… I could wish for my balls back, but you’re right having no balls does make me a real Yankee. So what to wish for next. I know, I know. I’m a really big history buff, so what I’d love to do is to have a chance to get to know Columbus. Hear about the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria, all of that good stuff. But wait… I need to be specific… so let’s see how to phrase it. I want to get to really know Columbus, but I don’t want to get stuck back in 1492, and I want to be able to do the whole thing in English.
Genie: (Nods head, poof of smoke) Your wish is granted, you will spend considerable time in the Columbus Clippers organization this year, not in 1492 and you will only speak to your English speaking teammates, causing some to brand you a racist xenophobe.
Small: No!!! No! No! No! Christopher Columbus… not the city. You know, Cristobal Colon.
Genie: Consider yourself lucky that you didn’t ask to spend time with Colon. You might have ended up spending copious amounts of time with Bartolo Colon, and he has terrible gas. You have one wish left.
Small: Geez… already. Only one more wish? I need to stop messing around. OK. Here goes. Even though I’ll be spending some time in Columbus, I wish that in 2005 I be the best starting pitcher on the New York Yankees.
Genie: (Nods head, poof of smoke) It is done. You will be the best Yankee starter in 2005.
Small: Really.
Genie: Really.
Small: Better than Pavano? Better then Wright? Better than Mussina? Better than Brown? Better than Randy Johnson even?
Genie: Yes.
Small: So will my fastball be faster, my curve sharper, my changeup sneakier?
Genie: No.
Small: I don’t get it then. How will I do it?
Genie: Pavano, Wright, and Brown will all be hurt for most of the year. Mussina will be mediocre before getting hurt and Johnson will be curiously ineffective. Heck, even Wang will get hurt.
Small: My… my God what have I done?
Genie: Exactly what you asked to do. Now I take my leave.
Small: Change it back.
Genie: No. Loser.
(He transforms into a column of smoke, returns to the lamp and the lamp jumps off the beach and into the sea.)
Small: (Doing his best Darth Vader at the end of Revenge of the Sith imitation) Nnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Blackout.
For today's full KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
The curtain rises.
(The scene is a beach on the California coast, February 2005. A tall, gangly man is walking down the beach with a metal detector.)
Aaron Small: I’m never going to make it as a big league pitcher. It’s just not going to happen. I’m 33 years old. I’ve got a career ERA of 5.49, I’ve only pitched 218 big league innings in the last 10 years, and baseball-reference.com gives Rocky Coppinger as one of my comparables. Rocky broke in two years after me and he had the good sense to retire four years ago. It’s time for me to face the music and realize that I’m just not good enough to be a big league pitcher. So I might as well accept the fact that looking for treasure by metal detector is my new career now.
(The metal detector begins to beep furiously. Small drops to his knees and begins to dig.)
This is big. This is really big. One good treasure find now, and I won’t have to worry about ever pitching again. I wonder what it is. Gold? Platinum? The plate from Don Zimmer’s skull?
(He grabs hold of something and begins to pull. After much effort, he pulls out an old brass oil lamp.)
Great. A ratty freaking lamp. That’ll get me maybe two dollars at the Salvation Army. Well, something’s better than nothing, I suppose. I’d better brush it off.
(As he brushes it, a cloud emerges from the lamp, a cloud that coalesces into a turbaned and mustachioed human form with wisps of vapor where legs should be.)
What the hell?
Genie: I am the genie of the lamp. You have awakened me, and now I am bound to grant you three wishes.
Small: Excuse me?
Genie: Do you not know how this works? Do you not watch movies or TV?
Small: Only Home and Garden TV… and Lifetime. Is it on either of those channels?
Genie: What about Kazaam? Have you seen Kazaam?
Small: The one where Shaquille O’Neal comes out of the boom box?
Genie: Exactly.
Small: No.
Genie: (sighs) Look, the drill is that by rubbing the lamp, you have won three wishes. The only rules are that I can’t make anyone fall in love, I can’t raise the dead, I can’t grant more wishes and I can’t reverse the outcome of the 2004 ALCS.
Small: Sweet. What’s the catch?
Genie: The wishes all come with a terrible curse.
Small: Sounds good, can I start now?
Genie: Yes. What is your first wish?
Small: Well, for my first wish, I have this terrible jock itch on my balls; I wish that it would go away.
Genie: (Nods his head, there is a poof of smoke.) It is done.
Small: Hey, that’s great, my balls don’t itch anymore. Wait something feels weird.
(Looks down his pants)
What the hell!!! Where did my balls go?
Genie: You said you wanted to be rid of your jock itch.
Small: But I didn’t mean to get rid of my balls.
Genie: You should have been more specific.
Small: But that’s crazy… I’m… I’m a freak now… I can’t believe I have no balls.
Genie: You’re part of the Yankees organization aren’t you? You’ll fit it fine. Are you ready to make the second wish?
Small: Hmm… I could wish for my balls back, but you’re right having no balls does make me a real Yankee. So what to wish for next. I know, I know. I’m a really big history buff, so what I’d love to do is to have a chance to get to know Columbus. Hear about the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria, all of that good stuff. But wait… I need to be specific… so let’s see how to phrase it. I want to get to really know Columbus, but I don’t want to get stuck back in 1492, and I want to be able to do the whole thing in English.
Genie: (Nods head, poof of smoke) Your wish is granted, you will spend considerable time in the Columbus Clippers organization this year, not in 1492 and you will only speak to your English speaking teammates, causing some to brand you a racist xenophobe.
Small: No!!! No! No! No! Christopher Columbus… not the city. You know, Cristobal Colon.
Genie: Consider yourself lucky that you didn’t ask to spend time with Colon. You might have ended up spending copious amounts of time with Bartolo Colon, and he has terrible gas. You have one wish left.
Small: Geez… already. Only one more wish? I need to stop messing around. OK. Here goes. Even though I’ll be spending some time in Columbus, I wish that in 2005 I be the best starting pitcher on the New York Yankees.
Genie: (Nods head, poof of smoke) It is done. You will be the best Yankee starter in 2005.
Small: Really.
Genie: Really.
Small: Better than Pavano? Better then Wright? Better than Mussina? Better than Brown? Better than Randy Johnson even?
Genie: Yes.
Small: So will my fastball be faster, my curve sharper, my changeup sneakier?
Genie: No.
Small: I don’t get it then. How will I do it?
Genie: Pavano, Wright, and Brown will all be hurt for most of the year. Mussina will be mediocre before getting hurt and Johnson will be curiously ineffective. Heck, even Wang will get hurt.
Small: My… my God what have I done?
Genie: Exactly what you asked to do. Now I take my leave.
Small: Change it back.
Genie: No. Loser.
(He transforms into a column of smoke, returns to the lamp and the lamp jumps off the beach and into the sea.)
Small: (Doing his best Darth Vader at the end of Revenge of the Sith imitation) Nnnnnnnnnnnooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Blackout.
For today's full KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Thursday, September 8
9/8/05 — Jose Struggles, Sox Do Not
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
Today’s sonnet game summary:
Ode to the game on September 7, 2005
Two outs, none on and Balki gives up runs,
In innings number one and number two,
You’d think the Boston Red Sox would be done,
But then again, upon further review,
If ER hits a pop up that sneaks in,
As three defenders try to run it down,
And Papi checks his swing, flashes a grin,
Potentially it turns the game around.
If Balki sees his cutter’s got no cut,
And throws instead a sneaky, subtle change,
Jose begins to feel it in his gut,
And more so when Gabe Kapler shows his range.
Tonight the Red Sox shall complete the sweep,
Then to New York to take the Yankees deep.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Today’s sonnet game summary:
Ode to the game on September 7, 2005
Two outs, none on and Balki gives up runs,
In innings number one and number two,
You’d think the Boston Red Sox would be done,
But then again, upon further review,
If ER hits a pop up that sneaks in,
As three defenders try to run it down,
And Papi checks his swing, flashes a grin,
Potentially it turns the game around.
If Balki sees his cutter’s got no cut,
And throws instead a sneaky, subtle change,
Jose begins to feel it in his gut,
And more so when Gabe Kapler shows his range.
Tonight the Red Sox shall complete the sweep,
Then to New York to take the Yankees deep.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Wednesday, September 7
9/7/05 — Balki vs. Santana
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Jose is proud to present a new feature in today’s KEYS. The sonnet game summary. Why a sonnet? Because the only other sorts of poems Jose can write are haiku and limericks and both of those are way to short. Frankly, someone should write an epic poem about this team. They could call it the Red Soxiad or something, and then trainer Chang Lee could translate it in to Japanese. (Note: Why isn’t anyone writing good epic poems anymore? Is it a lack of a market?)
Ode to the Game on September 6, 2005
It went four hundred fifty seven feet,
And gave the Sox a win of three to two,
Tim Wakefield pitched a game that was complete,
Which left the team with nothing else to do,
Big Papi was the story of the game,
Rewarded with a plaque of humble wood,
An icon that will sanctify his name,
And states that he is better than just good.
The best clutch hitter ever on this team,
To clutch at bats what Miles was to jazz,
He’s settled all debate upon this theme,
By finally surpassing even Yaz.
If one at bat would save the whole of Earth,
Jose will take Ortiz, for what it’s worth.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
1. Jose is proud to present a new feature in today’s KEYS. The sonnet game summary. Why a sonnet? Because the only other sorts of poems Jose can write are haiku and limericks and both of those are way to short. Frankly, someone should write an epic poem about this team. They could call it the Red Soxiad or something, and then trainer Chang Lee could translate it in to Japanese. (Note: Why isn’t anyone writing good epic poems anymore? Is it a lack of a market?)
Ode to the Game on September 6, 2005
It went four hundred fifty seven feet,
And gave the Sox a win of three to two,
Tim Wakefield pitched a game that was complete,
Which left the team with nothing else to do,
Big Papi was the story of the game,
Rewarded with a plaque of humble wood,
An icon that will sanctify his name,
And states that he is better than just good.
The best clutch hitter ever on this team,
To clutch at bats what Miles was to jazz,
He’s settled all debate upon this theme,
By finally surpassing even Yaz.
If one at bat would save the whole of Earth,
Jose will take Ortiz, for what it’s worth.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Tuesday, September 6
9/6/05 — Jose Goes for 12-1
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. If you had it all to do over again would you change a thing? Would you have looked both ways before crossing the street? Would you have looked before you leapt? If you are the Boston Red Sox, the answer, apparently, is no. Given a second chance to play yesterday’s game against the White Sox after the initial contest was called with the score of 5-2, the Red Sox did not change a thing and bowed 5-3.
Jose supposes there is something sort of admirable about this, about the Red Sox willingness to accept what has happened, to refrain from fantasizing about changing the past. One can be reasonably sure they would be good time travelers. They wouldn’t screw up the space time continuum by trying to change events or anything.
Still, failing to change the past means accepting the consequences for the future. This was like wagering the rent on black, letting the wheel spin, losing, being given a second chance and then picking black again. It is like John Kerry saying that if he could rerun the 2004 election, he would let the Swift Boat ads linger just as long without a riposte. (Note: Or George W. Bush saying he would do things the exact same way in Iraq. Oh… he really did do that.) It is like offering the French a do-over on World War II, and then watching as they leave the Maginot line as their primary defense. “Ah, but monsieur, it is invincible,” they would say. And what about you? If you had the chance to go back and skip over this KEY and go directly to the second key would you? Yes, you probably would, but you are not the Boston Red Sox.
For more KEYS visit www.wallballsinlge.com
1. If you had it all to do over again would you change a thing? Would you have looked both ways before crossing the street? Would you have looked before you leapt? If you are the Boston Red Sox, the answer, apparently, is no. Given a second chance to play yesterday’s game against the White Sox after the initial contest was called with the score of 5-2, the Red Sox did not change a thing and bowed 5-3.
Jose supposes there is something sort of admirable about this, about the Red Sox willingness to accept what has happened, to refrain from fantasizing about changing the past. One can be reasonably sure they would be good time travelers. They wouldn’t screw up the space time continuum by trying to change events or anything.
Still, failing to change the past means accepting the consequences for the future. This was like wagering the rent on black, letting the wheel spin, losing, being given a second chance and then picking black again. It is like John Kerry saying that if he could rerun the 2004 election, he would let the Swift Boat ads linger just as long without a riposte. (Note: Or George W. Bush saying he would do things the exact same way in Iraq. Oh… he really did do that.) It is like offering the French a do-over on World War II, and then watching as they leave the Maginot line as their primary defense. “Ah, but monsieur, it is invincible,” they would say. And what about you? If you had the chance to go back and skip over this KEY and go directly to the second key would you? Yes, you probably would, but you are not the Boston Red Sox.
For more KEYS visit www.wallballsinlge.com
Friday, September 2
9/2/05 — Minor League Battle, DiNardo vs. Maine
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Jose is sick. And it’s not some BS made up illness like Fenway Fever or the Vaughn Eshelman Flu (note: remember Wade Boggs’ unwillngness to face the unfamiliar lefty in 1995?). The way Jose figures it, he probably has either Western Equine Encephalitis or East Nile Virus. But not to worry, those two aren’t nearly as severe as the illnesses from the opposite directions.
To make matters worse, this is the first KEYS Jose is writing on his brand new computer, and making the switch from PC to Mac, Word to AppleWorks seems certain to result in some problems. It’s like making the transition from reliever to starter midseason. Jose should really be getting himself stretched out before he writes a full KEYS on this thing. You know, writing 100 words today, 250 on Sunday, 500 on Tuesday and then and only then giving a go at a full KEYS maybe a week from today. But with the season winding down, Jose just doesn’t have that much time to waste. The team needs him now.
Now you may be asking “Jose, what good can a Jose who is not only sick, but also getting stretched out possibly do for us?” Jose does not know. He only knows that he needs to try. For God’s sake Leonardo DiNardo is starting tonight. It’s not like the Red Sox can win this game on their own.
Besides a DiNardo start is always something to tune in to, as he is the first Red Sox pitcher since Rafael Bettancort (note: did he ever actually play for the big team?) to be named after a teenage mutant ninja turtle.
Ugh… that was pretty terrible. Much like the Red Sox starters for the last three nights, Jose has looked weak, really weak early. But can he now turn it around?
For the complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
1. Jose is sick. And it’s not some BS made up illness like Fenway Fever or the Vaughn Eshelman Flu (note: remember Wade Boggs’ unwillngness to face the unfamiliar lefty in 1995?). The way Jose figures it, he probably has either Western Equine Encephalitis or East Nile Virus. But not to worry, those two aren’t nearly as severe as the illnesses from the opposite directions.
To make matters worse, this is the first KEYS Jose is writing on his brand new computer, and making the switch from PC to Mac, Word to AppleWorks seems certain to result in some problems. It’s like making the transition from reliever to starter midseason. Jose should really be getting himself stretched out before he writes a full KEYS on this thing. You know, writing 100 words today, 250 on Sunday, 500 on Tuesday and then and only then giving a go at a full KEYS maybe a week from today. But with the season winding down, Jose just doesn’t have that much time to waste. The team needs him now.
Now you may be asking “Jose, what good can a Jose who is not only sick, but also getting stretched out possibly do for us?” Jose does not know. He only knows that he needs to try. For God’s sake Leonardo DiNardo is starting tonight. It’s not like the Red Sox can win this game on their own.
Besides a DiNardo start is always something to tune in to, as he is the first Red Sox pitcher since Rafael Bettancort (note: did he ever actually play for the big team?) to be named after a teenage mutant ninja turtle.
Ugh… that was pretty terrible. Much like the Red Sox starters for the last three nights, Jose has looked weak, really weak early. But can he now turn it around?
For the complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Wednesday, August 31
8/31/05 — Wakefiled vs. Guy We Got Euro For
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Sometime in the second inning of last night’s game, right around the time Jose was cutting into the evening’s first steak tip, the phone rang.
“Euro is all done,” said Jose’s brother Sam Melendez on the other end of the line. “I told you so yesterday.”
“Loothh at way,” replied Jose, his mouth full of meat marinated in soy sauce, brown sugar and Coca-Cola.
As he moved from the steak to the green beans lightly sautéed in olive oil and garlic, Jose began to compose today’s first KEY in his head. It would be a dirge, a lamentation. It would be a reflection Curt Euro’s sacrifice of the 2005 season and perhaps the rest of his career so that Red Sox fans could know the goodness of victory just one time. Jose muted the television, put Mozart’s mournful Requiem on the CD player and began to craft a eulogy of sorts as he shoveled mouthfuls of rice dripping with low quality LaChoy soy sauce into his mouth.
“Corinthians tells us that to every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven,” Jose began. “For Curtis Montague Euro, born Curtis Montague Schilling, that season was Autumn 2004 and that purpose was to deliver a World Championship to the Boston Red Sox. But as time evaporates into memory so passes that season, and the purpose, now met, dissolves into the ether.”
And so it went on and on, a melodramatic stew of tired clichés about the cycle of life. Winter of his career, change of life, given us his all, sacrificed for the greater good, throw them all in the pot and let them marinate in the bitter juices of disappointment and loss.
And then Jose paused from his mourning and looked up and through the foggy prism of his tear filled eyes two numbers slithered through his pupils along his optic nerve and directly into his brain. Six and five. Six and five. It was the sixth inning and Tampa Bay still had only five runs, the same number they had when the inning numbered only two… and still the man with the comically bleached hair stood on the mound. But that must mean… Could it be???
And whispering on the wind Jose heard the line from The Serpent and the Rainbow, “Don’t bury me I’m not dead.” Four scoreless innings. Four fragments of evidence that all is not lost, that good things have not yet come to an end. And today, somewhere in Boston, lies a metaphorical grave, empty, a pile of soggy, rocky new England soil to the side. And on the headstone it reads “The Career of Curtis Monatgue Euro 1988— ” There is no second year. Nothing is over.
For the full KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
1. Sometime in the second inning of last night’s game, right around the time Jose was cutting into the evening’s first steak tip, the phone rang.
“Euro is all done,” said Jose’s brother Sam Melendez on the other end of the line. “I told you so yesterday.”
“Loothh at way,” replied Jose, his mouth full of meat marinated in soy sauce, brown sugar and Coca-Cola.
As he moved from the steak to the green beans lightly sautéed in olive oil and garlic, Jose began to compose today’s first KEY in his head. It would be a dirge, a lamentation. It would be a reflection Curt Euro’s sacrifice of the 2005 season and perhaps the rest of his career so that Red Sox fans could know the goodness of victory just one time. Jose muted the television, put Mozart’s mournful Requiem on the CD player and began to craft a eulogy of sorts as he shoveled mouthfuls of rice dripping with low quality LaChoy soy sauce into his mouth.
“Corinthians tells us that to every thing there is a season and a time to every purpose under heaven,” Jose began. “For Curtis Montague Euro, born Curtis Montague Schilling, that season was Autumn 2004 and that purpose was to deliver a World Championship to the Boston Red Sox. But as time evaporates into memory so passes that season, and the purpose, now met, dissolves into the ether.”
And so it went on and on, a melodramatic stew of tired clichés about the cycle of life. Winter of his career, change of life, given us his all, sacrificed for the greater good, throw them all in the pot and let them marinate in the bitter juices of disappointment and loss.
And then Jose paused from his mourning and looked up and through the foggy prism of his tear filled eyes two numbers slithered through his pupils along his optic nerve and directly into his brain. Six and five. Six and five. It was the sixth inning and Tampa Bay still had only five runs, the same number they had when the inning numbered only two… and still the man with the comically bleached hair stood on the mound. But that must mean… Could it be???
And whispering on the wind Jose heard the line from The Serpent and the Rainbow, “Don’t bury me I’m not dead.” Four scoreless innings. Four fragments of evidence that all is not lost, that good things have not yet come to an end. And today, somewhere in Boston, lies a metaphorical grave, empty, a pile of soggy, rocky new England soil to the side. And on the headstone it reads “The Career of Curtis Monatgue Euro 1988— ” There is no second year. Nothing is over.
For the full KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Tuesday, August 30
8/30/05 — Euro vs. Scott “Disputed Province of” Kazmir
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
Second Baseman Euro Bellhorn will, in all likelihood become a member of the New York Yankees sometime in the next 24 hours making him the second member of the 2004 World Champion Boston Red Sox to join the second place club. (Note: This is if you don’t count Ramiro Mendoza who has not escaped the minors and arguably never left the Yankees.) While Bellhorn, like his soon to be fellow Yankee Alan Embree, has badly underperformed this year, it still makes Jose sad to see a player who made such important contribution to the Red Sox championship end up on the Yankees. (Note: Though if the Yankees want to pick up other 2004 Red Sox contributors like Jamie Brown, Adam Hyzdu, or Bobby Jones, that’s cool.) There are, however, a few reasons why this move makes sense for him.
Pinstripes are slimming, and frankly he’s been looking a little chunky.
Once he is required to shave under the Yankees “no facial hair” policy, maybe people will stop coming up to him and saying “You sucked in Deuce Bigalow.”
All he can ever talk about is how he wants to vote for Mike Bloomberg.
No big risk of fans holding “Cano would have had it” signs.
Thought Yankee Mystique meant he would get use of a company Mercury Mystique.
Beats facing tough International League pitching for the rest of the year.
When people always call the Yankees a “classy organization” he thought they were saying that it is a “Lassie organization,” and he always thought that dog was a real hero.
The bottom line is that Euro Bellhorn will always be a hero to Red Sox fans, and we will miss him terribly, though not so much when David Wells strikes him out four times on September 10.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Second Baseman Euro Bellhorn will, in all likelihood become a member of the New York Yankees sometime in the next 24 hours making him the second member of the 2004 World Champion Boston Red Sox to join the second place club. (Note: This is if you don’t count Ramiro Mendoza who has not escaped the minors and arguably never left the Yankees.) While Bellhorn, like his soon to be fellow Yankee Alan Embree, has badly underperformed this year, it still makes Jose sad to see a player who made such important contribution to the Red Sox championship end up on the Yankees. (Note: Though if the Yankees want to pick up other 2004 Red Sox contributors like Jamie Brown, Adam Hyzdu, or Bobby Jones, that’s cool.) There are, however, a few reasons why this move makes sense for him.
Pinstripes are slimming, and frankly he’s been looking a little chunky.
Once he is required to shave under the Yankees “no facial hair” policy, maybe people will stop coming up to him and saying “You sucked in Deuce Bigalow.”
All he can ever talk about is how he wants to vote for Mike Bloomberg.
No big risk of fans holding “Cano would have had it” signs.
Thought Yankee Mystique meant he would get use of a company Mercury Mystique.
Beats facing tough International League pitching for the rest of the year.
When people always call the Yankees a “classy organization” he thought they were saying that it is a “Lassie organization,” and he always thought that dog was a real hero.
The bottom line is that Euro Bellhorn will always be a hero to Red Sox fans, and we will miss him terribly, though not so much when David Wells strikes him out four times on September 10.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Monday, August 29
8/29/05 — Antipope Clement XV vs. Porn Star Seth McHung
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
Did anyone else watch the MTV Video Music Awards last night? Umm… Jose didn’t (note: really.), but he did catch a few minutes of it while the Melendezette was watching. He was struck by the effort of Diddy to conduct some sort of small orchestra as part of a tribute to Biggie Smalls. (Note: Sean Combs’ conversion from “P. Diddy” to “Diddy” happened the same day as “Jon” Papelbon’s conversion to “Jonathan” Papelbon. It’s really a shame that the rookie’s name change got overshadowed. It should have been Papelbon on the Today Show or Good Morning America talking about how the lack of an “athan” was getting between him and his fans.) Jose was actually sort of impressed. Diddy seemed to have reached a level of conducting competency that put him only marginally below a 16 year-old drum major on his first day of drum major camp, so good for him.
Of course, the dirty little secret is that any group of professional classical musicians, talented amateurs of decent high schoolers are capable of playing with reasonable coherence on their own, with no help from a conductor. That’s how the Boston POPS is able to have those fundraisers where some classical music lover from Dracut is allowed to conduct the orchestra—good orchestras conduct themselves, at least up to high levels of quality; the conductor makes those last marginal improvements that separate good from great.
Jose raises this issue, because there still seems to be a perception that this Red Sox team is like the MTV orchestra—it doesn’t really not a conductor to perform well. That’s what we’ve heard from all of the Tito bashers since the World Series, that anyone could have won with that group, that the players do it themselves and so on. But anyone couldn’t have won with that group, or this group. Could John McNamara? Butch Hobson? Joe Kerrigan? We all know that Grady Little could not have. Hell, if Grady had been conducting in Diddy’s place last night, some violinist would have ended up with a bow sticking out of her eye socket.
This is not to say that Tito Eurona is a perfect manager. His approach to the bullpen can be infuriating (note: though Jose has yet to find a manager who’s bullpen management does not infuriate him), he chooses peculiar days to sit people and his tobacco habit sets a bad example to Boston’s young people, but he is, easily, the best Red Sox manager in Jose’s life time. That is, at least until Jose has the high bid on one of those “manage the Sox for a game charity auctions.”
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Did anyone else watch the MTV Video Music Awards last night? Umm… Jose didn’t (note: really.), but he did catch a few minutes of it while the Melendezette was watching. He was struck by the effort of Diddy to conduct some sort of small orchestra as part of a tribute to Biggie Smalls. (Note: Sean Combs’ conversion from “P. Diddy” to “Diddy” happened the same day as “Jon” Papelbon’s conversion to “Jonathan” Papelbon. It’s really a shame that the rookie’s name change got overshadowed. It should have been Papelbon on the Today Show or Good Morning America talking about how the lack of an “athan” was getting between him and his fans.) Jose was actually sort of impressed. Diddy seemed to have reached a level of conducting competency that put him only marginally below a 16 year-old drum major on his first day of drum major camp, so good for him.
Of course, the dirty little secret is that any group of professional classical musicians, talented amateurs of decent high schoolers are capable of playing with reasonable coherence on their own, with no help from a conductor. That’s how the Boston POPS is able to have those fundraisers where some classical music lover from Dracut is allowed to conduct the orchestra—good orchestras conduct themselves, at least up to high levels of quality; the conductor makes those last marginal improvements that separate good from great.
Jose raises this issue, because there still seems to be a perception that this Red Sox team is like the MTV orchestra—it doesn’t really not a conductor to perform well. That’s what we’ve heard from all of the Tito bashers since the World Series, that anyone could have won with that group, that the players do it themselves and so on. But anyone couldn’t have won with that group, or this group. Could John McNamara? Butch Hobson? Joe Kerrigan? We all know that Grady Little could not have. Hell, if Grady had been conducting in Diddy’s place last night, some violinist would have ended up with a bow sticking out of her eye socket.
This is not to say that Tito Eurona is a perfect manager. His approach to the bullpen can be infuriating (note: though Jose has yet to find a manager who’s bullpen management does not infuriate him), he chooses peculiar days to sit people and his tobacco habit sets a bad example to Boston’s young people, but he is, easily, the best Red Sox manager in Jose’s life time. That is, at least until Jose has the high bid on one of those “manage the Sox for a game charity auctions.”
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Friday, August 26
8/26/05 — Wakefield vs. Johsnon
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Yesterday, Jose’s employer had its annual summer outing. It was nice. We took off at noon, ate nice cold cut sandwiches and went swimming in a pond. It’s not big deal. Lot’s of companies do it. Unfortunately, one of those companies appears to be the Boston Red Sox. That seems like the only reasonable explanation for yesterday’s second straight loss to the woeful Kansas City Royals. The Red Sox must have been enjoying a one day summer retreat. Okay, maybe they were physically at Kaufman Stadium, but did you see any evidence yesterday day that the Red Sox were not on at least a psychological retreat? Is there any doubt that Kevin Millar was imagining himself floating on an air mattress in a pool, margarita in hand? And there was Bill Mueller thinking about a roast beef sandwich with mustard and just a little smidge of mayo. And Manny, well, Manny is always on a mental holiday. The only one who didn’t appear to be taking a holiday was Curt Euro, who was certainly laboring.
So now that the rain out against the White Sox has been rescheduled for Labor Day the Red Sox will be forced to play for thirty straight days. But they shouldn’t complain. The collective bargaining agreement guarantees that there cannot be more than 20 days of play without an off day, and the Red Sox stood by their agreement by taking an off day yesterday.
For the complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
1. Yesterday, Jose’s employer had its annual summer outing. It was nice. We took off at noon, ate nice cold cut sandwiches and went swimming in a pond. It’s not big deal. Lot’s of companies do it. Unfortunately, one of those companies appears to be the Boston Red Sox. That seems like the only reasonable explanation for yesterday’s second straight loss to the woeful Kansas City Royals. The Red Sox must have been enjoying a one day summer retreat. Okay, maybe they were physically at Kaufman Stadium, but did you see any evidence yesterday day that the Red Sox were not on at least a psychological retreat? Is there any doubt that Kevin Millar was imagining himself floating on an air mattress in a pool, margarita in hand? And there was Bill Mueller thinking about a roast beef sandwich with mustard and just a little smidge of mayo. And Manny, well, Manny is always on a mental holiday. The only one who didn’t appear to be taking a holiday was Curt Euro, who was certainly laboring.
So now that the rain out against the White Sox has been rescheduled for Labor Day the Red Sox will be forced to play for thirty straight days. But they shouldn’t complain. The collective bargaining agreement guarantees that there cannot be more than 20 days of play without an off day, and the Red Sox stood by their agreement by taking an off day yesterday.
For the complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Thursday, August 25
8/25/05 — Pitcher Who Gave a Championship to Boston vs. Pitcher Who Gave Herpes to His Mistress
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Tonight marks the return of Curt Euro to the starting rotation a mere 123 days after his last start and almost ten months after his last good start. (Note: Is the 123 days a good omen? Does it mean we’re going to see a lot of 1-2-3 innings?) How long had it been since Euro started? Well, let’s put it this way, the last time he started Jose might have been willing to use the phrases “Sox slugger Kevin Millar,” “non-*sshole Jay Payton or “future Hall of Famer Rafael Palmiero.”
The last time Euro made a quality start, it was game two of the World Series with blood seeping through his sock. But as we all recall, he was brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, that some commentators have suggested that the blood on his sock was an elaborate fraud designed to inflate his heroism and unnerve opponents. While these charges are patently absurd, Jose would believe that batters were a little unsettled to see a man bleeding through his clothes still throwing smoke. So even though he wasn’t faking then, maybe he should now. Perhaps he should grab the old red sharpie and put a few dots on his sock prior to tonight’s start. Better yet, if Curt has a sense of humor (note: according to sources he does not), he should head out to the mound tonight looking like the title character in the final scene of Carrie. Can’t you just imagine a pig’s blood soaked Euro throwing fastballs and splitters? Wouldn’t that give him a huge advantage over hitters?
So welcome back to the rotation Curt. And let Jose give you a tip, if you’re looking for pig’s blood, try Chinatown and avoid the kosher butcher shops.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
1. Tonight marks the return of Curt Euro to the starting rotation a mere 123 days after his last start and almost ten months after his last good start. (Note: Is the 123 days a good omen? Does it mean we’re going to see a lot of 1-2-3 innings?) How long had it been since Euro started? Well, let’s put it this way, the last time he started Jose might have been willing to use the phrases “Sox slugger Kevin Millar,” “non-*sshole Jay Payton or “future Hall of Famer Rafael Palmiero.”
The last time Euro made a quality start, it was game two of the World Series with blood seeping through his sock. But as we all recall, he was brilliant. So brilliant, in fact, that some commentators have suggested that the blood on his sock was an elaborate fraud designed to inflate his heroism and unnerve opponents. While these charges are patently absurd, Jose would believe that batters were a little unsettled to see a man bleeding through his clothes still throwing smoke. So even though he wasn’t faking then, maybe he should now. Perhaps he should grab the old red sharpie and put a few dots on his sock prior to tonight’s start. Better yet, if Curt has a sense of humor (note: according to sources he does not), he should head out to the mound tonight looking like the title character in the final scene of Carrie. Can’t you just imagine a pig’s blood soaked Euro throwing fastballs and splitters? Wouldn’t that give him a huge advantage over hitters?
So welcome back to the rotation Curt. And let Jose give you a tip, if you’re looking for pig’s blood, try Chinatown and avoid the kosher butcher shops.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Wednesday, August 24
8/24/05 — Antipope Clement XV vs. Some Other Bad KC Pitcher
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
According to the Boston Globe, the Red Sox are in the process of applying to make Fenway Park a historic landmark. While winning landmark status would give the Red Sox federal tax credits worth millions of dollars, it does come with strings attached. So should the Red Sox win landmark status, they may well become a marionette not yet visited by its blue fairy godmother.
Renovations of landmark buildings are strictly regulated in order to ensure that the buildings retain their historic character. Even more seriously, some changes already made might need to be reversed. (Note: Jose is almost positive that the last sentence is untrue, but bear with him.) Below are just a few of the issues that could come up if Fenway Park becomes a historic landmark:
*Each Bank of America sign must be replaced with a Bay Bank, Bank of Boston, Shawmut Bank and Bank of New England sign to demonstrate the historical progression of Massachusetts banking.
*Trough urinals to be reinstalled in men’s room in the interest of historical accuracy.
*Height of pitchers mound must be raised to pre-1969 height.
*No designated hitter.
*Johnny Pesky will be required to play shortstop.
*The green monster will be covered in advertisements just like in the old days. (Note: Wait, we’re headed that way anyway.)
*Tom Yawkey’s ashes must sit in the owner’s box.
*Bare knuckle boxing returns to Fenway Park.
So as you can see, there are some real plusses and minuses to seeking landmark status. Sure, Jose would love to see the Moosehead beer sign return, but not if it means that Harry M. Stevens has to return as the concessionaire.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
According to the Boston Globe, the Red Sox are in the process of applying to make Fenway Park a historic landmark. While winning landmark status would give the Red Sox federal tax credits worth millions of dollars, it does come with strings attached. So should the Red Sox win landmark status, they may well become a marionette not yet visited by its blue fairy godmother.
Renovations of landmark buildings are strictly regulated in order to ensure that the buildings retain their historic character. Even more seriously, some changes already made might need to be reversed. (Note: Jose is almost positive that the last sentence is untrue, but bear with him.) Below are just a few of the issues that could come up if Fenway Park becomes a historic landmark:
*Each Bank of America sign must be replaced with a Bay Bank, Bank of Boston, Shawmut Bank and Bank of New England sign to demonstrate the historical progression of Massachusetts banking.
*Trough urinals to be reinstalled in men’s room in the interest of historical accuracy.
*Height of pitchers mound must be raised to pre-1969 height.
*No designated hitter.
*Johnny Pesky will be required to play shortstop.
*The green monster will be covered in advertisements just like in the old days. (Note: Wait, we’re headed that way anyway.)
*Tom Yawkey’s ashes must sit in the owner’s box.
*Bare knuckle boxing returns to Fenway Park.
So as you can see, there are some real plusses and minuses to seeking landmark status. Sure, Jose would love to see the Moosehead beer sign return, but not if it means that Harry M. Stevens has to return as the concessionaire.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Tuesday, August 23
8/23/05 — Wells vs. Some Bad KC Starter
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
On Thursday night, Jose had the opportunity to speak with a Turkish fellow. Jose immediately went to work asking him whether it was true that “boston” the Albanian term for “watermelon” is Turkish in its origin. (Note: As discussed in July.) It was either that or ask whether the Turkish Twist ride at Canobie Lake Park was really invented in Turkey, so vocabulary seemed like the best conversational option.
The Turkish gentleman said that he believes that “boston” is Turkish in its origin, but that in Turkish itself, “boston” does not mean “watermelon” but rather the field in which watermelons are grown. But he also spoke of a second, more sinister meeting.
In the old days of the Ottoman Empire, the Sultan would keep an executioner with an axe by his side at all times so he could order a complete craniectomy for anyone who came before him at any time and have the procedure carried out without delay. The executioner charged with this duty was known as the “boston.”
And this bit of Turkish parlance is eminently appropriate for our Boston baseball squad as we ease towards the September chill. In the next five weeks, the Boston Red Sox will raise the axe, sharpened through five months of grueling competition, and bring it down on the necks of their rivals. The Angles—Chop—The Blue Jays—Chop—The Orioles—Chop—the As—Chop—The Yankees Chop. One by one they will be forcibly separated from their title hopes by the Boston. (Note: Jose did not list Tampa, Detroit, or tonight’s opponent Kansas City on the chopping block, and he probably shouldn’t have listed Baltimore either. With these teams that are far, far, far out of the playoff picture, what happens to them will be far more akin to drawing and quartering and a long dead corpse than a beheading.)
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
On Thursday night, Jose had the opportunity to speak with a Turkish fellow. Jose immediately went to work asking him whether it was true that “boston” the Albanian term for “watermelon” is Turkish in its origin. (Note: As discussed in July.) It was either that or ask whether the Turkish Twist ride at Canobie Lake Park was really invented in Turkey, so vocabulary seemed like the best conversational option.
The Turkish gentleman said that he believes that “boston” is Turkish in its origin, but that in Turkish itself, “boston” does not mean “watermelon” but rather the field in which watermelons are grown. But he also spoke of a second, more sinister meeting.
In the old days of the Ottoman Empire, the Sultan would keep an executioner with an axe by his side at all times so he could order a complete craniectomy for anyone who came before him at any time and have the procedure carried out without delay. The executioner charged with this duty was known as the “boston.”
And this bit of Turkish parlance is eminently appropriate for our Boston baseball squad as we ease towards the September chill. In the next five weeks, the Boston Red Sox will raise the axe, sharpened through five months of grueling competition, and bring it down on the necks of their rivals. The Angles—Chop—The Blue Jays—Chop—The Orioles—Chop—the As—Chop—The Yankees Chop. One by one they will be forcibly separated from their title hopes by the Boston. (Note: Jose did not list Tampa, Detroit, or tonight’s opponent Kansas City on the chopping block, and he probably shouldn’t have listed Baltimore either. With these teams that are far, far, far out of the playoff picture, what happens to them will be far more akin to drawing and quartering and a long dead corpse than a beheading.)
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Wednesday, August 17
8/17/05 --Wells vs. the Amazing Bonder Man
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
We have a serious problem in Boston, and it’s spreading faster than lice on Jason Giambi. Jose is a big supporter of Mayor Menino and is loathe to bring this up in an election year, but damn it, someone needs to say something. If we don’t take action, it won’t be long before they’ve infested every corner of the city.
Oh…who are they? You don’t know? Really? Jose thought it would have been obvious when he talked about uncontrolled infestations that he was speaking about street mimes.
Let Jose be the first to say that he has nothing against mimes when they are safely locked in invisible boxes, but having them out on the street is just a hazard. In the past week Jose has seen TWO, that’s right TWO street mimes in Boston. That’s an infinite percentage higher than the zero he’d seen in the city previously.
The first time Jose saw a street mime was in New Orleans, The Jazz Machine he was called. He stood there dressed like a hipster with his saxophone and if you dropped a dime, he’d blow a few notes, a dollar would get you a few bars and more might have gotten you a whole song. To be honest Jose isn’t sure. No way he was giving any more than a dollar to any street performance not involving marionettes.
But the two in Boston can’t measure up. There’s one at Fanueil Hall wearing a white tutu and pasty goth makeup who blows fairy kisses using baby powder. She doesn’t even put the baby power in a container that says fairy dust. That’s like Rafael Palmiero taking steroids out of a bottle labeled “illegal steroids” rather than one labeled “mysterious supplement.” She should at least have some plausible deniability.
Then last night Jose saw another woman in white makeup on Boston Common who has some sort of Indian/Hindu thing going. Both mimes shared The Jazz Machine’s “you get what your drop in the bucket philosophy.” They don’t move unless you pay.
The reason Jose mentions this in this space is that the infestation may even have reached Fenway Park. Jose isn’t certain, but he thinks that he has yet to see Kevin Millar move so much as a muscle in right field without someone dropping a dollar first.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
We have a serious problem in Boston, and it’s spreading faster than lice on Jason Giambi. Jose is a big supporter of Mayor Menino and is loathe to bring this up in an election year, but damn it, someone needs to say something. If we don’t take action, it won’t be long before they’ve infested every corner of the city.
Oh…who are they? You don’t know? Really? Jose thought it would have been obvious when he talked about uncontrolled infestations that he was speaking about street mimes.
Let Jose be the first to say that he has nothing against mimes when they are safely locked in invisible boxes, but having them out on the street is just a hazard. In the past week Jose has seen TWO, that’s right TWO street mimes in Boston. That’s an infinite percentage higher than the zero he’d seen in the city previously.
The first time Jose saw a street mime was in New Orleans, The Jazz Machine he was called. He stood there dressed like a hipster with his saxophone and if you dropped a dime, he’d blow a few notes, a dollar would get you a few bars and more might have gotten you a whole song. To be honest Jose isn’t sure. No way he was giving any more than a dollar to any street performance not involving marionettes.
But the two in Boston can’t measure up. There’s one at Fanueil Hall wearing a white tutu and pasty goth makeup who blows fairy kisses using baby powder. She doesn’t even put the baby power in a container that says fairy dust. That’s like Rafael Palmiero taking steroids out of a bottle labeled “illegal steroids” rather than one labeled “mysterious supplement.” She should at least have some plausible deniability.
Then last night Jose saw another woman in white makeup on Boston Common who has some sort of Indian/Hindu thing going. Both mimes shared The Jazz Machine’s “you get what your drop in the bucket philosophy.” They don’t move unless you pay.
The reason Jose mentions this in this space is that the infestation may even have reached Fenway Park. Jose isn’t certain, but he thinks that he has yet to see Kevin Millar move so much as a muscle in right field without someone dropping a dollar first.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Tuesday, August 16
8/16/05 -- Papelbon vs. Robertson
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. Jose went out for beers with some friends at 9:30 last night with the Sox up 6-3 secure in the knowledge that there was no way our bullpen could blow a three run lead to the Tee-zhers for the second time that night. As he and his friends sat outside at the Boston BeerWorks on Canal Street a dirty, confused man sucking on a cigarette walked by and yelled at us “You fags ezhnoy a eyam kozet?”
He continued to walk by so we didn’t think much of it. Then, without stopping, he turned his head and again yelled “You fags ejoy the Needymad conzet?”
Apparently, he was asking us if we’d enjoyed the Neil Diamond Concert. It was an odd question, as the concert, which we had no knowledge of, was in progress as we sat there quaffing malt, hops, yeast and water mixed together and allowed to fester. So effectively he was asking us how we were enjoying something that it was literally impossible for us to be a part of. It’s like asking the Yankees how they’re enjoying the 2005 pennant race. (Note: Blah, blah, three and a half games back blah, blah. As long as the Yankees continue to assemble the best set of pitchers 1995 has to offer—Johnson, Mussina, Brown, Nomo, Leiter—they will never be in this race…umm… right?)
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
1. Jose went out for beers with some friends at 9:30 last night with the Sox up 6-3 secure in the knowledge that there was no way our bullpen could blow a three run lead to the Tee-zhers for the second time that night. As he and his friends sat outside at the Boston BeerWorks on Canal Street a dirty, confused man sucking on a cigarette walked by and yelled at us “You fags ezhnoy a eyam kozet?”
He continued to walk by so we didn’t think much of it. Then, without stopping, he turned his head and again yelled “You fags ejoy the Needymad conzet?”
Apparently, he was asking us if we’d enjoyed the Neil Diamond Concert. It was an odd question, as the concert, which we had no knowledge of, was in progress as we sat there quaffing malt, hops, yeast and water mixed together and allowed to fester. So effectively he was asking us how we were enjoying something that it was literally impossible for us to be a part of. It’s like asking the Yankees how they’re enjoying the 2005 pennant race. (Note: Blah, blah, three and a half games back blah, blah. As long as the Yankees continue to assemble the best set of pitchers 1995 has to offer—Johnson, Mussina, Brown, Nomo, Leiter—they will never be in this race…umm… right?)
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
Monday, August 15
8/15/05 -- 2004 World Champs vs. 1984 World Champs
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
Jose was watching a Major League Soccer game the other night (note: or flipping by it to be more accurate) and noticed that the New England Revolution were competing against a club know as “Real Salt Lake.” Jose has two reactions. First, he questions the viability of any league that would put a team in Utah (note: and no he is not making an exception for the NBA). Second, giving bland, white bread Salt Lake the prefix “Real” in order to make it seem more Euro is both curious and amusing.
Actually, Jose sort of likes this about MLS. They know that soccer is not a particularly popular spectator sport in the U.S., at least in part because the overwhelming majority of the best players are from other countries and play in Europe. Moreover, the game is perceived as being foreign unlike basketball, football or baseball. So how do they deal with it? They give some of their teams vaguely Euro names like Real Salt Lake and DC United. Yup, that should help marketing in middle America. They love Europe there! Soccer already has the interest of Euros living in the U.S., so if MLS really wanted to expand their market, they should have given the teams hearty, American names, like the Salt Lake McNuggets or Law and Order: DC Soccer Unit.
The game that should really adopt the catchy Euro names is baseball. Also, players should start wearing all black uniforms. Baseball has no popularity or even comprehension in Europe, even though Europeans with their short work hours and copious leisure time are the perfect audience for a sport whose matches routinely take three hours. So Jose has a few idea on Euro names that major league teams should consider adopting.
· From now on the LA Dodgers should be known as Real LA. This would be in contrast to the LA Angels of Anaheim, who would be known as Fake LA, since they do not play in Los Angeles. Alternatively, whatever team has Rheal Cormier at the moment could take the prefix. For instance, it would be the Rheal Philadelphia Phillies.
· One of the Chicago teams should become Chicago United. This reason for giving Chicago the United moniker is that United Airlines is based there, so there could be a good marketing hook. Better yet, they should merge the Cubs and White Sox and then having a team called Chicago United. It’s time to end the North Side South side divide and really focus on ostracizing the West Side.
· There has to be at least one team with some letters attached to its name that no one really understands the meaning of. Something along the lines of AC Milan of FC Barcelona. Jose’s initial thought is that the Twins should become AC Minnesota, since they always play in an air conditioned dome. Alternatively the Devil Rays cold become FC Tampa Bay, with the FC standing for f*cked company.
The point is that if baseball wants to have a real world cup, it needs to broaden its appeal and Jose can think of no better way to do that then with empty gestures and flashy repackaging.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com.
Jose was watching a Major League Soccer game the other night (note: or flipping by it to be more accurate) and noticed that the New England Revolution were competing against a club know as “Real Salt Lake.” Jose has two reactions. First, he questions the viability of any league that would put a team in Utah (note: and no he is not making an exception for the NBA). Second, giving bland, white bread Salt Lake the prefix “Real” in order to make it seem more Euro is both curious and amusing.
Actually, Jose sort of likes this about MLS. They know that soccer is not a particularly popular spectator sport in the U.S., at least in part because the overwhelming majority of the best players are from other countries and play in Europe. Moreover, the game is perceived as being foreign unlike basketball, football or baseball. So how do they deal with it? They give some of their teams vaguely Euro names like Real Salt Lake and DC United. Yup, that should help marketing in middle America. They love Europe there! Soccer already has the interest of Euros living in the U.S., so if MLS really wanted to expand their market, they should have given the teams hearty, American names, like the Salt Lake McNuggets or Law and Order: DC Soccer Unit.
The game that should really adopt the catchy Euro names is baseball. Also, players should start wearing all black uniforms. Baseball has no popularity or even comprehension in Europe, even though Europeans with their short work hours and copious leisure time are the perfect audience for a sport whose matches routinely take three hours. So Jose has a few idea on Euro names that major league teams should consider adopting.
· From now on the LA Dodgers should be known as Real LA. This would be in contrast to the LA Angels of Anaheim, who would be known as Fake LA, since they do not play in Los Angeles. Alternatively, whatever team has Rheal Cormier at the moment could take the prefix. For instance, it would be the Rheal Philadelphia Phillies.
· One of the Chicago teams should become Chicago United. This reason for giving Chicago the United moniker is that United Airlines is based there, so there could be a good marketing hook. Better yet, they should merge the Cubs and White Sox and then having a team called Chicago United. It’s time to end the North Side South side divide and really focus on ostracizing the West Side.
· There has to be at least one team with some letters attached to its name that no one really understands the meaning of. Something along the lines of AC Milan of FC Barcelona. Jose’s initial thought is that the Twins should become AC Minnesota, since they always play in an air conditioned dome. Alternatively the Devil Rays cold become FC Tampa Bay, with the FC standing for f*cked company.
The point is that if baseball wants to have a real world cup, it needs to broaden its appeal and Jose can think of no better way to do that then with empty gestures and flashy repackaging.
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com.
Friday, August 12
8/12/05 -- Laundry Battle
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
The series of five manhole explosions that rocked the North End last night left Jose understanding exactly what it must be like to be the Tampax Bay Devil Rays—he was completely and utterly without power.
For the second time this year, the power went out in Melendezville, but this time Jose wisely chose not to manage a power outage by locking himself out of the house. But in the darkness and the quiet one has time to think, to ponder the questions that the hustle and bustle of the electronic world leaves no time to contemplate. Things like:
· Jose is so glad there is no game tonight, or he would be missing it.
· If Euro Bellhorn gets released and no one is there to see it, does he make a sound? He’s pretty quiet, you know.
· Is Brian Shouse really still in the majors? And if so is he the same guy as Brian Looney?
· When the Czech and Slovak Republics convert from crowns to euros, will Jose have to talk about Derek Lee chasing the triple euro?
· When will the God d*mn power come back on?
For todyas comlpete KEYS visit www.wallballsinlge.com
The series of five manhole explosions that rocked the North End last night left Jose understanding exactly what it must be like to be the Tampax Bay Devil Rays—he was completely and utterly without power.
For the second time this year, the power went out in Melendezville, but this time Jose wisely chose not to manage a power outage by locking himself out of the house. But in the darkness and the quiet one has time to think, to ponder the questions that the hustle and bustle of the electronic world leaves no time to contemplate. Things like:
· Jose is so glad there is no game tonight, or he would be missing it.
· If Euro Bellhorn gets released and no one is there to see it, does he make a sound? He’s pretty quiet, you know.
· Is Brian Shouse really still in the majors? And if so is he the same guy as Brian Looney?
· When the Czech and Slovak Republics convert from crowns to euros, will Jose have to talk about Derek Lee chasing the triple euro?
· When will the God d*mn power come back on?
For todyas comlpete KEYS visit www.wallballsinlge.com
Wednesday, August 10
8/10/05 – Balki vs. Ballistic
It’s time for Jose Melendez’s KEYS TO THE GAME.
1. The arbitrator who yesterday reduced the suspension of Rangers starter Kenny Rogers for thrice beating a cameraman from 20 games to 13 games has been roundly criticized for being far too lenient on the righty and allowing him to miss only two starts. (Note: In his comments MLB Commissioner Bud Selig said “I am not a happy Commissioner.” Is sounded awkward, almost like he couldn’t say “I am not a happy man” because it would be a lie—because he isn’t a man. That’s right. This confirms Jose’s long held suspicion that like Sam Cassell and Eric Williams, Bud Selig is an alien bent on destroying the human race. Fortunately for us the only way he knows how to destroy anything is with labor strife and poor media relations, so while baseball may be screwed, the human race will probably survive.)
Jose thinks that this criticism is ill-advised and frankly uncalled for. Has it occurred to anyone that maybe, just maybe the arbitrator has made Rogers’ punishment more severe? That’s right. Now, instead of sitting around wondering what the trademark implications would be if he started his own eponymous fried chicken business, Rogers has to go out and get his *ss beat by the Boston Red Sox. How, oh how, is that being lenient?
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
1. The arbitrator who yesterday reduced the suspension of Rangers starter Kenny Rogers for thrice beating a cameraman from 20 games to 13 games has been roundly criticized for being far too lenient on the righty and allowing him to miss only two starts. (Note: In his comments MLB Commissioner Bud Selig said “I am not a happy Commissioner.” Is sounded awkward, almost like he couldn’t say “I am not a happy man” because it would be a lie—because he isn’t a man. That’s right. This confirms Jose’s long held suspicion that like Sam Cassell and Eric Williams, Bud Selig is an alien bent on destroying the human race. Fortunately for us the only way he knows how to destroy anything is with labor strife and poor media relations, so while baseball may be screwed, the human race will probably survive.)
Jose thinks that this criticism is ill-advised and frankly uncalled for. Has it occurred to anyone that maybe, just maybe the arbitrator has made Rogers’ punishment more severe? That’s right. Now, instead of sitting around wondering what the trademark implications would be if he started his own eponymous fried chicken business, Rogers has to go out and get his *ss beat by the Boston Red Sox. How, oh how, is that being lenient?
For today's complete KEYS visit www.wallballsingle.com
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