Here is Schilling's goodbye, via his blog, 38pitches.com
With 216 wins, a 3.46 ERA, an absurd 4:1 K/BB ratio and a membership to one of the most exclusive clubs in baseball history, the 3000 strikeout club, Schilling has over the course of 20 seasons built himself a great resume worthy of Hall of Fame induction. But it's Schilling's work in the postseason -- when it truly matters most, where legacies are conceived and indelible images are woven into the fabric of America -- that cements his Hall of Fame candidacy and earns him a plaque in Cooperstown.“Turn out the lights, the party’s over”
I used to wait with bated breath for Don Meredith to start singing that on “Monday Night Football.” Normally, it was sweet music if the Steelers were playing.
If I could get him to sing it again, I would. This party has officially ended. After being blessed to experience 23 years of playing professional baseball in front of the world’s best fans in so many different places, it is with zero regrets that I am making my retirement official.
October Magic
ESPN's Jayson Stark kind of stole my thunder with his column earlier today, but the numbers are worth repeating.
Quite simply, Curt Schilling is the best postseason pitcher of our generation, and he may just be the greatest October hurler the game has ever seen.
His 11-2 postseason record gives him the highest postseason winning percentage (.846) for any pitcher with a minimum of ten starts. And his 2.23 ERA, procured over the span of 133 postseason innings, ranks second all-time to Christy Mathewson's 0.97 ERA (min. 100 innings pitched).
However, two extenuating factors make Schilling's postseason ERA even more impressive than Matthewson's: 1) Mathewson did his work during the dead-ball era. 2) Schilling's 2.23 ERA includes his start against the Yankees in Game 1 of the 2004 ALCS, a game in which a hobbled Schilling, pitching on one leg, allowed six earned runs in three innings of work. If you throw out that start, the big right-hander's ERA shrinks to 1.86.
And what about Schilling's 11-2 mark in the postseason? It would actually look even more impressive if his teams gave him a few more runs to work with or if Mitch Williams and Byung-Huyn Kim had their respective heads screwed on tightly.
During Game 1 of the '93 NLCS, which pitted Schilling's Philadelphia Phillies against the Atlanta Braves, Schilling exited the game with a 3-2 lead after allowing just 2 earned runs in 8 innings and striking out 10 batters. But in the 9th, hothead Mitch Williams came in and blew the save, giving Schilling a no decision in a game the Phils would win in the 10th inning.
In Game 5 of that same series, Schilling again tossed 8 spectacular innings, allowing just 1 earned run and fanning 9 batters before giving way to Mitch Williams, who blew yet another save en route to a 4-3 Phillies victory in 10 innings. For the second time that series, Schilling pitched brilliantly but received a no decision.
During Game 4 of the 2001 World Series, when Schilling's Arizona Diamondbacks squared off against the Yankees, Schilling tossed 7 innings of one run ball (9 strikeouts) and handed a two run lead to Dbacks closer Byung-Hyun Kim. Despite striking out the side in the bottom of the 8th, Kim blew the save in the 9th when Tino Martinez drilled a two-run shot over the right center-field wall. Again, Schilling was left with nothing to show for after pitching superbly and shutting down the 3-time defending champions.
In game 7 of that World Series, which saw Schilling matched up against Roger Clemens, the husky right-hander allowed just two runs in 7.1 innings, but left in the 8th with his team trailing 2-1 after Alfonso Soriano golfed an ankle-high splitter into the left-field bleachers. The Dbacks would mount a rally against Mariano Rivera in the bottom of the 9th to win the series, and Schilling, along with teammate Randy Johnson, would be named Co-World Series MVP.
And finally, in Game 2 of the 2002 NLDS against the St. Louis Cardinals, Schilling tossed a brilliant 7 innings, allowing just 1 run and striking out 7 batters. But a slew of Cardinals pitchers held the Dbacks offense at bay, and the Red Birds would go on to win the game (and the series) by a score of 2-1.
Had a few favorable but otherwise minor events happened during these five game -- five games in which Schilling could have easily won if not for ill-fated closers or feeble offensive performances by his own team -- Schilling's career postseason record would be 16-2.
Unbelievable.
The Sox
Everyone around here knows the story. The Sox broker a deal for Schilling in the winter of 2003. The team has but a few days to convince Schilling to waive his no-trade clause and come to Boston. The deal goes down to the final hours. Neither sides thinks it's going to get done...until finally, thanks to the inexorable dedication and exhaustive preparation by the Sox front office, Schilling signs the dotted line and agrees to pitch for the good guys.
Five years later (who else feels old by reading that?) Schilling leaves baseball after delivering on his promise of a World Series championship, and as an added bonus he figured what the hell and gave us two.
Obviously, I and every non-pink-hat-wearing (got any Remdawg!?) Sox fan under the sun truly appreciate what #38 did. Which makes all the gushing and romanticism being throw toward Schilling today both expected and deserved. But I have to admit, at first blush, I didn't really have any connection toward the guy. After all, he wasn't there like Pedro or my distant grandfather Jimy Williams was during my adolescent years, when at 7:05 PM I'd be hunkered down in my room watching my beloved team instead of going swimming or playing wiffleball or socializing with my friends -- all of which came much to the chagrin of my mother.
So when I heard of Schilling's retirement, I didn't really become reflective or emotional as I did when my distant grandfather Jimy, sporting his trademark flat-brimmed hat, inexplicably quizzed me on late 90's Red Sox baseball during a prolonged conversation in Spring Training 2008. But after thinking about it for a few minutes, I realized I had witnessed first-hand some of Schill's biggest moments in a Sox uniform.
I was there in September 2004, as a college student in my first few days away from home, when Schilling easily handled the Devil Rays and earned his 20th victory of that monumental season. A few days before the game I ambled down to Fenway with a couple of new-found friends and ended up buying a single ticket in the loge box for $70. No one else wanted to spend that much money to see the Devil Rays play, so I went to the game alone -- the guy next to me must have said, "You must really like this team" about a half dozen times during the game -- and came pretty damn close to a foul ball.
Days later, this time against the Orioles, I was there again to witness arguably Schilling's most dominating performance in a Sox uniform, an 8 inning 14-strikeout gem against the Baltimore Orioles. My friend Viel gave me an extra ticket, and along with his dad and a family friend, we took in Schilling's masterpiece from next to the Sox dugout and received the added bonus of witnessing our first walk-off win. Second-baseman (and eventual postseason hero) Mark Bellhorn singled home the winning runs to give the sox the 3-2 win.
The next season, in July 2005, I was there when Schilling made his triumphant return from an ankle injury and debuted as the Red Sox' new Closer. Fittingly, his first appearance came against the Yankees, but Schill gave up a 2-run BOMB to A-Rod (I think the ball is settling in over the mid-West at this point) and the Sox lost 8-6. After the game, as my friend Dunbar and I made our way back to his car, a guy stopped me on the street and somewhat sarcastically asked, "Who won the game?"
'Are you fucking kidding me?' I responded. Turns out the guy was a Sox fan and I misinterpreted his tone of voice.
About a year later, in May 2006, five of my friends and I were there when Schilling notched his 200th career victory. After the game, with the packed house remaining in their seats, Schilling emerged from the Sox dugout, tipped his cap and waived to the crowd, which showered him with cheers and congratulations.
And in 2007, Schilling's last year as an active major leaguer, I was there for Game 6 of the ALCS when he guided the Sox to an easy 12-2 victory to force a Game 7. By that point Schilling was already in the autumn of his career, his fastball rarely touching 90 MPH but his location as precise as ever. Thanks to my old man I was in Standing Room Only that night -- he was sitting cozily on the third-base line -- freezing my ass of in the cold October weather. And thanks to Schilling (with some help from JD Drew), I was there the next night as well (with my old man) to witness the Sox win the pennant.
Even with all of these baseball memories provided by Schilling, two in particular stand out above the rest.
The first of which occurred in October 2004, in Game 5 of that once-in-a-lifetime series against the Yankees. In the middle of the 10th inning, or maybe it was the 11th, my father and I stood up from our seats located on the right-field line as Schilling, limping noticeably on his sutured right ankle, ambled to the Sox bullpen alongside teammates Derek Lowe and Tim Wakefield. At that moment in time -- down three games to one in the series -- the Sox were involved in a protracted and eventually cataclysmic extra-inning affair with the Yankees. But the site of Schilling and company walking out to the pen, amidst beseeching screams from an eternally hopeful but nervous crowd, is an image I remember vividly.
But the moment I remember most fondly, however, occurred in October 2007. On the day of Game 2 of the World Series I was asked by a professor to accompany a friend down to Fenway Park to shoot a video previewing the upcoming game. While setting up our equipment I struck up a conversation with four guys from out of town who were at the park covering the game for a Caribbean news channel. I noticed their media passes, and to pass the time I decided to strike up a conversation.
Me: "You guys going to the game tonight?"
Them: "Yeah."
Me: (playing dumb) "Cool. Do you have passes or tickets?"
One of the guys: "We have both."
Jokingly, I asked the guy if he could spare an extra ticket. And after looking at his friends and nodding, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out a ticket, then stood up and handed it to me. After wetting my pants, he pulled out another ticket for my friend Elyce.
"Have a good time," he said.
For my first World Series game I arrived at the park roughly two hours earlier than usual, but could you really blame me? At about 8:30 the game started and Colorado jumped ahead to a quick 1-0 lead. But Schilling, as he's prone to do in the postseason, settled in and held Colorado scoreless over the next four and a third innings before Manager Terry Francona emerged from the dugout and signaled to the bullpen.
And that's when it happened.
During the latter half of the '07 season I was resigned to it being Schilling's last in a Red Sox uniform. At age 40, his best days clearly were behind him and the Sox had a slew of young pitchers waiting in his stead. So when I arrived at Fenway on that brisk October night, I knew there was a good chance that it would be the last time I'd see Schilling pitch.
As Francona made his way to the mound, I rose from my seat in mid-conversation and stared out to the mound.
"Stand up," I said to my friend, "this is it."
A few seconds later, Schilling walked off the mound, his head down, focused intently on the well-manicured grass. As he neared the first-base foul line I kept thinking to myself, "Take off your hat. Acknowledge this." Sure enough, Schilling, keenly aware of the moment, looked up into the stands, removed his hat and held it high in the air as he soaked in the deafening cheers from 36,370 appreciative (and mindful) fans.
When I think back to that moment, it reminds of me of an unspeakably poignant essay written by avid Sox fan Jonathan Schwartz about the one-game playoff between the Sox and Yankees in October 1978, "The Bucky Dent Game" as it came to be known.
During the bottom of the 9th, with the tying run stationed 90-feet away at third-base, an aged but still heroic Carl Yaztrzemski approaching the plate, Schwartz writes:
"I screamed at Yaz from the left-field roof, 'Bunt, goddamn it!' I even waved my arms, thinking that I might catch his eye. He'd call time out and wander out to left-field. 'What did you say?' he'd shout up at me. 'Bunt!' I'd yell back. 'Interesting,' he'd say.
Then Yaz would lay down a beauty.
Burleson, who had taken third after Rice's fly ball, would easily score the tying run.
Carl Yaztrzemski, nearly my age.
I gazed down at him through tears.
I thought: Freeze this minute. Freeze it right here. How unspeakably beautiful it is. Everyone, reach out and touch it."
I was at that game in May of '06, too. My Dad and I drove up four hours from Jersey, saw the game, went right back home. And the whole closer return? I punched out the passenger-side mirror on my car when I heard that cocksucker John Sterling go into his high--far--gone call. The thing's never really fit right again.
ReplyDeleteGod bless this man. He was never boring, always honest, and did everything he ever set out to do here. Four years, two World Series, and probably the gutsiest performance in modern sporting history.
Not bad for one Thanksgiving dinner.
Johnny, that's the best thing you've written.
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