Schilling hadn't logged one inning for the Sox this season, and didn't throw a pitch in spring training, after an off-season shoulder injury kept him out of action. He had been attempting to comeback later this season, and even started throwing a few bullpen sessions the past few weeks, but a few setbacks and excruciating pain in his arm left Schilling with no choice but to opt for surgery.
Schilling publicly disclosed the injury this past winter, and feuded with the team over treatment methods. Schilling wanted to have surgery, which would have effectively ended his season, but the Sox suggest rehabilitation as means of healing. After seeking a 3rd opinion, Schill went with the team's advice.
Schilling, who first broke into the big leagues with Baltimore in 1988, earned his 216th career win last September 25th in a 7-3 Red Sox victory over Oakland that now appears to have been the portly right-hander's final regular season start.
His final numbers -- 216 wins, 3.46 ERA, 3,116 K's, 4.38 K/BB ratio -- are good enough to earn him a place in Cooperstown. His 10-2 post-season record, with a gaudy 2.23 ERA in 133 innings pitched, ranks him among the greatest post-season pitchers in baseball history, and may well be enough to get him into Cooperstown on his first few ballots. In the 2001 World Series, Schilling started 3 games against the Yankees, picking up a victory and two no-decisions, and was named Co-World Series MVP for helping lead the Diamondbacks to the franchise's first -- and only -- championship.
On a more opinionated note, you can say what you want about Curt Schilling. He was a blowhard. He loved the limelight a little too much. He couldn't keep his mouth shut. But there's no denying his talent and the fact he did it with integrity.
There's a certain well-known pitcher with whom Schilling has many similarities. Both Schill and Clemens were rather portly right-handers who relied on the same two pitches (fastball and splitter), the same workout regiment and neither man was afraid to step in front of a camera or take the ball in big games. The biggest difference between them is that Schilling actually performed in big games, never allowing himself to be out-pitched by Jeff Suppan in a must-win game, never using sketchy injury excuses to leave a post-season game and certainly never asking out of a potential World Series clincher.
Oh, and Schilling didn't bother shooting up with Winstrol and HGH. I always thought the aged Schilling -- the guy with the 88 MPH heater who couldn't rely on a big-time fastball to blow hitters away anymore, the guy who had to learn how to become a finesse pitcher to get hitters out-- was the perfect example of what Clemens would have looked like had he chosen not to bastardize the game, throw his wife and best friend under the bus and commit perjury in front of the United States government.
During the autumn of his career, Schilling basically reinvented himself on the mound and began throwing change-ups, curveballs and whatever the hell else he could muster to fool opposing batters and keep them off-balanced at the plate. He had to hit all his spots. When you throw 95, you can afford to pitch in the strike zone. You can make mistakes. But when you're throwing 88 and can't dial it up anymore? You don't have that sort of luxury. Almost every pitch needs to be perfect or else you're going to get hit, hard. Schilling understood that, and more importantly, he wasn't afraid of it. He wasn't scared of getting knocked around as he made adjustments to his repertoire, fine tuning his mechanics and pitch selection to survive in the big leagues. He didn't need to take short-cuts to accomplish his achievements. He didn't need to amplify an already over-inflated sense of self-worth like Clemens did. Sure, he liked the accolades, and he loved being on top, but he didn't need to step over anyone to get there.
No comments:
Post a Comment