A Swan Song for Curt Schilling?

You either love the guy or you hate him. It’s really that simple.

In Philadelphia, he earned the nickname “Red Light”, because he was always looking to talk to the nearest camera. He started his own blog while in Boston, and it became a must-read for the entire city. On the radio, he was “Curt in the Car”, dialing in to defend himself and his teammates on talk radio.

Even fans in Boston didn’t know what to do with him: Half wanted him to shut his mouth, while the others waited for the next pearl of wisdom.

Curt Schilling created a greater dichotomy among baseball fans than any pitcher in recent memory. Not because Schilling is a bad guy, but because he is beyond outspoken. You never knew what he would say or where he would say it. He never publicly called out a teammate, but always got his point across.

Schilling relished the role of being a team leader and the face of a franchise. Everyone, myself included, felt that he crossed the line on several occasions, but he always seemed to embrace the role.

In 2004, one scene still is burned into my memory, and it has nothing to do with the bloody sock. Following the win over St. Louis, Schilling got the entire team into a circle and raised a toast to “the greatest team in Boston Red Sox history.” I don’t care if he knew the cameras were there or not, it gave me chills.

Schilling was a big-game pitcher in every sense of the term. He led two different teams to titles. Twice he put his career on the line for victories. Red Sox fan or not, you will remember the Bloody Sock Game in the ALCS in 2004. He was willing to do whatever it took to win, up to, and including, experimental surgery.

And he didn’t do it just once, but twice. His performance in Yankee Stadium followed by his performance in the World Series is the exact stuff that legends are made of.

Last season, he needed to reinvent himself as a pitcher. He was determined to change his makeup in order to continue success. He had shoulder problems most of the season, but managed to pitch valiantly behind two, younger aces that had virtually made him into the No. 3 starter. At one point during his tenure, he willingly went to the bullpen to close, because that is what the team needed at the time.

He may have been self-aggrandizing, but it was always about the team.

Hearing Schilling’s announcement of the surgery and potential end to his career this morning, I couldn’t help but thing back to those games from 2004 to 2007, games where Schilling put the team on his back and told them that they were not going to lose.

From the way he pitched against New York, to his wins in the postseason, to his near no-hitter against Oakland, Schilling personified preparation and determination.

Yesterday, I wrote how I didn’t feel Kirby Puckett is a Hall-of-Fame-caliber player. The response, generally, was that some players transcend statistics. Curt Schilling’s regular-season statistics are not those of a player that belongs in Cooperstown, and certainly not on the first ballot. 

He likely finishes with 214 wins, 3,116 strikeouts, and an ERA of 3.46. He was 11-2 in the postseason and won three rings. Don Drysdale got in with worse numbers, so why not Schilling?

But he was much more than that. Curt Schilling came to Boston over a Thanksgiving meal with their general manager. He knew why he was being brought here. And he delivered.

He was the mouthpiece, bad and good, for every reporter. Schilling was honest, even if you didn’t like it. That may not get you into Cooperstown without a ticket, but his 2004 title buys him a place in history.

If this is truly the end, I wish Curt nothing but the best. It was a great ride in Boston, and this city and these fans can’t thank him enough for what he did.