Curt Schilling is a paradox. He is both articulate and coarse. He is both cerebral and combative. Schilling is average and exceptional. He is technological and traditional. He is savvy and snide. As a competitor, Schilling was an obvious acquisition. As a person, he was an intricate puzzle.
On Monday,
Schilling retired. “This party has officially ended,” said Schilling. “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. To say I’ve been blessed would be like calling Refrigerator Perry “a bit overweight.” The things I was allowed to experience, the people I was able to call friends, teammates, mentors, coaches and opponents, the travel, all of it, are far more than anything I ever thought possible in my lifetime.”
During his career, Schilling amassed a 216-146 record. He posted a 3.46 earned run average. He registered nine fifteen-plus win seasons. He showcased five sub-3.00 earned run average seasons. In the postseason, Schilling was 11-2.
“Four World Series, three World Championships,” said Schilling. “That there are men with plaques in Cooperstown who never experienced one — and I was able to be on three teams over seven years that won it all — is another “beyond my wildest dreams” set of memories I’ll take with me.”
“The game always gave me far more than I ever gave it,” he continued. “All of those things, every single one of those memories is enveloped with fan sights and sounds for me. Without the fans, they would still be great memories, but none would be enduring and unforgettable because they infused the energy, rage, passion and “feel” of all of those times. The game was here long before I was, and will be here long after I’m gone. The only thing I hope I did was never put in question my love for the game, or my passion to be counted on when it mattered most. I did everything I could to win every time I was handed the ball.”
Championships are the objective. Adoration is craved. Admiration is desired. However, championships separate icons and idols. Schilling’s highlights are inconsequential. His statistics are marginal. Yet, his championships exceed
Tom Glavine,
Greg Maddux,
Pedro Martinez, and
John Smoltz.
Iconic programs require icons. Icons who epitomize and represent their institution. Duke and Mike Krzyzewski. North Carolina and Dean Smith. UCLA and John Wooden. Billy Gillispie is abrasive, antagonistic, and arrogant.
