From today's NY Times:
Curt Schilling Has Quickly Endeared Himself to Red Sox Fans
By JACK CURRY
Curt Schilling wheeled his black sport utility vehicle out of the cramped players parking lot at Fenway Park, and several dozen fans perched behind barricades screamed to him. Schilling's name morphed from two syllables into one jumbled screech, something that sounded like Schhiiiinnnggg.
Schilling powered the Boston Red Sox past the San Diego Padres Thursday night, providing more evidence that he is now their ace and causing the fans to pulsate. With police approval, Schilling went the wrong way on Yawkey Way, motored ahead, and made a right onto Boylston Street.
It was obvious Schilling was not going to stop and sign autographs this time, but three young men still chased his truck up Yawkey and along Boylston. They had paper in their hands, but beyond the desire for a signature, they had hope. Hope that Schilling could help rescue the Red Sox from what could end up becoming another desperate season.
"There's a history of misery here that they want to get rid of so bad," Schilling said. "They want to win. They want to win a world championship. You can feel it. You can feel it when you take the ball and walk on the field. I think it's a huge plus. For me it is, anyway."
The marriage between Schilling and the Red Sox and, really, Schilling and all of Boston, is priceless. Schilling loves attention, craves the spotlight and has often performed better when scrutiny is blanketing him like a 6-foot tattoo. And here, of course, the microscope is always on the Red Sox, searching for the latest distress signal in a past fraught with them.
The script of Mr. Schilling goes to Boston has unfolded neatly. Passionate player lobbies to be traded to passionate city. Passionate player embraces the intense rivalry between his team and the Yankees. Passionate player ingratiates himself to fans by frequenting their online chat rooms. Passionate player feels good about what he has done and where he is, feels he belongs.
"It's almost like a family atmosphere here," said Schilling, who was drafted by the Red Sox in 1986, but never pitched for them before being traded two years later. "You're part of this group. At dinner, they're talking about you. At work, they're talking about you. You're a big part of their lives. These people have got Red Sox on the brain 24-7."
Make that 365-52-24-7, which means fans will talk about Schilling's ankle over coffee this morning, between meetings this afternoon and before he starts against the Colorado Rockies tonight. Nomar Garciaparra missed 57 games with an Achilles' tendon problem, and Manager Terry Francona said it created angst for "half of New England." Now Schilling's ankle is the newest concern for half of New England.
The 37-year-old Schilling has been pitching with a bruised ankle joint, which he said affects him when he pushes off the rubber to throw fastballs. That means it has an impact on him most of the time he is on the mound.
The injury became especially worrisome to the Red Sox when they learned that it worsened between Schilling's first and second magnetic resonance imaging tests. Schilling, who has been receiving injections of a painkiller before starts, will have another M.R.I. tomorrow.
Dr. Bill Morgan, the medical director for the Red Sox, told reporters on Saturday that if the ankle got worse, the team would have to "shut it down and rest it." Morgan estimated that Schilling would miss two to four weeks in that case, an unappealing thought for the Red Sox because he has been their premier pitcher. He has an 8-3 record, a 3.03 earned run average and 81 strikeouts in 92 innings. By comparison, Pedro Mart?nez is 7-3 with a 3.77 E.R.A.
"We've had to suck it up with the ankle and we'll continue to have to," said Schilling, before Morgan's ominous update. "The doc has been able to take care of it."
But Morgan does not want Schilling to continue to rely on a painkiller for the fear that it could disguise a weakening condition. If Schilling is placed on the disabled list, it would obviously annoy a ferocious competitor who has instantly snatched a spot in the adulation pantheon normally reserved for Garciaparra, Mart?nez and Manny Ramirez.
"He has a genuine passion for the game," Dave Wallace, the team's pitching coach, said. "Everyone recognizes that and appreciates it."
Catcher Jason Varitek added: "He's been the guy we expected him to be. A consistent guy to go with Petey."
Schilling is a ubiquitous presence. That is Schilling by the batting cage debating with fellow pitcher Derek Lowe. That is Schilling inviting teammates to join Ramirez and Mart?nez for a Dominican feast in the clubhouse, or showing up at a Boston Bruins game wearing a YH (Yankee-Hater) cap. That is Schilling in a humorous commercial for Dunkin' Donuts in which he diligently listens to a tape to hone his Boston accent. "Wicked hahd," Schilling intones, sounding as if he were born in Quincy.
Basically, Schilling is and believes he is still the biggest, smartest kid in the schoolyard after being traded from the Arizona Diamondbacks and signing a two-year, $25.5 million extension with Boston. He is so talented that people cannot help noticing him. But, just in case, Schilling, who is 171-120 in his career, will frequently do or say something extra to be noticed. He is a superb pitcher, a persistent talker and a politician of sorts.
"I've never been uncomfortable expressing my opinion to the media," Schilling said. "Whether my opinions are right or wrong is not really the point to me. You ask a question and I'll answer it and that's what makes you you. I've never had a problem with being criticized for my opinion."
Still, Schilling conceded that he had been bothered by criticism about his intentions. Randy Johnson has told baseball associates that he was not upset after Schilling, his pitching partner in a tandem that guided the Diamondbacks to the 2001 World Series title, left. The Philadelphia Phillies, who were seeking a starting pitcher, never seriously pursued Schilling, the pitcher who had been with them for nine stellar seasons when he was made available by the Diamondbacks last year.
"There's been things that have been said about me in the past that are hurtful and surprising," said Schilling, who added that he'd been called "a lot of things that bother me because nothing could be farther from the truth."
Schilling immerses himself in the community where he plays, which is why he has meshed with fanatical Boston. He promised that he would donate $500,000 to the Jimmy Fund charity after he arrived. Schilling and his wife, Shonda, have also helped raise more than $4 million to fight amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or Lou Gehrig's disease, in the last dozen years. They named their first child Gehrig. But Shonda Schilling said even her husband's charity work had sometimes been construed as an attempt at self-promotion.
"Who cares what anyone else has to say as long as he's producing on the field?" she said of the critics. "It took a long time to be able to say that. This is all for being a bigmouth, for having an opinion, for sticking by the opinion and for trying for the good."
That desire for the good included calling the police last month as he was returning to his home because he noticed an erratic driver. The police responded and arrested the driver. It was the man's fourth arrest for drunken driving.
"Two weeks ago, he called in a drunk driver and became a hero," Shonda said. "He seems to fall into good things."
Schilling acknowledged that he was obsessive compulsive, especially on the day he pitches. He wakes up in his suburban house, the home of the former New England quarterback Drew Bledsoe, at the same time, eats the same meal and wears the same clothes. The same routine, every five days, all season.
Before he leaves for the ballpark, Schilling exchanges secret handshakes with each of his four children and reads a poem that Shonda has written. Shonda Schilling called them "ridiculous superstitions," but added, "After 15 years and so many thousand strikeouts, I'm not going to buck the system."
She also said that her husband "was carrying a computer and people called him a nerd" long before laptops were commonplace. Now Schilling programs computers for teammates. He keeps thousands of pitches on file in a digital video library on his laptop and studies them to the point of being overprepared. He explained his growing relationship with the Red Sox fans simplistically.
"I expect to win," he said. "And they expect me to win."
The computer geek in Schilling gave those fans a surprise treat while he was negotiating with the Red Sox in November. Schilling logged on to the Sons of Sam Horn, a Web site for devoted Red Sox fans (Horn was a Red Sox prospect who had a modest stint in Boston from 1987 to 1989) and updated them on the discussions, unheard-of for a player.
Curt Schilling Has Quickly Endeared Himself to Red Sox Fans
By JACK CURRY
Curt Schilling wheeled his black sport utility vehicle out of the cramped players parking lot at Fenway Park, and several dozen fans perched behind barricades screamed to him. Schilling's name morphed from two syllables into one jumbled screech, something that sounded like Schhiiiinnnggg.
Schilling powered the Boston Red Sox past the San Diego Padres Thursday night, providing more evidence that he is now their ace and causing the fans to pulsate. With police approval, Schilling went the wrong way on Yawkey Way, motored ahead, and made a right onto Boylston Street.
It was obvious Schilling was not going to stop and sign autographs this time, but three young men still chased his truck up Yawkey and along Boylston. They had paper in their hands, but beyond the desire for a signature, they had hope. Hope that Schilling could help rescue the Red Sox from what could end up becoming another desperate season.
"There's a history of misery here that they want to get rid of so bad," Schilling said. "They want to win. They want to win a world championship. You can feel it. You can feel it when you take the ball and walk on the field. I think it's a huge plus. For me it is, anyway."
The marriage between Schilling and the Red Sox and, really, Schilling and all of Boston, is priceless. Schilling loves attention, craves the spotlight and has often performed better when scrutiny is blanketing him like a 6-foot tattoo. And here, of course, the microscope is always on the Red Sox, searching for the latest distress signal in a past fraught with them.
The script of Mr. Schilling goes to Boston has unfolded neatly. Passionate player lobbies to be traded to passionate city. Passionate player embraces the intense rivalry between his team and the Yankees. Passionate player ingratiates himself to fans by frequenting their online chat rooms. Passionate player feels good about what he has done and where he is, feels he belongs.
"It's almost like a family atmosphere here," said Schilling, who was drafted by the Red Sox in 1986, but never pitched for them before being traded two years later. "You're part of this group. At dinner, they're talking about you. At work, they're talking about you. You're a big part of their lives. These people have got Red Sox on the brain 24-7."
Make that 365-52-24-7, which means fans will talk about Schilling's ankle over coffee this morning, between meetings this afternoon and before he starts against the Colorado Rockies tonight. Nomar Garciaparra missed 57 games with an Achilles' tendon problem, and Manager Terry Francona said it created angst for "half of New England." Now Schilling's ankle is the newest concern for half of New England.
The 37-year-old Schilling has been pitching with a bruised ankle joint, which he said affects him when he pushes off the rubber to throw fastballs. That means it has an impact on him most of the time he is on the mound.
The injury became especially worrisome to the Red Sox when they learned that it worsened between Schilling's first and second magnetic resonance imaging tests. Schilling, who has been receiving injections of a painkiller before starts, will have another M.R.I. tomorrow.
Dr. Bill Morgan, the medical director for the Red Sox, told reporters on Saturday that if the ankle got worse, the team would have to "shut it down and rest it." Morgan estimated that Schilling would miss two to four weeks in that case, an unappealing thought for the Red Sox because he has been their premier pitcher. He has an 8-3 record, a 3.03 earned run average and 81 strikeouts in 92 innings. By comparison, Pedro Mart?nez is 7-3 with a 3.77 E.R.A.
"We've had to suck it up with the ankle and we'll continue to have to," said Schilling, before Morgan's ominous update. "The doc has been able to take care of it."
But Morgan does not want Schilling to continue to rely on a painkiller for the fear that it could disguise a weakening condition. If Schilling is placed on the disabled list, it would obviously annoy a ferocious competitor who has instantly snatched a spot in the adulation pantheon normally reserved for Garciaparra, Mart?nez and Manny Ramirez.
"He has a genuine passion for the game," Dave Wallace, the team's pitching coach, said. "Everyone recognizes that and appreciates it."
Catcher Jason Varitek added: "He's been the guy we expected him to be. A consistent guy to go with Petey."
Schilling is a ubiquitous presence. That is Schilling by the batting cage debating with fellow pitcher Derek Lowe. That is Schilling inviting teammates to join Ramirez and Mart?nez for a Dominican feast in the clubhouse, or showing up at a Boston Bruins game wearing a YH (Yankee-Hater) cap. That is Schilling in a humorous commercial for Dunkin' Donuts in which he diligently listens to a tape to hone his Boston accent. "Wicked hahd," Schilling intones, sounding as if he were born in Quincy.
Basically, Schilling is and believes he is still the biggest, smartest kid in the schoolyard after being traded from the Arizona Diamondbacks and signing a two-year, $25.5 million extension with Boston. He is so talented that people cannot help noticing him. But, just in case, Schilling, who is 171-120 in his career, will frequently do or say something extra to be noticed. He is a superb pitcher, a persistent talker and a politician of sorts.
"I've never been uncomfortable expressing my opinion to the media," Schilling said. "Whether my opinions are right or wrong is not really the point to me. You ask a question and I'll answer it and that's what makes you you. I've never had a problem with being criticized for my opinion."
Still, Schilling conceded that he had been bothered by criticism about his intentions. Randy Johnson has told baseball associates that he was not upset after Schilling, his pitching partner in a tandem that guided the Diamondbacks to the 2001 World Series title, left. The Philadelphia Phillies, who were seeking a starting pitcher, never seriously pursued Schilling, the pitcher who had been with them for nine stellar seasons when he was made available by the Diamondbacks last year.
"There's been things that have been said about me in the past that are hurtful and surprising," said Schilling, who added that he'd been called "a lot of things that bother me because nothing could be farther from the truth."
Schilling immerses himself in the community where he plays, which is why he has meshed with fanatical Boston. He promised that he would donate $500,000 to the Jimmy Fund charity after he arrived. Schilling and his wife, Shonda, have also helped raise more than $4 million to fight amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or Lou Gehrig's disease, in the last dozen years. They named their first child Gehrig. But Shonda Schilling said even her husband's charity work had sometimes been construed as an attempt at self-promotion.
"Who cares what anyone else has to say as long as he's producing on the field?" she said of the critics. "It took a long time to be able to say that. This is all for being a bigmouth, for having an opinion, for sticking by the opinion and for trying for the good."
That desire for the good included calling the police last month as he was returning to his home because he noticed an erratic driver. The police responded and arrested the driver. It was the man's fourth arrest for drunken driving.
"Two weeks ago, he called in a drunk driver and became a hero," Shonda said. "He seems to fall into good things."
Schilling acknowledged that he was obsessive compulsive, especially on the day he pitches. He wakes up in his suburban house, the home of the former New England quarterback Drew Bledsoe, at the same time, eats the same meal and wears the same clothes. The same routine, every five days, all season.
Before he leaves for the ballpark, Schilling exchanges secret handshakes with each of his four children and reads a poem that Shonda has written. Shonda Schilling called them "ridiculous superstitions," but added, "After 15 years and so many thousand strikeouts, I'm not going to buck the system."
She also said that her husband "was carrying a computer and people called him a nerd" long before laptops were commonplace. Now Schilling programs computers for teammates. He keeps thousands of pitches on file in a digital video library on his laptop and studies them to the point of being overprepared. He explained his growing relationship with the Red Sox fans simplistically.
"I expect to win," he said. "And they expect me to win."
The computer geek in Schilling gave those fans a surprise treat while he was negotiating with the Red Sox in November. Schilling logged on to the Sons of Sam Horn, a Web site for devoted Red Sox fans (Horn was a Red Sox prospect who had a modest stint in Boston from 1987 to 1989) and updated them on the discussions, unheard-of for a player.