“To declare to be a saint and entitled to be fully honored as such.”
“To be added to the literary canon.”
Pedro has a commercial that’s been running incessantly in the playoffs—images of him circa 1999 (Sandy Koufax with an extra pitch) describing how some days, you feel victory inside you.
On days like this, he says, something special can happen.
While it’s less resonant now that it competes for time with the 2004 incarnation, the commercial is still chilling.
I took debate in high school—seemed like a good decision at the time. Myself and some kid in the class who had yet to speak all semester were paired in a two on two debate. 45 minutes of speeches go by and it’s apparent that our opponents are not exactly future presidential candidates (ummm……maybe…forget it) and my partner has yet to speak—to the class, to me, to the teacher, to anybody.
The little guy stands up….shuffles his papers and finally begins to speak just as the girls draw in their breath to begin giggling.
“We’re making them look…………like @ssholes.”
Looks out at the room. Looks at the opponents. Looks at his shoes.
And sits down.
Classroom erupts.
Major league hitters are the best on the planet at what they do.
In 1999 Pedro was making them look….like @ssholes.
You knew it was coming. They knew it was coming. And that was what was so special about it. You could feel it coming. The All Star game where he struck out the first 5 of 6—embarrassed is more like it. The ALDS game where he shut the door on the Indians—they were special because you knew….you just KNEW he was going to deliver. And the crowd knew. And you could tell that both teams knew.
Curt Schilling gets it. He sees that commercial and knows what Pedro is talking about in a way that you or I cannot.
And he wants that for the Red Sox.
****
The man has a ring. He becomes a free agent. Instead of getting online to see what city has the cheapest taxes, best clubs, or largest houses, he gets on the message boards to find out if this Red Sox nation thing is for real.
Think A-Rod did that? What about Giambi? Coming in he knows one thing. They want him to put them over the hump. W’s in October. That’s what we want, they tell him. Beat the Yankees.
So he looks the nation in the eye and says, “Hey, I’m your guy.”
October rolls around and the first couple of games make it look like the Sox have misread their hand—they’re not sporting the pocket Aces they thought they had
Overheard after Game 1, “If this was the middle of the season, Schilling would already have had surgery and be out for 3 months”
Your Game 6 Starter: Curtis Schilling.
****
It’s virtually impossible to overstate the potential of this game. Curt Schilling went to the Sox for precisely this reason. To beat the Yankees in Yankee stadium. Not for money. Not for family. He wanted to be a part of what he saw as the biggest game in town—and he didn’t want to deal for the house. This is a guy who called in and went Jon Stewart on a Boston radio host who was starting rumors about divisions in the clubhouse—all to maintain focus on the task at hand—Win the World Series, Beat the Yankees, and not necessarily in that order.
He talked smack. And has backed it up every time that injury hasn’t intervened.
Now he gets the ball in an even more austere situation. The bullpen is shot. Francona has declared that Schilling might have to go 180 pitches, because they’ve got nothing left. His ankle and foot are barely on speaking terms. Throughout history, no team down 3-0 has ever forced a game 7.
****
Pedro has been canonized. He is a part of the record, literary or otherwise. Now Schilling has the potential to add his name to a larger canon.
Where you were when Schilling beat the Yankees (on one leg) has the potential to become the equivalent of where you were when JFK was assassinated (or at least when JR was shot).
Think I’m overstating the case? Good Will Hunting turns on where psychologist Robin Williams was during Carlton Fisk’s game 6 home run in 1975 and I don’t remember anyone complaining about that part of the movie being unbelievable.
Canonization? Sainthood? It’s old ladies quietly clutching beads, whispering to figures known primarily by their appearance on medals and stories handed down throughout history. They whisper and clutch because those stories give them a sense of place. And hope.
Sports figures are the modern incarnation. It’s children sitting around listening to parents tell them not to give up in their little league game—you can come back, it has happened. Events like this are how men orient their memories—“oh yeah, I remember going to that wedding, it was right before Schilling put down the Yankees like a lame horse.”
One event. So much potential for change—some direct, some indirect, but every bit tangible.
And it all rests on the shoulders of one man.
What will happen tonight? I don’t know…as I write this, it is approaching the first pitch.
Once this goes up we’ll all know what’s happened. And that sense of hope we have now will have been replaced with the cold facts of history.
Will he win? Will he lose?
I don’t know. But I hope. And for that I thank Mr. Schilling.
Patron Saint of Lost Causes? Already taken.
But maybe not for long.
