Idiots Write About Sports

Couple weeks back, I wrote in the comments thread here about how I was not that big a fan of Curt Schilling. If memory serves, I wrote something along the lines of:

Curt Schilling and Kevin Millar rub me the wrong way (that’s a post for later today, I think).

And I never got around to writing that post. Largely because of laziness. But a little bit because I had been going a little heavy on the Boston-hate at the time, and lord knows, I don’t want someone starting a Hack-O-Meter of my very own to chronicle my repetitive schtick. (“Hey, Myrtle — the fat kid’s working out his issues about the Red Sox again! Fetch me the abacus!”) So I tabled the discussion of why I don’t much care for Schilling and Millar, no doubt to the great disappointment of a breathless nation.

Summarizing briefly: Curt Schilling rubs me the wrong way because in spite of his mastery of his craft and his work on behalf of numerous charities, I find him to be an especially shameless self-promoter who will never decline an opportunity to muse about his greatness. What was it that Catfish Hunter said about Reggie Jackson? That Reggie’d give you the shirt off his back but call a press conference to announce it? That pretty much describes Schilling, wouldn’t you say? That Schilling also gets a free-pass from the media for his more eye-rolling antics because of he’s always available for a quote also rankles, just in case you were wondering.

As for Millar, the disdain is a little more difficult to explain. The ever-changing hairstyles, the funny beards, the over-used slogans like Cowboy Up and whatnot… it all seems a little bit forced, you know? Like the folks back at high school who would show up in class every Monday with their hair dyed a new color and a different body part pierced just so that they could be the center of attention. I have a feeling that if it meant just a little more camera time, Millar would show up at spring training next February with an orange fright wig and big floppy clown shoes. That I will probably be proven right does not make me feel any better.

So why bring this all up now? After all, if the World Series was good for one thing, it was for discovering that a small-yet-vocal minority of human beings would like nothing better than for Schilling to pipe down just a scosh. At least, the next time Schilling goes into one of his “I have no one left to envy… I envy you having me to envy” spiels, I can’t at least take comfort in the fact that other people are jamming cotton in their ears to drown out the gassbaggery.

Or at least I could until I read Jayson Stark’s column chronicling the depths of Schilling’s ankle injury.

The article is centered around two pictures of Schilling’s injured ankle. Or, as Stark intones: “ESPN.com was able to obtain two photos of the fabled ankle in question, taken on the day of Schilling’s Game 2 World Series start…” In fact, the credit for each photo reads “Obtained by Jayson Stark,” which might mean that he took them or it might not. In either event, these are sort of photos you can’t snap surreptitiously — they’re up close and personal. Meaning that Schilling essentially invited Stark (or someone who turned around and gave the photos to Stark) to photograph his ankle just so that someone would document how horribly injured he was and, therefore, how heroic his efforts to overcome said injury. It would be like reading in the Bible about the crucifixion and coming across a verse where Jesus turns to John from the cross and says, “You’re getting all this down, right?” (Not to compare Schilling to Jesus, though perhaps the pitcher wouldn’t mind.)

Looks like Stark is more than happy to do that for Schilling. “The the more we look at this photo,” Stark gushes, “the more we understand that what Curt Schilling did last month is one of the most amazing sports stories of the 21st century.”

And it may well be, so long as we stipulate that we’re just a couple of years into the 21st century. As I remarked to Jason after Game Six of the ALCS, I have no doubt Schilling pitched in tremendous pain. “And if anyone doubts that,” I said, “I’m sure Curt will be happy to explain how much pain in great detail.” I was kidding… sort of.

On the bright side, though, should Schilling ever suffer an injury to his buttocks, at least Jayson Stark will be perfectly qualified to report on that. After all, Stark should be familiar enough with that region, having just lavished it with tender kisses.

For what it's worth, a guy I work with played high school baseball with Millar. He says Millar wasn't among the best four or five players on the team.

For some reason, I often cite this fact when explaining why I can't stand Millar. I'll have to inquire about his high school hair dye/piercing preferences.

See, that should make me like him more. "He's a grinder! He takes nothing for granted! He succeeds through pluck and guile!"

And then he comes out sporting the Lincoln beard, and my eyes go from 0-60, rolling to the back of my skull.

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