As long as he's continuing to post his ass off, I figured I might as well highlight some of the good parts, especially since it's not like there's any Sox games on TV lately or anything (NESN...)
Today, if you haven't seen it already, I must direct you to Schilling's post on the passing of Phillies pitching coach John Vukovich. I have often wondered just how much coaching benefits a guy once he gets to the major-league level, but I guess if they didn't help, they wouldn't have them.
This was the passage in Schilling's essay (and holy shit, Curt, could you stop being both a major league pitcher AND a more prolific blogger than me? Could you cut me some slack, here?) that stood out to me:
Marquis Grissom flat-out owned me. I couldn’t get him out no matter what I threw or where I threw it. Vuk would tell me day after day, “Fastball in Schill. He can’t hit it.” I tried, but nothing seemed to work. One day in Montreal I throw a fastball in on his hands, explode his bat, and he grounds out. I peek at the bench and Vuk stands up, bows, and doffs his cap.
We’re in Three Rivers Stadium playing the Pirates. Jason Kendall has had some success off me, and Vuk keeps harping, “He can’t hit a curveball, Schill.” We’ve argued about this at least 50 times. Seventh inning, Kendall at the plate, first pitch curveball, home run. I look over at the bench, and Vuk is shaking his head. I am so mad I can’t see straight, blaming Vuk for throwing a bad pitch. . . .
The inning ends. I walk into the dugout, pass Vuk without looking, and hear, “I said curveball. At no time did I say the word HANGING curveball.”
I wonder if Schilling realizes just how amazing it is for a fan with no exposure to the inner workings of mound conferences and dugout chatter to read something like that.
P.S. Luckily, even though we're being shown up at our own game by a guy who can already throw a split fastball for a swinging third strike in the AL East, Surviving Grady has a post today that is truly big-league. As always, it's a banner day for me when Red writes something about Mike Timlin. Thank God us bloggers weren't totally caught looking. So to speak.