Holy fucking shit. I'm linking to Eephus Pitch's fantastic coverage of the absolutely insane blog entry of Proud Warrior of God Curt Schilling because I steadfastly refuse to link to his blog directly. Certain germs don't wipe off easily.
Check out this business:
"People have asked and I have answered, but the mileage the media got from the incident is all of their own making. When I walked into the room for the post game interviews and offered up my first response to the questions about the game I basically said that the night was a revelation for me. That my faith in God that evening showed me things I’d never believed.
As I uttered those words I could see pretty much every person in that room roll their eyes and smirk. That’s not what any of them wanted to hear, truth or not. That was not good copy...
If you haven’t figured it out by now, working in the media is a pretty nice gig. Barring outright plagiarism or committing a crime, you don’t have to be accountable if you don’t want to. You can say what you want when you want and you don’t really have to answer to anyone. You can always tell the bigger culprits by the fact you never see their faces in the clubhouse. Most of them are afraid to show themselves to the subjects they rail on everyday..."
I don't even know where to start. Schilling's enmity to, and paranoia of, the media is inexplicable given how much he needs the press to help him prop up himself and his massive ego. Socko can't stand any negative comments about him in any situation, lest they tarnish his self-created legend. His overreaction to the fake-blood allegations speaks volumes. Most players would have laughed it off, but Schilling acts like Gary Thorne committed blasphemy, and he's using the opportunity to continue his holy war on the free press.
I also love Schilling's meme that reporters need to "show their faces in the clubhouse" after daring to portray players in a less than religious light. Big, tough Curt Schilling wants to fight. He'll show Gary Thorne what's what. Hold me back, Papi, hold me back! I'm gonna kill him! Hold me back! Wait, is that a buffet...
And what part of the night of Game 6 was a revelation for our hero, anyway? Was it the part when he carefully applied red paint to his sock? The part where Joe Torre refused to order his hitters to bunt on the injured pitcher, costing his team the game? God works in mysterious ways.
At any rate, Schilling's crazy rant is helping me get psyched up for this weekend's series. It's too bad he's not pitching, so we can show him who his daddy is again, but the douchefucker gets my blood flowing nonetheless.
