Schilling worthy of Hall call

Let the Curt Schilling Hall of Fame debate begin.
That's what we do when players like Schilling look like they've hit the end of the road, and his chances of rebounding from the right shoulder surgery that he will undergo on Monday are very slim at best. Schilling is a 42-year-old man with 20 years in the big leagues staring back at him when he peeks in the rearview mirror, a million miles on his arm in terms of baseball travel. Coming back at his age might be a bridge too far even for someone with Schilling's single-minded focus and stubbornness.
And so we talk about what might be in Schilling's future -- specifically, whether or not a place in Cooperstown awaits him sometime soon. The different criteria that Hall of Fame voters use makes Schilling's case an interesting one. Are statistics alone enough to keep him out? Does he pass the smell test, the one that screams out "Hall of Famer" at the very mention of his name? Will his sometimes prickly relationship with some of the voters (I'm looking right at you Shank Shaughnessy) hurt him, or will he earn points from some for his candor?
Every budding Bill James out there will say that Schilling's numbers are what they are, but that's a cop-out. Statistics might be just numbers on a sheet of paper, but they can be manipulated to advance or deconstruct a particular argument based on your position. Those not likely to vote for Schilling will point to his average totals spread over his entire career -- just a 14-9 record per season (hardly worthy of immortality at first glance), 216 career wins (less than several pitchers who haven't been elected, like Bert Blyleven or Jack Morris), only six All-Star games and a 3.46 lifetime ERA.
Schilling's supporters (me included) will point out that he has three 20-win seasons to his credit and nine seasons in which he won at least 14 games in an era where pitchers make only 30-35 starts per season and seldom work into the final third of the game, relying on sometimes shaky bullpens (his closers have included Mitch Williams, Heathcliff Slocumb and Byung-Hyun Kim) to finish things up. His three 300-strikeout seasons could end up being the last of their kind and his 20 career shutouts suggest that his dominance wasn't limited to one particular night or one hot month of starts.
Schilling's strongest case for the Hall can be found in his postseason numbers, a glittering resume that includes an 11-2 record, four complete games and a 2.23 ERA in 19 starts. He shared the 2001 World Series MVP with Randy Johnson in Arizona, has three rings to his credit and is arguably the best big game pitcher of this generation.
Naysayers will ask why Schilling didn't reach that standard during the regular season. I ask them to look a little deeper. Schilling pitched on some Philadelphia Phillies' teams in the 1990s that ranged from mediocre to downright horrible and still posted excellent numbers that could have been even better. He was 14-11 with a 2.35 ERA on a last-place team that won 70 games in 1992 -- certainly a case in which you could argue he would have won more games with even an average group of teammates. Schilling's years in Philadelphia under Terry Francona were his most productive, and the Phillies still stunk. Schilling celebrated turning 30 in 1997 by going 17-11 with a 2.97 ERA, not bad when you consider his sorry team went a dreadful 68-94. His efforts in 1998 were wasted again, a 15-14 record built on the strength of 15 complete games, 300 strikeouts and a 3.25 ERA on a team that went a gutless 75-87. Schilling's 1999 season was another exercise in futility, a 15-6 year and 3.54 ERA for another loser (77-85).
Schilling's 20-win seasons were some of the most dominant that modern baseball has seen. He went 22-6 on Arizona's 2001 World Series winners, striking out 293 and putting up a 2.98 ERA. Schilling's 2002 season was his best ever, a 23-7 record supported by 316 strikeouts against just 33 walks in 36 starts for a team that went 98-64 and won the National League West. A power pitcher is not supposed to have that sort of precise control, but Schilling continued his dominance when he moved to the Boston Red Sox in 2004. Most American League pitchers take refuge in the National League late in their careers to get away from the deeper line-ups (think Pedro Martinez), but Schilling went 21-6 with a 3.26 ERA in his first year in Boston. His 203 strikeouts and just 35 walks helped the Red Sox reverse the curse and win their first title in 86 years.
How much better would Schilling's win total be if he had pitched for the Atlanta Braves? How about the New York Yankees? Greg Maddux, Tom Glavine, John Smoltz, Mike Mussina and Andy Pettitte all had the luxury of pitching for winners for most of their careers, and their win totals are inflated because of how good their teams were. All five are great pitchers, and all but Pettitte and Mussina are certainly Hall of Fame bound (Pettitte's eligibility will be clouded by the HGH allegations made in the Mitchell Report, high ERA and low strikeout numbers). Bump up some of Schilling's win totals in Philadelphia, and he might be looking at five or six 20-win seasons and a couple more All-Star selections. It would be hard to think that Schilling, with 250 career wins, nine All-Star games and six 20-win seasons to his credit, would be denied entrance to Cooperstown when you add in his stellar postseason performance.
What can be agreed upon is that Schilling is one of the most complex characters to hit a clubhouse in the last 50 years. His honesty was considered refreshing by some, infuriating by others. Some took his public stands and tendency to speak his mind as grandstanding -- others embraced him for being one of few athletes in recent times who used his public forum to make meaningful statements about relevant issues. The Red Sox clubhouse will certainly be a much quieter place without him, and his election to Cooperstown could provide one of the best Hall of Fame speeches that we will have the pleasure of seeing. My vote would certainly be cast to make that vision a reality.