In 1975, Tony Conigliaro was the story of spring training

Yaz and Tony C, together again

Each Red Sox spring training a new underdog emerges as a surprise in camp, and all but forces management to keep him on the roster with a string of standout performances.

The hits often stop coming once the regular season starts (see Jackie Bradley Jr., 2013), but for a brief moment or two in the sun these unlikely heroes are a great source of discussion for columnists and sports talk radio callers. 

Forty winters ago, the biggest offseason news in the American League was Hank Aaron's trade to the Milwaukee Brewers after 20 years in the NL with the Braves. Meanwhile, in Winter Haven, Fla., another former home run king showed up at Boston's spring training camp under far different circumstances. 

He had been away from the major leagues for more than three years, but talked his way into a tryout and even offered to pay his own way to Florida. The Red Sox said that wasn't necessary, management would pick up the tab for the 30-year-old hopeful.

Hopeful: 1975

Of course this wasn't just any hopeful. This was Tony C.

Tony Conigliaro, born in Revere and raised a few miles from Fenway Park dreaming of a spot in the Red Sox lineup, had lived that dream and then some. He was signed by his hometown club out of St. Mary's High in Lynn and had an outstanding first year in the minors with Waterloo. 

Portrait of a young slugger.

He first made spring training headlines in 1964, when his slugging prowess against big-league hurlers prompted manager Johnny Pesky to declare him ready for the majors just a few months after his 19th birthday.

Pesky was right. Conig hit 24 home runs as a rookie, 32 to lead the AL in 1965, and slugged his 100th career blast during the magical '67 season -- making him the youngest American Leaguer ever to reach that plateau. His sweet right-handed swing was made for Fenway, and he looked like a 500-homer man for sure.

If that wasn't enough, he also cut rock records and had a face made for Hollywood. Every Boston boy wanted to be Tony C., and every Boston girl wanted to date him.

It's a happy birthday for Tony.

One pitch that hit Conigliaro squarely in the face on Aug. 18, 1967 changed everything. It nearly killed him, severely damaged his left eye, and kept him out of the thrilling AL pennant race and the World Series. Doctors predicted he would never play again. 

He defied the odds, rebounding after more than a year off to hit 20 homers for the Red Sox in 1969 and 36 (along with 116 RBI) in '70 -- even though he later admitted he could only see out of his good eye. 

Star-crossed: Brothers Billy (left) and Tony C.

Management likely suspected his secret, and gambled that Tony couldn't keep it up by trading him to the California Angels after the 1970 season in one of the most unpopular deals in team history. 

They were right, however; things never jelled for Conig out west and he retired midway through '71 with his eyesight getting worse. Tony came home, took up karate, and opened a nightclub with his brother and former Boston outfield partner Billy. Most figured that was the end of the story.

Airbrushed Angel, 1971

Now here was Tony C. again, back alongside his old teammates Carl Yastrzemski and Rico Petrocelli laboring under the Florida sun in those softball-style '75 uniforms. His left eye had checked out OK -- his doctor called the recovery "a miracle" -- and Boston needed more pop in its lineup. 

If Conigliaro could recapture the old magic, general manager Dick O'Connell promised, he had a good chance to make the club as a designated hitter or outfielder.

Dick O'Connell believed in Tony.

And while he didn't exactly crush the ball in spring training, Tony C. did hit well enough early on to force management's hand. As Bostonians were recovering from more than 17 inches of snow, their hearts were warmed when O'Connell signed Conigliaro to a contract with Triple A Pawtucket on March 5, 1975. 

"If he makes good during the spring," the GM told reporters, "he will then be given a contract with us."

A 5-for-8, 5-RBI spree over the final couple games of the exhibition schedule helped Conigliaro's cause, and on April 4 the Red Sox announced he had made the team's 25-man MLB roster. He was in the lineup as the DH against Aaron and the Brewers on Opening Day at Fenway Park, and had a single in his first time up. 

Asked if he could have imagined a year earlier that he and Aaron would be together like this, Tony C. smiled. "The only way would be if he came to my nightclub."

Aaron and Anthony: Opening Day, 1975

Conigliaro was back where he belonged. He hit his first homer a few days later -- his first in an MLB game in nearly four years -- and Yastrzemski told reporters that "There's no question that Tony is going to really help us." All of New England was rooting along with Yaz. This would be the comeback of all comebacks.

In the end, it just didn't happen. Conigliaro struggled, rookie Jim Rice took over as the regular DH, and despite continuing to get huge ovations each time he stepped to the plate at Fenway, Tony C. couldn't get his sweet swing back. In June, with his average at .123, management gave him a choice -- accept a trade, go to the minor leagues, or be released. 

He wanted to play in the majors, but when no other teams were interested, he opted for Pawtucket. After more struggles there including a .220 average and back spasms, he quit for good on August 21 and announced he was taking a job as a TV sports broadcaster with Channel 10 in Providence. 

A new career

Conigliaro looked forward to a long new career, but this wouldn't come to be either. He suffered a massive heart attack and irreversible brain damage in 1982, at age 37, and spent the rest of his life under the care of his family before dying in 1990 -- right around the time he might have been making his Hall of Fame induction speech had life dealt him different cards. 

"If I thought the Red Sox would ever need me, I'd keep playing," Conigliaro said during a press conference at his Nahant bar when he quit in the summer of '75. "But they certainly don't need me."

He was wrong. Boston was in first place at the time, and would wind up winning the AL East and the pennant behind the dynamic rookie duo of Rice and Fred Lynn. 

But Boston always needed Tony C.    

      

       


    

Spring training on the radio: Mookie Betts and MC Hammer

Don't get the connection? Listen in.

There is a casual feel to spring training games on the radio that puts one at ease, as banter about young hopefuls and new faces can quickly dissolve into topics beyond baseball. Nobody cares much about the score, especially once the starters have left the game, so broadcasters do what they can to keep themselves and their audience interested. 

Such it was in the late innings of last night's Red Sox-Yankees game, as Joe Castiglione and Rob Bradford began peppering their WEEI broadcast with sports, music, and pop culture references going back a half century. 

When center fielder Mason Williams came up for the Yankees in the top of the seventh, Castiglione noted that he was not only the son of former Patriots wide receiver Derwin Williams, but also the great nephew of former big leaguer Walt "No Neck" Williams -- whose baseball cards, Joe attested, made clear the reason for his nickname.

OK, we get it

While Williams was busy doubling in two runs to give New York a 5-2 lead, Castiglione the old disc jockey went one step further. He explained that another Mason Williams, apparently no relation, was a musician who had notched a few hits of his own back in the day -- including the instrumental smash "Classical Gas" in 1968. 

Castiglione and Bradford agreed that the grammy-winning masterpiece would be a great walk-up song for this Mason Williams.

The Yanks scored three in the seventh to go ahead 3-2, and when 5-foot-9 Mookie Betts came up in the bottom of the frame, Joe speculated on whether he and on-deck batter Sean Coyle (5-foot-8) might be the shortest 1-2 tandem in the major leagues this season. He might be right, unless someone signs up Freddie Patek.

Sean Coyle -- short but sweet.

Bradford added that he had heard from Jon Tomase of the Boston Herald that Coyle had learned to hit by studying Ted Williams' book, The Science of Hitting -- required reading for all Little Leaguers born in the 1950s and '60s but largely forgotten in the cellphone era.

I've still got my copy.

Ever wonder what happened to your copy of the old poster from Ted's book that showed his favorite spots in the strike zone? Well, one hung for a long time in the Red Sox clubhouse, Bradford told us, and may in fact still be there -- although now a refrigerator blocks it from view.

C'mon, move the fridge.

Brian Johnson came in to pitch for the Sox in the eighth, and Bradford mentioned that the big left-hander is a favorite of Boston media members not only because he works extremely fast on the mound, but also because his mother was a "Doublemint twin" in the iconic TV commercials. This delighted Joe, who surmised that based on the pitcher's age, his mom and aunt must have been in one of the later ads extolling the virtues of Doublemint gum. 

   Double your pleasure -- 1980s style.

By this point low-level minor leaguers were filling the boxscore. Bradford joked that he had not seen this many unrecognizable Yankees in one game since the Richard Pryor movie "Brewster's Millions" (in which Pryor plays a minor-league pitcher who faces the Yanks in an exhibition contest). 

As catcher Jake Cave stepped up for New York, Bradford quipped, "Who do you think is the worst catcher in motion picture history?" For his money, John Candy in "Brewster's Millions" had to be the winner. 

Pryor and Candy: anything is game.

All the movie talk reminded Castiglione that New York manager Joe Girardi told him before the game that he had passed the afternoon watching a video of the 1978 Red Sox-Yankees playoff (also known as the Bucky Dent Game). Bradford asked if he thought Girardi was needling him, but Castiglione said he didn't think so. "I told him we got over that in 2004." 

Walk-up songs got one more mention when Castiglione told Bradford that his friend Jeffrey Lyons the film critic had emailed him to say Joe's walk-up song should be "You Can't Touch This." Castiglione not only knew this was an MC Hammer tune, but also that Hammer had originally started out life as Stanley Burrell -- a young batboy and front-office worker with the Oakland A's of the 1970s. 

MC Hammer and Hammerin Hank

Naturally, both "Can't Touch This" and "Classical Gas" were played as lead-ins after commercial breaks between half-innings. "He can find anything," Castiglione proudly said of Red Sox Radio producer Paddy O'Day. 

O'Day couldn't find the Red Sox a way to make up the deficit, however, and New York hung on for a 5-3 win. Bradford and Castiglione agreed that Mookie Betts (2-for-2 with a great catch) had been the Red Sox star of the night, but Bradford found a more interesting stat to share with listeners: "There are 27 guys on the Yankees wearing #60 or higher."

Too bad that wasn't the case in 1978. 

     

Love and Logic: Leonard Nimoy and the Boston Red Sox

Call to the bullpen: Pedro is gassed.

He gained fame traveling among the stars of Hollywood and the United Federation of Planets, but Leonard Nimoy -- who died Feb. 27 -- was at his roots a Boston boy whose life in many ways paralleled that of his hometown baseball team.

Nimoy fell in love with theater while growing up in the West End neighborhood near the Boston Garden. He found time between productions to help support his family by selling newspapers near Boston Common, where his competitors most likely included two other sons of immigrants -- twin brothers Arthur and Henry D'Angelo -- who later became known as owners of the Red Sox superstore Twins Enterprises.

(If you've never heard of the West End, that's because it no longer exists -- it was torn down in the name of urban renewal in the early 1960s and replaced with high-rise apartments and the Central Artery Expressway.) 

Portrait of a young fan.

Young Leonard began attending games at Fenway Park when Ted Williams was at his peak in the 1940s. He recalled seeing The Kid homer on more than one occasion, and likely had a special spot in his heart for Boston's nine-language-speaking bullpen catcher Moe Berg as a fellow brainy Jewish kid from a humble background. 

By the time Ted left for the Marines in 1952, Nimoy had too -- spurning his parents' wishes of a medical or law career by heading to California in search of stardom. It didn't come quickly, and while driving a cab to make ends meet Nimoy once picked up a fellow Hub native who peppered him with questions about life back home: John F. Kennedy. Since both were baseball fans, it's likely that the Red Sox were one topic of conversation.

Taxicab encounter: Two commanders

Like the Sox, Nimoy struggled during the next 15 years before finally making it big in 1967. While Boston shocked the baseball world that summer with its improbable ninth-to-first "Impossible Dream" team, Nimoy became an out-of-this-world superstar as half-human, half-Vulcan Mr. Spock. He took advantage of his popularity on "Star Trek" by dabbling in a second career as a singer, but just as Boston outfielder Tony Conigliaro discovered with "Little Red Scooter," Nimoy's crooning "The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins" didn't make anybody clamor for him to quit his primary job.

Listen if you dare.

After their glorious revival of '67 the Red Sox slumped a bit the next few years, during which "Star Trek" was canceled, but both the ballclub and Nimoy's career  had a resurgence in the late 1970s. The adventures of Spock, Captain Kirk, and their Enterprise crew hit the big screen at the same time the Red Sox were annually battling the Yankees for American League East supremacy. 

He never found Babe's piano either.

One wishes a coach employing Vulcan logic could have been on hand in 1978 to stop Don Zimmer from banishing Bill Lee from the rotation or sending up Bob Bailey to face Goose Gossage, but Nimoy was too busy furthering the "Star Trek" franchise and narrating the hit TV show "In Search of..." There he looked for Big Foot, Amelia Earhart, and the Loch Ness Monster, but Boston fans would have been happier had he sought out more pitching.

Another revival came in the late 1980s -- three division titles and a pennant for the Red Sox and a blockbuster film directed by Nimoy: "Three Men and a Baby." One of the movie's stars, coincidentally, was Ted Danson, who had previously made a name for himself playing washed-up Boston relief ace Sam "Mayday" Malone on "Cheers." 

It must have been exasperating for a man of Nimoy's intelligence to endure the string of excruciating and seemingly preventable Red Sox setbacks during this period. Spock may have lacked emotions, but the man behind the ears had to feel the pain.

Would a well-timed Vulcan nerve pinch have kept John McNamara from leaving Bill Buckner in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, or Grady Little from taking out Pedro in the '03 ALCS? One can only speculate, but it sure would have been fun to try.

Take that, Grady!

By the time the Red Sox finally broke through in Stardate 2004, "Star Trek" was into its third generation of fans and Nimoy as Spock had become a pop culture icon of the highest order. His reaction to Boston's incredible comeback against the Yankees in the ALCS is not documented, but he was likely not surprised. 

After all, the Red Sox had that season briefly employed a pitcher, Joe Nelson, whose best pitch was known as a "Vulcan Changeup."

Now that's logical.

     

Only one Red Sox playoff game truly matches Super Bowl XLIX

The Sox equivalent? That goes back a ways.

For the past week, Boston sports media pundits from Felger and Mazz to Dan Shaughnessy to Steve Buckley have weighed in about which past Boston sporting events are worthy of comparison to Super Bowl XLIX. 

The way last Sunday night's game unfolded -- with the Patriots trailing Seattle 24-14 in the fourth quarter, rallying to go ahead in the last two minutes, having that lead all but stolen back in the final MINUTE, and then turning the table a final time on the most unlikely of goal-line interceptions -- made it an instant classic. New England's 28-24 victory sealed the legacy of Tom Brady and Bill Belichick, and assured rookie cornerback Malcolm Butler, author of the Pick-Heard-'Round-the-World, that his days working at Popeye's were over for good.

Seattle Coach Pete Carroll was immediately lambasted for not calling a second-down running play for bruising back Marshawn Lynch or mobile QB Russell Wilson, a move which brought logical comparisons in these parts to Red Sox managers Grady Little and John MacNamara. (If you have to ask, you're reading the wrong blog.) I admit conjuring up images of Mac and Grady myself as the euphoria turned to disbelief over why Carroll chose to throw in that situation.

Great, but not the best.

Butler, in contrast, was the game's unlikely hero -- a Dave Henderson or Dave Roberts in shoulder pads. But while Hendu's homer in the 1986 ALCS and Roberts' steal in the 2004 showdown with the Yankees proved pivitol points in thrilling victories, and ranked at or near the top of most of the lists this week, neither sealed a victory or a championship. Both, in fact, came in the fifth game of seven-game series.

Ditto.

To truly match the ramifications of Sunday's game, you have to go much further back in Red Sox history. In fact, the only time the Sox clinched a world championship in the final moments of an all-or-nothing contest was during Fenway Park's first postseason: the 1912 World Series between Boston and the New York Giants.

Like this year's Super Bowl, the Fall Classic of '12 had everything needed to generate fan and media buzz. There were two ace pitchers -- classy veteran Christy Mathewson of the Giants and young fireballer Smoky Joe Wood of the Red Sox -- filling in the Brady and Wilson roles. A legendary boss occupied one dugout (manager John McGraw of the Giants as Belichick) who an eager adversary (player-manager Jack Stahl of the Sox as Carroll) hoped to topple.

Wood and Mathewson: Calm before the storm

There were even battling crowds to throw  into the mix. The fierce rivalry between New York and Boston baseball fans was already well established, and the Red Sox "Royal Rooters" had their own brass band and were led by Boston Mayor John "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald -- grandfather of future president John F. Kennedy.

The Giants were heavy favorites entering the Series, but through seven games the Sox had managed to split six contests with one darkness-induced tie. For the eighth and deciding game at Fenway, Mathewson faced Boston's Hugh Bedient on a cold, damp afternoon. Wood, who had pitched the day before, was ready in the bullpen. 

New York went up 1-0 in the third inning, but failed to capitalize on several chances to expand their lead. Mathewson was hurling a shutout into the seventh when Stahl manged to bloop a single to center and came around to score on a double down the left-field line -- which then included a sloping hill directly in front of the ad-plastered fence.

Christy Mathewson: Brady in a baseball cap.

It was still 1-1 after nine innings, and the skies were darkening as the Giants came up in the tenth. Wood had relieved Bedient, and New York got to him on a Red Murray double and a run-scoring single by Fred Merkle (remember the name). The final out of the frame was a hot shot to the mound off Wood's hand; Smokey Joe managed to get the out at first, but Stahl was forced to pinch-hit for his ace (a .290 batter) leading off the bottom of the 10th.

Clyde Engle, a weak slap-hitter, was overmatched against Mathewson. He hit a fly ball to center, which Fred Snodgrass settled under for a seemingly easy out -- until it popped out of his glove. Engle took second, and got to third on a deep line drive by Harry Hooper which Snodgrass managed to spear for a then-game-saving play.

The tying run was now 90 feet away. Another weak hitter, Steve Yerkes, was up next, but a rattled Mathewson inexplicably walked him. Tris Speaker, the AL's top batsman, now stepped in, and Matty appeared to win the best-on-best battle by inducing a foul pop to the right side. First baseman Fred Merke was closest to the ball, but for reasons unknown -- some reports claimed Mathewson called him off -- it fell untouched. 

Fate dealt its cards.

Given another life, Speaker singled in Engle and took second on an unsuccessful throw to third to try and nab Yerkes. Mathewson should have been celebrating a championship by this point, but now was just hoping to get out of the inning with a 2-2 tie. He walked Duffy Lewis to load the bases and set up a force out at home, but Larry Gardner's fly ball was deep enough to score Yerkes with the series-clinching run.

Joe Wood -- 34-5 in 1912, 3-1 in the World Series

The two New York miscues would haunt those who made them for the rest of their careers, with "Snodgrass' Muff" entering the baseball lexicon. It's too early to tell if Carroll will ever be exonerated for having Wilson throw from the one-yard-line, but unless he wins another Super Bowl or two it will almost surely be in the headline of his obituary -- as was the case with Snodgrass.

Gardner's game-winning hit was not a stirring play like Butler's interception, but, as Belichek would say, it got the job done. It also helped spark a Red Sox dynasty, as Boston claimed additional World Series titles in 1915, 1916, and 1918 with the help of a young pitcher named George Herman Ruth. 

Gardner was around for three of the titles, while Hooper was on board for all four -- a record he now shares with Tom Brady for the most world championships won by a Boston pro athlete not on the Celtics (who, with 11 titles between 1957-1969, had a full roster's worth of players achieve the feat). You can win yourself a few bar bets with that one.

Now, it would seem, the pressure is on David Ortiz. As the sole member of the current Red Sox team who was on the 2004, ,2007, and 2013 champions, Ortiz can match Brady and Hooper with his next title. 

One thing is sure -- it won't take him an eight-game series to get it.

Brady now has four -- how about Papi?

   

  






    

Record snows have brought seasons of woe for Red Sox

Will it be another cold October?

Ask any Red Sox fan who remembers Jim Rice 3-D Kelloggs cards to name the most excruciating seasons in team history, and chances are two years will immediately come to mind: 1978 and 2003.  

Sure, 1986 was pretty bad too, but that was against the Mets. These things always hurt worse when the Yankees are involved, and in '78 (Bucky Bleeping Dent) and '03 (Aaron Bleeping Boone) that was most definitely the case. 

When the list of record Boston snow falls began popping up on TV and computer screens a few days ago, I couldn't help but notice the top two slots were occupied by storms that took place in those same cringe-inducing years. 

Occupying the top spot is the President's Day weekend storm of Feb. 17 and 18, 2003, when 27. 6 inches hit the Hub over two days. It was a biggie, sure, but with the web warnings we all received for days and the mega-machinery in place to clean it up, it was not crippling for long.

Number two is the 27.1-inch storm which for many New Englanders who remember it will always be the pre-Internet blast against which all others pale by comparison: The Blizzard of '78.

Fenway Chill: Winter '78 (Boston Globe)

Computer satellite forecasting was in its Good Morning America infancy, and most of us (or our parents) were at school or work when this mid-day Monday storm hit on Feb. 6, 1978. Many commuters who tried to get home were left stranded in their cars on Route 128, and kids had two weeks off to play in the streets.

Fenway Chill: October '78 (Associated Press)

In a way, the reaction to the two storms was similar to how Red Sox fans got through the events of those same years. The bitter taste of 1978 took years to get over; it was really not until the April night in 1986 when a young Texan mowed down 20 Mariners that folks at Fenway could smile again.

The events of 2003, in contrast, were quickly forgotten. Within days of Boone's home run Grady Little was out and the Red Sox were in search of a manager and reinforcements to make another push at the Yankees in '04. Soon Terry Francona, Curt Schilling, and Keith Foulke were in the fold and hopes were high again.

Blizzard of Boone: October '03

Lest fans be too worried that another dismal year is in store with a mega snowfall, they can always look at the fifth-biggest storm of all time for solace. 

The date of that one? Feb. 8-9, 2013.

That October turned out pretty OK.

Why Hall of Fame voters got it wrong (again) on Curt Schilling

Schilling & Martinez both belong. (Boston Globe)

Pedro Martinez and Randy Johnson were worthy Hall of Fame selections today, each receiving more than 98 percent of the vote, but the man who sparkled alongside each of them on World Series champions got only 39.2 percent -- nowhere near the 75 percent needed for inclusion.

This marked the third year since he became eligible that Curt Schilling has finished well back of the pack, and it has me perplexed. By no means am I implying Schilling is in Johnson or Martinez's class as a pitcher; Johnson is in the pantheon of Tom Seaver and Lefty Grove among all-time greats, while Martinez is the Sandy Koufax of his generation based on his incredible stretch of mid-career domination. At his best, there was none better than Pedro -- maybe ever. 

Still, there are many reasons that the man who made bloody socks famous also deserves Cooperstown inclusion -- especially when one considers the third pitcher who received first-ballot entry this year with 82.5 percent of the vote -- John Smoltz -- is in many ways Schilling's statistical near-twin.

Here are three:

1. Schilling was a top-of-the-rotation starter on three different teams that reached the World Series -- and a three-time champion.

Schill matched the Big Unit in '01.

This is an impressive and very rare trifecta. Schilling went 16-7 in leading the 1993 Phillies to the cusp of a title before Mitch "Wild Thing" Williams imploded against the Blue Jays. In 2001 he was 22-6 and teamed with Diamondbacks "co-ace" Johnson to keep the mighty Yankees from a four-peat, and in 2004 he was 21-6 and clearly the best pitcher (sorry Pedro) on the Red Sox team that finally got it done.

Throw in his solid 15-7 mark in playing second fiddle to Josh Beckett on the '07 Red Sox title-winners, and it's clear this is a guy who not only knew how to win, but how to help teams win.

2. His postseason record is among the best ever -- and he did it over the long haul.

Schilling was bloody good in the postseason.

Schilling has few peers here. He made the playoffs five times, reached the World Series on four occasions, and overall made 19 postseason starts. Over 133.1 innings he was 11-2 with four complete games, two shutouts, a 2.23 ERA, and 0.96 WHIP. He went deep into games on almost every occasion, and shined bright on the biggest stage -- compiling a 2.06 ERA and 0.896 WHIP in 48 World Series innings. In 2001, he and Johnson shared Series MVP honors.

Among all-time postseason leaders, Schilling ranks third in winning percentage (.846), fifth in wins, eighth in both starts and strikeouts (120), and ninth in innings pitched. That's dominance.

3. His regular season stats compare very favorably to others in the Hall of Fame -- including today's first-year inductee Smoltz.

Better than Curt? Only in relief.

Check out Smoltz's stats as a starter. Sure, he's one of only two guys with 200 wins and 150 saves, but that's like saying Joe Torre is the only guy to hit 250 home runs and win multiple World Series as a manager. Smoltz was an All-Star caliber closer for three years, and that's hardly enough of a sample size to warrant Hall of Fame selection. Throw out his 154 saves, and Smoltz and Schilling have VERY similar numbers:

Smoltz:   211-155 (.579), 3.33 ERA, 3084 strikeouts, 1010 walks, 1.176 WHIP 
Postseason:  15-4, 2.67 ERA, 0.941 WHIP
8-time All-Star, 1 twenty-win season, 1 World Series title, 3 times Cy Young Top 5 (1 win)

Schilling:  216-146 (.597). 3.46 ERA, 3116 strikeouts, 711 walks, 1.137 WHIP
Postseason:  11-2, 2.23 ERA, 0.968 WHIP
6-time All-Star, 3 twenty-win seasons, 3 World Series title, 4 times Cy Young Top 5

I'm nor saying Smoltz is not a Hall of Famer, but why is he a first-ballot slam-dunk while Schilling is still on the way outside looking in? Are a couple Rolaids Relief Awards worth more to a candidate's credentials than a couple World Series rings? How about the fact one guy is perceived as a low-key gentleman and the other as a bit of a blowhard? Should that matter? 

Schill as a Phil -- quite the thrill.

Now let's look at another first-ballot guy with Schilling-like stats and multiple world championships -- Catfish Hunter. He won five rings, three with Oakland and two with New York, but his sore arm kept him under 150 innings for the Yankees in '77 and '78. He's clearly in Cooperstown for what he did from 1967-76, and that's fine, but what he did in that stretch and over his career was pretty comparable to Schilling, and he did it in an era dominated by pitching:

Hunter:  224-166 (.574), 3.26 ERA, 2012 strikeouts, 954 walks, 1.134 WHIP
Postseason:  9-6, 3.26 ERA, 1.126 WHIP
8-time All-Star, 5 twenty-win seasons, 5 World Series titles, 4 times Cy Young Top 5 (1 win) 

Again, Hunter was a lovable guy, but was he really that much better than Schilling? Remember, he was winning 20 games a year when that was far more commonplace; he finished in his league's Top 5 in wins five times, just once more than Schilling (both led their league twice). He also played on two of the most dominant teams of the last 40 years -- the 1971-75 Athletics and the 1976-78 Yankees.

The Cat -- better than Curt?

Taking into account that wins on their own often don't measure the full strength of a pitcher, let's take a look at wins above replacement (WAR) -- a measure of how much better or worse a team does with a player compared to the league average performer at the same position (with factors like ballparks also taken into account). The higher the WAR, the more valuable the pitcher. Here's the WAR breakdown for Schilling, Smoltz, and Hunter:

Schilling 80.7 (26th all-time)
Smoltz 69.5 
Hunter 41.4

Try the same thing with Hall of Fame members Don Drysdale and Jim Bunning, and you'll see Schilling compares very favorably to them both in wins, WAR, and postseason performance (Bunning never even pitched in the playoffs). Granted, Drysdale and Bunning are from a different era, but even taking that into account the numbers stack up quite evenly. 

Drysdale -- another in Schilling's class.

Not all sportswriters were Schilling fans, but they clearly respected him when it came to accolades. He never won a Cy Young Award like Smoltz or Hunter, but he finished second in the voting three times (twice to Johnson) and overall had far more Cy Young votes than Smoltz and only a few less than Hunter. In fact, Schilling had more Cy votes than all but 20 pitchers in history (and only one non-winner, Adam Wainwright, is in the Top 20).

That's what makes the current situation so confusing. Hall of Fame voters may not like Schilling's politics. They may not be fans of his business acumen (especially if they live in Rhode Island). They may even think he talks too much. But when it comes to their Hall of Fame votes, it seems they should be able to put that aside and judge the man solely by his numbers and success.

If they do, they will see it is clear that he belongs in Cooperstown.

One of these doesn't belong -- but he should.