He couldn't go.
Curt Schilling wasn't hedging on this. He wasn't thinking maybe, or I'm doubtful, or let's see.
He was OUT. He was out as the Red Sox' Game 2 starter of the World Series.
"I woke up at 7 o'clock in the morning," explained Boston's ace. "That was a tipoff right there. I've never woken up at 7 in the morning for anything in my life.
"I wasn't going to pitch. I couldn't walk. I couldn't move. I didn't know what happened, but I knew as soon as I woke up there was a problem."
His problem quickly became the problem of the Red Sox. Schilling was the automatic W. He was the one they were counting on to pin the St. Louis Cardinals against the Green Monster with a 2-0 Series deficit. He has been their most prolific, charismatic, and demonstrative player in this postseason, an almost mythical figure as he clawed his way through an ankle injury that will require surgery whenever this mystical, magical run is over.
The diagnosis was made long ago: a dislocated tendon that the Sox' medical staff sutured together for the critical ALCS Game 6 against the Yankees. When Schilling took the mound that night in Yankee Stadium a million years ago (seems that way, doesn't it?), nobody could have imagined a grittier, gutsier, or more inspiring performance.
Compared to last night, that was nothing.
What Schilling submitted on a gray, cold, unforgiving night of baseball was truly unfathomable. He went from being unable to walk from his kitchen to his car to shutting down a Cardinals lineup that includes Jim Edmonds, Scott Rolen, and Larry Walker. He went from feeling more helpless than he's ever felt in his career to literally seizing this game and taking it over.
When Schilling trotted to the hill just after 8 p.m., the most surprised person in the park was his wife, Shonda, who had watched Schilling hobble into his car and back out of the driveway to give his baseball team the dreaded news.
"I told her it wasn't going to happen," he said. "There was no way. But that's when everything started. I left my house, and I'm driving to the park, and anyone who knows where Medfield is, they know it's a pretty long haul.
"There were signs every mile from my house to this ballpark on fire stations, on telephone poles, wishing me luck. I can't explain what it was like.
"So I get here [to Fenway], and got out of the car, got into the trainer's room, and Doc [Bill Morgan] was there."
The Sox' medical staff examined Schilling and quickly determined an extra suture they had sewn in Saturday to provide some added stability to the area had nicked a nerve. As soon as that suture was removed, Schilling began experiencing automatic relief.
