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Hey Curt Schilling! Clam the Hell up about the Good Lord Almighty already.

First and foremost however, before we ask you to pipe down about the great God in heaven, let us just say nice job out there on the mound! You're one awesome pitcher who's gutsy, clutch performances were instrumental in bringing a world series to the Arizona Diamondbacks well before they deserved it. Your heroics allowed all us transplants out here in the desert to experience something that many fans in more traditional baseball cities still haven't had the privilege of experiencing and for that we are grateful. You were awarded the co-MVP with Randy Johnson for your efforts that season but anyone that was watching closely knows that, great as he is, The Big Unit wouldn't have been able to do what he did if he hadn't first had the pleasure of watching you do what you do. So no matter what you do or say in the days and years to come, you will always have a place in the hearts of true D-Backs fans. All seven of them.

But like the hired gun that you have become, you didn't stick around for long once you sensed that the D-Backs organization had become complacent, cheap, and careless and was being run into the ground. You figured if you didn't jump ship before it went down you might not get a chance to perform again on the big stage so you decided to take your traveling act to the next city that needed you. You looked around at your options and chose perhaps the most needy city of all with one of the most talked about stages on which to play. And a team with one of the best supporting casts. A pressure cookah. Beantown. Fenway. The Boston Red Sox and all that they and their nearly hundred year old championship drought implied. So close for so long but historically seemingly always one clutch pitching performance away. And here you come riding into town with your world series swagger knowing you were brought there for one reason. To exorcise the hold the Yankees held on the team and the city. Bring in a proven Yankee killer. And while the staff's other ace admitted that he had no confidence against the Bronx Bombers, you stepped up to the mic and said it would be your pleasure to take the baseball and shut the city of New York up. And after a stumble in game one where a bum ankle that you hadn't yet come to terms with let you down, you got some pain injections, some staples, climbed back on your horse and did it. 

And now it looks like your heroics and taking the mound on that injured hoof may be one of the many awesome clutch performances from the 2004 squad that will finally reverse the curse and render the Red Sox Nation so blissful that they won't know what to do with themselves. You've sacked up for two straight starts and may have to again in a game six of the World Series back in Fenway. If you are called upon, we have no doubt that you will again hobble out there with a blood soaked sock from the sutures holding your torn tendon to the bone and shut the opponent down again - and, in so doing, provide the leadership and grit by example that shows a team how to win when it is all on the line. If the Red Sox do go on to win it all, they will owe as much to you as the Diamondbacks did which is just about everything for, if it wasn't for your presence, what got did just wouldn't have gotten done.

Now with all that being said, will you shut the Hell up about the Lord. 

Don't get us wrong we're not offering this advice because of any opinion we might have on the Great God in the Above ourselves but rather for your own good. And it's not that we don't like you being opinionated and speaking your mind all the time even on issues you know nothing about since you've always been full of words about everything and dare we say you have even earned the right to utter them if people keep shoving a mic in your face. It's not that you come off as over confident, even cocky and call into all the sports shows to set the record straight anytime anyone questions you or your team's behavior. We actually like that about you. You've done so many interviews that we're told your nickname is "Red Light Curt." And the fact that you took it upon yourself to write a letter to the public after Sept 11 to tell us what baseball thought of the whole thing and how we should be feeling didn't even rub us the wrong way. As somebody said of you during your early years, "Schilling is a horse every fourth day, and a horse's ass the other three." Randy Johnson his ownself, when asked how it would be pitching for the D-Backs without you around had a one word response. "Quieter" the big unit said. We've always accepted your verbosity and windbagging because it comes with the territory and since your territory is that of one of the most dominant and clutch starting pitchers in the game, we would think the fans of whatever team you're on could live with just about anything that comes out of your mouth. Not to mention that, since someone who is somewhat honest, forthright and controversial with their opinions is such a breath of fresh air in a business where the clichés flow so thick that it's hard to wade through them sometimes, we're willing to cut you some slack. 

And like many pro athletes, because of the fact that your performance on a playing field defies anything we could personally fathom doing ourselves, we, like most fans, really want to respect and admire you as a person as well and, as long as you're playing for our side, will go the extra mile to look past your outbursts and diatribes should we not agree with them. We at this publication have defended you in the past to all detractors that said you were a self promoter and whiner. We've stuck by you when you wanted the roof at Bank One Ballpark closed even though it was a beautiful day outside just so your pitches would break a little more and the solo homers you often give up wouldn't travel as far. Stuck by you when you were whining about the new ump cams that you thought were leading to you getting hooked on calls. And we were ready to stick by you again when you called A-Rod a classless player for basically doing whatever he could to win and comparing him to Bonds saying they both had a bunch of talent but no respect from players around the league. And then you said the thing about shutting up all of New York and we were down with that even before you went out and actually did it. But this thank the Lord our savior for his effect on a baseball game? That we just can't abide.

People are always saying you're a smart pitcher which we are well aware doesn't always translate off the field and there are countless examples of athletes that have great instincts between the lines and are as clueless as dogs outside them but we assume you don't fall into that category. You seem to want to be thought of as a deep thinker and intellectual so deep think about this for a second. With all that you understand about life and religion, can you possibly fathom a scenario in which the good Lord up in Heaven above really gives a damn about you or anyone else's performance in game six of the 2004 divisional playoff series? A baseball game? You actually believe his holiness, in whatever form you see him in, cares more about you and your success then that of the people you are pitching too? Cares more about Boston then New York? More about baseball then football or cricket or croquet? Do you really think that if you say a few words of prayer before a game, He is going to intervene and guide a baseball you throw to a favorable outcome for you? Cause the wind to blow a certain way that benefits you and your team? Decide that Jorge Posada is not worth blessing that day and Curt Schilling is so he'll keep that moon shot he hit in the park? Come on! Whether you're a Christian or not, surely you can appreciate the pettiness of your actions on some baseball field in the grand scheme of things and understand that if people think for a minute that the good Lord really has nothing better to do then watch over one baseball game and one person's actions within that game, over one team, then he or she wouldn't be a Lord really worth believing in in the first place.

We know, we know! It's not just you that feels this misguided calling. Players thank the Lord all the time and some of them can get away with it before everyone dives for the mute button but not the ones that want people to listen to them when they speak on other subjects. Not the ones that want to go on to other careers in the public eye or be taken seriously for what they say off the field. The kind of players that feel the need to tell us that games were decided by divine intervention all end up in the same place, pushed to the side and trivialized when the Lord stops blessing them for, after all, if it really is the supreme being deciding balls and strikes and winners and losers, then what do we need the players for? Furthermore this God's hands stuff undermines all the hard work you've done and all the time you committed to studying your craft before you were a believer. And where, by the way, was the Good Lord when Ty Cobb was tearing into everyone in sight or Pete Rose was bowling over another catcher in an out of reach contest because he had a bet on the over/under? Where was He for Godsakes when the biggest collection of heathens and jack offs the game has ever seen congregate in one clubhouse, the 1986 New York Mets, were able to roll a ball through a God fearing good guy like Bill Buckner's legs? If it's not Curt Schilling but rather the Good Lord Above, taking the mound out there on Curt Schilling's behalf then what happens when He finds a better Christian to embody next year who happens to be a Yankee? 

So please! Put a bloody sock in the Good Lord stuff and let us enjoy the 2004 Red Sox for what they are. A motley crew of likeable ruffians who, other than you, seem to have a good perspective on where they fit in to the grand scheme of things and be giving credit where it is due. Let glory be and thanks to their own hard work, their camaraderie, and chemistry. To Theo Epstein, John Henry, Man Ram, Big Papi, Pedro, V-Tek, B-Horn, Millar, Bronson, Trot, and Wake. To the Passion of Johnny Damon, D Rob, Cabrera and Foulkey. And yes to you Curt Schilling, who are one Hell of a pitcher and hopefully will again be a player whose words we can take with more then a grain of the good Lord's salt.