Curt Schilling - Shut it
Hey, Curt Schilling, shut your big fat mouth. Enough of your crap. I used to like you, especially after you came out and supported Bush, but now you are getting on my nerves. First, stop offering your opinion on everything. Second, don’t call Lou Piniella an “idiot”. You go on radio and TV shows and start mouthing off like some drunk uneducated sports fan in a Somerville bar who thinks they know something about everything. Uh oh, I just described myself. But you get on your soap box and start bashing a manager who, by the way, also was a pretty good player. You were out of line in calling him an idiot and attacking his integrity and you know it. Actually, maybe not, considering you think everyone else on this planet is stupid and knows less than you. I am sick of hearing your horse, condescending voice yap about this and that. You are a great pitcher but no one appointed you the voice and supreme opinion of EVERYTHING. Shut IT.
And that’s another thing. If I see your wife on TV one more time I am going to glue my eyes shut. She is on more than most Red Sox players. She is attractive for an older lady and I appreciate the charity work, but tell her to give it a rest. The stupid bobble ankle toy is ridiculous. It looks dumb. If she wants to raise money for charity, tell her to sell one of the Ford F150s you got doing your low budget commercials, which, by the way, SUCK.
One other thing. The Red Sox throw at players all the time. Opening series they hit 5, FIVE, Yankee players. Pedro, a guy who said was your buddy last year, threw at Matsui’s head last year because he was hitting him well. The year before Pedro threw at Garcia in the playoffs, threw at his head, because he was getting hit like a piñata. Your team plunks opposing players all the time, starts fights, then complains when it is done to them. Give me a freakin’ break. It’s a case of the bully getting bullied. If I stand in front of my house and throw rocks at people who walk by, I sure in hell would not start crying when someone decides to throw rocks back. Your team, Curt, is a bunch of whining cry babies because someone, an old school manager that is an “idiot”, decided to give you some of your own medicine. I just wished Torre drank Heineken for breakfast like Piniella so maybe the Yanks would start giving you just a little of the medicine you so readily dispense to other teams.