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I'm not sure which closer for Schilling's teams pitched worse in the World Series...Mitch Williams or Byung-Hyun Kim.

Williams, by a considerable distance. The home runs distort each pitcher's shakeout, but if you took them away from each you'd find Kim had far out-pitched Williams. Kim walked only one batter and struck out six in the 2001 Series; Williams struck out one and walked four.

What people don't remember about Byung-Hyun Kim: He actually shook off that 2001 World Series disaster and put up a 2002 that would have given any other pitcher a lot of props---including having led the majors in what came to be called the tough saves, meaning saves of more than one inning and/or beginning by entering the game with men on base. Kim had six such saves, not to mention a 1.07 walks and hits per inning pitched average, a 2.04 ERA, 36 saves, a 3.54 strikeout-to-walk ratio, and an 8-3 won-lost record in the bargain.

It was his best season. And it still didn't convince anyone else that he had what it took. I think what happened to him afterward was a combination of these factors:

a) Sooner or later, the fact that people couldn't or wouldn't shake off the 2001 World Series as well as he actually did had to affect him somewhere and give him pause no matter how hard he tried to push it out of his thinking. That image of him sinking into a squat on the Yankee Stadium mound after the second night's disaster, his face buried in his glove, was just too indelible to too many people, even if to a man his teammates (including Curt Schilling, who was actually very fond of him in those days, as most of the Snakes were) had his back.

b) He was foolish enough to think he was better suited to a starting role; he might have been an effective spot starter as well as a reliever if the Diamondbacks had thought about it, but he was probably best suited as a relief pitcher.

c) He suffered an ankle injury in early 2003 and pitched through it, when the Diamondbacks gave him a shot at the starting rotation and he made it, and it took a lot of edge off his unique pitching motion.

d) He actually pitched well for the Red Sox when they acquired him in mid-2003, including in the postseason---at least, he was pitching well until Grady Little panicked after he started the ninth inning of the first division series game with the Red Sox up 4-3. Kim started with a fly out to center (Ramon Hernandez), a walk to pinch-hitter Billy McMillon, and a hit batsman (Chris Singleton), before striking out Mark Ellis. Kim had first and second and two outs with a lefthanded hitter coming up when Little lifted him for Alan Embree, playing the obvious enough percentage . . . but forgetting that Kim was usually very effective against lefthanded hitters; the hit batsman was a lefthanded hitter, and Kim was trying to work him inside and low, working for a ground out or a strikeout---his breaking pitches, especially, were good to throw inside for such results; his fastball, which was nasty at its best, was likely to get him a fly out working the lefthanded hitter inside. No matter. Embree's first batter, Erubiel Durazo, swatted the RBI single that tied the game, before Embree got the inning-ending ground out (Eric Chavez) that sent the game to extra innings for Derek Lowe to lose, 5-4.

d) Kim couldn't get out of his own way, and this may be the biggest flaw he had. Trained from youth to keep throwing no matter what, Kim became an object lesson in how a stubborn work ethic can kill you on the mound. He threw constantly between appearances; behind the bullpen, in the clubhouse under the stadium, between games, you name it, Kim would be there throwing. Especially after a tough or bad outing. It was only a matter of time before he would burn himself out completely (the Diamondbacks subsequently admitted that this was one of the reasons why they were willing to listen when the Red Sox came looking to make a deal for him); his constant working first drained his relationships with his teammates (several Red Sox complained that it was impossible to convince Kim to ease up, relax, and join up on the road), then drained the talent. And it was a shame, because he should have been able to forge a fine career no matter what happened in the 2001 Series. The 2002 season showed there really was something there, and for Kim to have pitched that well while having the 2001 Series constantly thrown in his face was probably nothing short of a miracle.

Which was more than you could say for Mitch Williams, a pitcher who seemed to thrive on living dangerously even before the 2003 Series. He went from there to two nondescript seasons in Houston and Anaheim, tried a comeback in Kansas City two years after that, got hammered in six and two thirds innings total work, and was gone.