So long, Fat Man

This morning, the San Diego Padres came to their senses, and gave David Wells his walking papers.

Before you go getting misty-eyed about Wells, let's remember that he is an obnoxious fat prick who liked to portray himself as a gamer, but who'd have to bow out of important games down the stretch because of his lifestyle-induced cases of gout.

Let's remember him as the guy who pissed and moaned about the fact that the Blue Jays monitored his weight, then bragged about rigging the scale to beat their weigh-ins.

Let's remember him as the guy who begrudged the fact that the Jays promoted Jimmy Key ahead of him, even though it took him more than a decade to actually put up numbers that remotely compared to Key's.

Let's remember him as the guy who took all the credit for any minor success he might have had, but quickly assessed blame elsewhere whenever his performance dipped.

Let's remember him as the guy who hated his time in Toronto, but would still drop the team's name into conversation when it came time to negotiate a new contract.

It's like Hank says to Falstaff in the second part of Henry IV:

I know thee not, old man: Fall to thy Prayers:
How ill white hairs become a Fool, and jester
I have long dream'd of such a kinde of man,
So surfeit-swell'd, so old, and so prophane:
But being awake, I do despise my dream.
Make less thy body (hence) and more thy Grace,
Leave gourmandizing; Know the Grave doth gape
For thee, thrice wider then for other men.