Weighing In On David Wells and Other Fat Guys

I hope the Red Sox keep David Wells. It’s common knowledge that, at Wells’ request, they’ve been trying to trade him all off season, but they haven’t found a deal to their liking. I say that’s good news for several reasons. Wells won 15 games last year. His ERA was a respectable 4.45. He’s the only established lefty on the staff. And last season, while Curt Schilling was recovering from wounds he suffered saving the world in 2004, Wells by default became the Sox best Big Game pitcher. But the main reason I want him around is a selfish one.

I’m partial to Fat Guys. And David Wells is a genuine, 100% USDA approved, card-carrying Fat Guy.

I’m not sure why I’m such a fan of Fat Guy athletes. By way of full disclosure, I should admit that while I’m not personally a Fat Guy, I did experiment with Fat Guyism back when I was a kid. From age 10 until freshman year of High School, I had the overhanging belly and man breasts (or as I like to call them “man-maries”) commonly found on future Fat Guys. Only JV football saved me from a lifetime of wearing t-shirts at the pool.

Ever since then I’ve had an affinity for the Fat Guy. Whether he’s your friend, your classmate or a co-worker, a Fat Guy will never let you down. On “Lost”, who’d be the best guy on the island to hang out with? Locke might be the most interesting, but you couldn’t stand talking to him for more than ten minutes. Same with Jack or Sawyer. Charlie? Even for a rock star, he‘s boring. I’d hang with Hurley.

Or consider “Survivor.” In the history of that show, the two most memorable people are original winner (and current member of the US prison population) Richard Hatch and pirate-turned-reality-TV-megastar Rupert Boneham, each a Fat Guy. Meanwhile, every season they have another half-dozen workout queens with big pecs and washboard abs, each indistinguishable from the rest.

Who was the best of the Three Stooges? Curley, the Fat Guy. The best TV dads? Homer Simpson and Peter Griffin. John Candy was the poster boy for lovable Fat Guyness. Rarely does a celebrity death affect me, but I was truly sad when he died. If you don’t laugh out loud when he’s singing “Do the Mess Around” in “Planes, Trains and Automobiles,” what’s the point of living?

The problem with honoring Wells’ trade request is that it will leave a huge (pardon the pun) void in the Boston sports landscape. The Sox just don’t have another Fat Guy anywhere in their system. Schilling and Manny were almost there, but both came to camp looking like they spent the winter in the gym. David Ortiz? No, not nearly fat enough. You’d have to go back to Rich Garces to find another truly Fat Guy on the Sox, and who didn’t love him?

The Celtics and Bruins are the same way. The Patriots entire 53-man roster has only one token Fat Guy, Vince Wilfork. Bill Belichick prefers versatile, agile, athletic types, and Nose Tackle is the only true Fat Guy position in his system. Remember, Wilfork was drafted to replace Uber-Fat Guy Ted Washington, a guy so huge that his ass has its own Congressman.

I admire any athlete who can compete at a high level while maintaining his Fat Guy-osity. It’s their way of telling the world, “This is how good I am now. Imagine if I actually worked out.” Kirby Puckett and Tony Gwynn rode their talent and their big guts all the way to the Hall of Fame. Ditto Jerome Bettis. And Charles Barkley. Tiger Woods is the best golfer in the world, but John Daly is the most beloved because he manages to do the impossible: remain a Fat Guy while keeping up a three-pack-a-day cigarette habit.

A true Fat Guy like Wells is OK with his Fat Guyishness. A while ago I heard a guy get asked what his waist size was. He replied, “What’s my waist size, or what size pants do I buy?” Now that’s a true Fat Guy. Real Fat Guys love the cold. They’re the ones at work who always want to open a window in January “to get some fresh air” when we all know they’re just trying to lower their core body temperature down to something close to magma. Last week when the wind chill was like -10 degrees outside, I walked into a convenience store behind a Fat Guy who was in a Hurley-like t-shirt and shorts. My guess is he wasn’t going in to buy produce.

Some Fat Guys just fascinate me. Where I work, we had a guy working the late shift who was 400lbs if he was an ounce. It was always a dream of mine to follow him around with a documentary film crew for 24 hours, just to see how he lived. His typical lunch was an entire kielbasa, the ones that say “Servings per container: 8” on the label. One day we had thirty donuts left behind after an office party. In the morning, they were all gone, and by coincidence, he banged in sick. On another occasion, he had this exchange with his co-worker:

Fat Guy from Work: “I have to go home. I had an accident.”
Co-Worker: “Where? On the way to work?”
FGW: “No, not a car accident; an accident in my pants. I usually have an extra pair of pants to change into, just in case. But I didn’t bring them tonight, so I have to go home.”
You might notice the phrase “I’ll take a long, hot, soapy shower and clean myself up” missing from that conversation.

My buddy Cliffy had a roommate who was into denial about his Fat Guyness. He always blamed it on his thyroid or water retention or something. I’m no doctor, but I’ve seen literally a hundred World War II documentaries where the Allies liberate the poor, starving people from the concentration camps, and I’ve never once seen some Fat Guy behind the barbed wire saying, “The Nazis haven’t been feeding me either, I just have a glandular problem.”

Every month another story comes out about some guy who’s gotten so big he can’t leave his house, and I kind of unofficially collect them. I especially like the details, like how many volunteers it took to move him, or what part of the house they had to cut open to get him out, or what kind truck they used to carry him. The Learning Channel On Demand has a show called “The 750lb Man” about this guy hadn’t left his bed in seven years until EMTs brought him to the hospital using something they got from the aquarium called a “whale sling.” I don’t mean to be cruel; this stuff just fascinates me. I especially love the fact that even a 600lb man can watch a show like that and say, “Whoa. Now THAT guy is FAT.”

So I’m pleading with Red Sox management. Keep David Wells. We all need a hero.