Adios, Ochocinco. The Patriots have seen the lantern in the steeple, and your horse has left without you.
Happy Trails to you until we meet again. We harbor no ill will toward the player who disappointed so many New England Patriots fans. He was and remains a fun person who really did no harm.
As Mark Twain once noted, reports of his demise were greatly exaggerated. And, Ocho will still abide in our hearts, if not our reality shows.
Chad Johnson may reinvent himself yet again somewhere else where he will march off into the fog, starting different beautiful friendships, like Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca.
The Patriots wore blue, and Chad wore gray. He was never in step. The sound of cannons was really his large heart beating.
We came to develop great affection for a man who loved his coffee and never met a pancake he could turn his back on. These are refreshing qualities in our pre-packaged age of cookie-cutter sports figures.
In some ways we feel sad for Ocho. He may have been like the character played by Bruce Willis at the end of The Sixth Sense. He came to his senses only to realize he was one of the walking dead.
Critics claimed he stole more money from the Boston area than the Brink's Job, but he came to work every day and found his talents a bit unmatched by the job.
Ocho taught us not to judge Boston sports stars by their bad press and worse media images. He is a kindly soul who wants to be nice in a world where drunken rage and vicious cheating run rampant in pro sports.
He left more calling cards than the Lone Ranger. We found his metaphoric silver bullet everywhere he went. That was no masked man. That's Chad Ochocinco. Cue the William Tell Overture.