Addition by subtraction

With the Indians in wild card contention (and possibly on the verge of being back in the division race), a lot has been made recently of grading GM Mark Shapiro's trades these past four years.
The Roberto Alomar trade still failed miserably. The Bartolo Colon and Chuck Finley trades yielded Cliff Lee, Grady Sizemore and Coco Crisp, three major contributors to this year's success. And let's not forget hosing the Rangers by swapping them Ryan Drese and Einar Diaz for Travis Hafner and Aaron Myette.
But let's also remember the Milton Bradley trade to the Dodgers last year. The Indians are still benefitting from depositing that walking sideshow on the West Coast.
Need more convincing in addition to his on-field temper tantrums and getting hauled into court for verbally assaulting a policeman after a traffic stop on Interstate 480? Try this on for size.
Milton Bradley, an African-American, is Krakatoa, and percieved racial slights are what make him explode. And, as the linked article shows, he thinks something as simple as reporters converging on his locker first is racially-motivated.
Granted, Jeff Kent isn't the most soothing presence in a locker room. He got into altercations with Barry Bonds as a member of the Giants. But heaven help any white player or coach if they get into an argument with Milton Bradley. They might as well be wearing Ku Klux Klan robes in Bradley's eyes.
This snafu with Kent reportedly resulted from Kent chiding Bradley for not hustling on the field. Sound familiar?
Bradley blew his stack at Tribe manager Eric Wedge after he was lifted for not sprinting out a ground ball in a spring training game last year. Bradley left the stadium in a taxi while the game was still in progress, and was promptly dealt to Los Angeles days later.
After the trade, Bradley's mother was interviewed on a national radio show, where she accused Wedge and the Indians organization of being racists.
Wonder where Bradley gets all that anger from? It probably started at home.
The Indians spent five years protecting Albert Belle when he threw a ball at a fan and then a photographer, took his bat to clubhouse buffets and a thermostat, and screamed at a national television reporter in the dugout prior to the first World Series game in Cleveland in 41 years.
To try and contend while having to once again put ridiculous positive spin on the antics of another clubhouse sociopath would be cruel and unusual punishment.
Milton Bradley can't control himself. It would surprise no one, I think, if he physcially assaults someone and winds up in jail at some point. The Indians, who appear to have a pretty good clubhouse atmosphere, don't need the anger-and-immaturity-fueled circus Bradley brings to town.
Good riddance, Milton Bradley. If I never see you in Cleveland again, it will be too soon. And it's not because you're black.