Chewing tobacco was just a way of life when I was growing up. My granddad chewed right up 'til the day he died, my uncles all chewed, my dad chewed; hell, just about everyone I knew chewed.
The old Skoal just seemed to be a right of passage in my family.
My family wasn't the only influence when it came to the placing of the ol' worm dirt between the cheek and gum, or in your bottom lip if that was your preference. (I did both)
The Kansas City Royals were in their hey day when I was growing up and signs of their baseball supremacy were everywhere; from the place mats and cups I used to collect from Pizza Hut, to the baseball cards I collected, the t shirts, the cheap plastic batting helmets, on an on and on. The Royals were all that mattered in the spring, summer and, God willing, the fall.
It was thanks to the Royals that I picked up some bad habits. Our boys in blue were perhaps the prime source of aggravation for every summer baseball coach in town.
There was Amos Otis; the outfielder that caught every fly ball with just one hand.
Coach: Tommy, catch ball with both hands!!!
There was U.L. Washington; the shortstop who played the game with a toothpick in his mouth.
Coach: I don't ever want to see anyone come to practice or a game with a toothpick in his mouth.....I'll sit you on the bench if you do.
But, by far and away, my biggest influence in regards to bad habits was one Clint Hurdle.
Don't get me wrong, a lot of players chewed back in the day. But nobody in this small child's eyes chewed like Clint Hurdle did. (And, no, I don't blame Clint Hurdle for anything....I made a conscious decision....So there)
Clint Hurdle was a cheek chewer. I don't know why but as a kid he looked really cool with what seemed like an entire can of Skoal or pouch of Redman crammed into his cheek. Looking back on it now through older eyes, he really looked more like a chipmunk with a cheek full of nuts that he was preparing to store away from the upcoming winter. But back then, oh boy, Clint Hurdle was the man.
I couldn't tell you how good a player he was or any of his stats.....But I could tell you that Clint Hurdle was cool.....And I wanted to imitate him.
Obviously, as a grade school kid, I was too young to take on the family habit. So I did the next best thing: Big League Chew. I still smile when I think about this shredded up gum that came in a pouch; just like the pouches the big leaguers used to carry. Although now I think of Big League Chew the same way that I view candy cigarettes.....Just not a good idea.
(Before I get too carried away....I, for a brief time, was a Skoal guy. That's what the men in my family chewed. I tried Red Man but found it a little too sweet for my liking.)
It simply wasn't a baseball game without your Big League Chew. I remember opening that pouch and promptly stuffing about half of it's contents into my cheek. Man, did I feel like a baseball player.
Too bad I didn't get to have Big League Chew for every game....Much to my disappointment, Mom wasn't about to spring for a new pouch every time I played ball...Dammit.
Looking back, it's a wonder that our coaches didn't have to perform the Heimlich maneuver on any of us players. With all the diving and sliding around it is truly amazing that none of us got that behemoth wad of gum lodged in our throats.
And let's not forget the best part of chewing......the spitting. From the bleachers to the side of the road where everyone set up to watch the game, to the field and dugout, there were mucousy splat marks everywhere. Yes sir, spitting was a blast, especially if you were up to bat. After every pitch you step out of the batters box and have a spit, chew a little, make and attempt to do your best tough guy professional ball player face and then get back in the box and dig in. (It didn't help....I struck out.....a lot)
By the time I was in seventh grade I started chewing off and on. A dip here and a dip there. I didn't buy my own until I was in high school, I just bummed a dip off of whoever was willing to give me one.
I was just a casual chewer, not a hard core every day chewer like some of my friends were. These individuals (I say individuals because even though I never saw it, I was told that one of the girls in our school chewed too) went to great lengths to try and hide that dip they had in their mouth while in school. Eventually the Skoal bandits, chew that comes in little individual pouches that can be placed in your cheek, became popular with a few of the guys at the school. If they felt a teacher was getting suspicious they could quickly dispose of the evidence. When the teacher asked to look in their mouth he or she would find no signs of tobacco stuck in the person in questions teeth....And you can't convict on just smell alone. (I bet that smelled nice)
Still, every now and then someone would get caught. When that happens the offending party usually ends up in in school suspension and made to read stories about the horrors of chewing tobacco. The most popular story used by our principal was that of a young man who died of cancer, but not before having his lower jaw removed first. Of course, the story came with some fairly gruesome pictures.
But it never convinced any of us to quit. When you are young and invincible, those kind of stories are simply meant for someone else....It just won't happen to me.
I firmly believe that parents are masters of telling the same story in about a hundred different ways; just trying to find the right combination of words that will make an impression on their unimpressed teenager. Yeah, ok dad.....
Of course there are those parents, like my dad, who prefer a more, um, direct approach.
"Son, you start taking drugs and I'll just kill you myself.....There's no need for you to ruin the lives of everyone around you."
Well, I guess that settles it.
What got me to quit chewing was an unfortunate camping trip.
I don't even recall how I made it to Bingo and Curly's camp site. I just know that I ended up there.
Bingo got his nickname by getting the first interception of the football season. If a player picked off a pass, everyone was suppose to yell "BINGO" as a way of letting his teammates know their was an interception and that they needed to start blocking.
Curly got his nickname ---- well --- I have heard rumors of how he got his nickname but perhaps this isn't the right place to reveal what I heard.....Let's move on.
The neat thing about Bingo and Curly was that they were in the same class together. Bingo was older, yet Curly was his uncle......Do you get all that? Yes, we have some big families in the Valley.
Anyway, Bingo and Curly had their ATV's with them and somehow I ended up on the back of one of them -- sadly, I can't remember which one. But before I got on, I did the Clint Hurdle and packed a wad of chew in my cheek.
We tore around the dirt paths, into fields, bobbed and weaved around trees. Everything was just grand until........
I leaned over to spit just as the ATV dropped suddenly; bouncing and rattling through a dip. Not expecting the sudden jarring I accidentally swallowed my dip.......All of it. The big Clint Hurdle cheek wad went straight down my throat and splashed into the bottom of my stomach.
The effect was immediate. I broke out into a cold sweat and could start to feel the ache in my stomach. By the time the ride was over my head was beginning to spin and I had no idea what was going on around me.
Somewhere in conversation we had all agreed that it would be a great idea to go to the high school and... well, I'm sure the statue of limitations has long expired but since I didn't let Bingo and Curly know I was writing this story I won't divulge....Some memories in the Valley are very long.
I don't remember getting into a truck and I really don't remember the ride to the high school. I don't know what time it was, except that it was dark. All I could think of was how sick I was getting.
The next thing I remember was we were in the middle of doing what we came to do when the Skoal residing in my stomach hit me full force. After a few steps the kicking mule in my stomach brought me to a halt.
"C'mon, Tom...Let's go."
I laid on the ground and muttered to no one in particular. "I can't go any further. I'll be ok....You guys leave me here." (At least that's what I think I said)
So, being the compassionate friends that they were ---- they did. (I would have done the same thing.)
I lay in the middle of the school yard, curled up in a writhing ball. I was sweating profusely and the only comfort I could find was that of my cheek on the cold hard sidewalk.
Usually, throwing up is a bad thing. But in this case it would have been a God send. I wanted to blow chunks so bad and I couldn't.....I don't know why I never though to stick my finger down my throat.
Then a thought occurred to me. I was five blocks away from home and my only ride there just left in a cloud of dust....Shit.
I lay there for what seemed like forever as I tried to convince myself to get off the ground and start making my way home.
The journey home seriously started off at a crawl. After a short distance I figured out that, at this rate, it would be daylight before I made it home. I would miss curfew and that would be unacceptable.
I managed to struggle to my feet and ambulate very slowly toward home. I was nowhere near upright; I looked more like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, hobbling and moaning.
"SANCTUARY.......SANCTUARY....." (The bells make me deaf, you know)
I've ran 10K's. I've hiked up to fifteen miles. But that five block hobble home was the longest walk I have ever taken in my entire life. You'd have thought that I had found the Holy Grail when I first saw the front door of my home.
As soon as I walked in the door I went straight for the stairs to head to my room. Dad must have been watching on helluva TV show because he didn't even notice me crawling up the stairs.
I crashed on my bed, curled up in a ball, and lay there in what would turn out to be the longest night of my life. I would pass out for a little bit only too be woken up by the wrestling midgets in my stomach. (OH!!! A flying elbow from the top turnbuckle!!!)
I have never seriously chewed since. Mom would need not search my room for Skoal anymore. I wanted nothing to do with it.
Years later, out of curiosity, I took a small dip from a friend and immediately spit it out the second I started to feel dizzy. The memories of that night on the ATV came back in vivid recollection.
It was probably one of the best things that have ever happened to me. I have a story I can share with my kids that will hopefully encourage them to shy away from a few vices.
Oddly, whenever I'm chewing a piece of gum I can't help but shove it behind my bottom lip and let it sit there. It's been over twenty five years since I've had a dip.....I guess some remnants of that habit will never really go away.....
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