Once upon a time, in an enchanted for...wait, wrong opening.
Back in my younger days (1990-92 before the shoulder injury) I was a hell of a baseball player, a pitcher, an up-and-comer in the far-off corners of Middlesex County (Massachusetts). Because I'm old enough that bubble-wrapped children hadn't been invented yet (at least in New England) when I was a kid, there were a few kids on my team who had picked up the habit of chewing tobacco from their favorite big league ballplayers (I preferred greenies myself. They call it Adderall now...go figure.) Some of them would chew during games, always insisting it was gum, not that anyone could see from far enough away. The coach was a grizzled old guy who fought in World War 2 and looked old enough to have fought in World War 1---he probably thought tobacco was good for you and chock-full of Vitamin C and stuff (yes, I stole that joke from Denis Leary. Sue me.)
All this is by way of setting up a little story. We had a leadoff hitter named Jim, a lefty center fielder who ran like a gazelle and hit three---count 'em, three inside-the-park home runs in the same season in Pony League in '91. Well, one day in spring training '92, freshman high-school ball at the semipro park in town, Jim was out in center shagging flies and chewing tobacco...and managed to swallow his chaw. I was pitching BP so I didn't see what was going on behind me, but when the hitter stopped and pointed I turned around. Jim was greener than the outfield grass and the next thing I know he's climbing the chain-link center field fence and giving up a home run to his cookies---going, going, gone.
Jim quit chewing after that and took up Big League Chew bubble gum.
