Tobacco still stains the majors

For my couch time, Major League Baseball does its postseason almost as well as "The Office" does body language.

Brilliant. Except for all the spittin' and chewin' or, worst of all, both in one quick camera shot.

How does that look in HD?

Luckily, we don't have to watch Terry Francona over the next week or so. The Boston Red Sox manager probably did less for baseball and more for cancer than any human being alive in the infamous Octobers of 2004 and 2007.

Smokeless tobacco is banned in all national youth leagues, for players and coaches, and in high school and college baseball.

Minor league baseball kicked the habit in 1993, subjecting violators to unannounced clubhouse inspections, fines and suspensions.

"I think it's a great policy," Charleston RiverDogs general manager Dave Echols said. "I've been in the business 18 years and I think it's making a significant impact. I remember when it used to be rampant."

But MLB holds fast to a disgusting tradition, something not allowed in most workplaces or public buildings throughout America.

You don't see it in the NBA, NFL, NHL or college sports. You don't see it at bookstores or restaurants. Even stodgy NASCAR got rid of its Cup race tobacco sponsorship.

Only big league baseball, thanks to a stubborn union and inept owners bent on ruining all their good publicity with close-up shots of outfielders stuffing bad stuff into their mouths.

Francona and Co.

Back to Francona.

He chewed and spit his way to leading the Red Sox to their streak-busting 2004 World Series conquest of St. Louis, and grossed-out the world seriously again in 2007 as Boston topped Colorado.

Think of the influence on youth leaguers throughout New England and beyond, all wanting to grow up just like Terry Francona.

By the way, I like Francona.

Tremendous manager.

Hall of Fame manager.

And remarkably patient with my questions during a stop in Greenville when he was manager of the Double-A Birmingham Barons and one of his outfielders was a prospect named Michael Jordan.

In defense of Francona, it's a tough thing to have a particular vice broadcast on live national TV hundreds and hundreds of times. How would you like that? Personally, I would not.

"I wish I could stop doing it," Francona told mlb.com during Boston's loss to Tampa Bay in the 2008 American League Championship Series, "but I guess I really can't."

So make players and managers stop, at least at the ballpark.

One rule and enforcement and think of all the happy people: Baseball fans, the Francona family, kids everywhere, the poor folks forced to clean up dugouts.

The late Jack Krol

Francona is not the only one.

One of your favorite players, maybe someone you know or have met, might have trouble with this image-ruining habit.

Next time you meet such a player, instead of spewing praise, remind them that doctors and the American Dental Association have weighed in.

Tell them to think about mom.

Ask if they kiss with that mouth.

Of course, not everything players chew is tobacco. Some prefer seeds or gum. But because there is no tobacco ban, all are suspect.

Major League Baseball officials, without citing figures, say smokeless tobacco use is declining. If so, the minor league ban almost certainly is helping.

Echols said a chew-free Riley Park makes family fun easier to sell.

"Absolutely," he said. "You don't see it in the back pocket. You don't see it anywhere. It's more what we're trying to promote."

Too bad it's too late for some.

Jack Krol was the manager of our Charleston Rainbows for three seasons, 1988-1990, and briefly served as interim manager of the St. Louis Cardinals in 1978 and 1980. In 1993, the same year minor league baseball banned smokeless tobacco, the long-time chewer had part of his tongue removed.

Krol, a great guy, died of oral cancer in 1994. He was 57.

Reach Gene Sapakoff at gsapakoff@postandcourier.com or 937-5593.