• 3/4/2005
  • Fort Myers, FL
  • Jeff Horrigan
  • Boston Herald (bostonherald.com)

At first glance, the change of appearance that Terry Francona has undergone this spring seems subtle. Those who pass the Red Sox manager during his second preseason in charge of the defending World Series champions might be inclined to do a double-take as they try to figure out the difference. His weight basically remains the same, he still dons a ubiquitous nylon jacket and he frankly doesn’t have enough active follicles to change his hairstyle. Even though the change may have to be pointed out, the alteration in Francona’s appearance is huge and, potentially, the most important one he could ever make.

When the 45-year-old pulled on his uniform for the first time last month, he did so without an enormous wad of chewing tobacco planted in his cheek. After years of receiving disgusted glares and belittling letters, Francona finally heeded the advice of doctors and trainers, and acquiesced to the pleas of his family and is making an all-out effort to quit the habit.

“My children hate it when I chew,” he said. “They’ve asked me a lot of times not to do it and that’s probably one of the biggest reasons I’m doing it, out of respect for them.”

Francona said that he rarely chewed tobacco during his playing career but he began doing so with regularity when he began managing in the minor leagues in 1992. The practice was popular throughout baseball for nearly a century but revelations about the perils involved eventually led to the majority of users weaning themselves off it.

Health educators and the American Cancer Society managed to get the word out that smokeless tobacco was every bit as dangerous as smoking and posed enormous risks of mouth, gum and throat cancer (among other serious concerns) to users. As the number of chewers and dippers diminished, Francona began to stick out.

His shoes – and those who stood near him – were constantly stained by the splattering of spit tobacco juice, his uniform jersey was usually soiled by brown streaks and his seat on the bench, at the end of a game, had several tight plugs of leaves under it, making it appear that a gaggle of Canada geese had waddled by.

“I’m aware of how ugly it looks,” Francona said. “I’ve seen myself on TV and said, ‘Oh, my God!'”

“I got a lot of mail last year,” he continued. “Some of it I respected and some of it I didn’t. I could tell by the tone of the mail if it was written in the eighth inning, when we’d just given up runs in the eighth (inning) . . . but some of them were nice and you could tell they cared.”

Unlike many users, he was always able to stop chewing during the offseason. When Francona pulled on the uniform again, however, the habit always returned. Countless users have gone through difficult withdrawals when they try to kick the habit, but Francona has been fortunate.

“It’s the damnedest thing, (but) I haven’t had them at all,” he said. “I went through something a few years ago and I had a scare with painkillers (after knee surgery) and the doctor in Oakland got after me and said, ‘You’re using too many painkillers; you cannot quit.’ I quit the next day. It wasn’t fun but I did it.”

Even though innumerable impressionable youngsters look up to major leaguers, Francona said that he’s not trying to be a role model.

“I know it’s a horrible habit, but saying that, I enjoyed it,” he said. “Who knows what’s going to happen when the real games start and somebody throws ball eight . . . I’d be happy if I can get through this. I’m not making any promises, but I’ll try my best.”