The memory of my first dip is still vividly ingrained into my head as if it happened yesterday. It was freshmen year of high school on a crisp, sunny Saturday morning during the Spring. A slight breeze blew through the budding suburban landscape of Ridley township as the sound of birds chirping and neighbors mowing their lawns filled the air off in the distance. You couldn’t write a more picture perfect day to round up friends and hit the diamond for some sandlot baseball. I got the call on my landline phone from my buddy Matt (because that was still a thing back in 2006), grabbed my Ken Griffey Jr. game issued Rawlings glove, hopped on my Huffy and rode to the field at Amosland.
After warming up taking ground balls at third base, my buddy Mike started packing a fresh tin of Skoal straight long cut, because everything else was “PUSSY SHIT!” and offered me a lip. I reluctantly accepted, and actually held my own until it was my turn to bat. That’s when the buzz/sickness kicked in. After taking a few hacks, I started to unintentionally lean in toward the plate, took a pitch to the dome, and was knocked unconscious. I woke up to the gang huddled over me when Mike asked, “You all good?” I nodded, got up off the ground, and wiped the dirt off before grabbing the Louisville Slugger TPX and stepping back into the batter’s box.
My first lip was a pivotal moment in my development, a rite of passage into manhood, and now, thanks to this story out of the New York Times on Madison Bumgarner, it turns out it was “PUSSY SHIT!”
From The NY Times:
Most days he is at work at AT&T Park here, Giants pitcher Madison Bumgarner can be seen with a clump of smokeless tobacco lodged in his lower lip. Bumgarner, a World Series hero and the face of the team, grew up in small-town North Carolina, where, he said, nearly all men dipped. He has been doing it since he was in fifth grade.
Fifth grade? Actually, that makes all the sense in the world. Dude grew up in a log cabin his father built with his bare hands in the fucking sticks. I wouldn’t be surprised if, in addition to packing fat lips, he was throwing down a 12-pack of Keystone daily, and porking his high school-aged baby sitter, Brandi Lynn, on the reg. That’s just life in the boonies.
Now, San Francisco’s mayor has placed a ban on smokeless tobacco starting next year at all public athletic fields in the city, but let’s not kid ourselves into thinking Bumgarner is going to adhere to that ordinance. The fine is essentially like getting hit with a parking ticket, and even though Madison says he can “quit any time he wants,” he’ll undoubtedly set up a budget strictly for this nonsense. A tiger can’t change his stripes..
[via NY Times]
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