"It's a picture of me after a game from 30 years ago, back when I was managing the (Texas) Rangers and behind me there's this elongated view of the dugout. There must have been 200 of those green Gatorade cups and all this other … let's just say gunk, laying around.

"And I used to wonder even then," Valentine mused, "why guys couldn't clean up after themselves."

The answer may be as old－and as American－as the sport itself. Baseball began as a working man's game on sandlots and dusty diamonds, and more than a few players struggling with "cotton mouth" turned to chewing tobacco (and later gum and sunflower seeds) to work up some moisture. It became an institution in no time flat.

Pitchers figured out that loading a glob onto one side of the ball made it dip like crazy. Fielders pounded spit into the pockets of stiff leather gloves to soften them up and hitters rubbed it on their hands or lacquered up bat handles to improve their grips, at least temporarily. But it had psychological value, too.

Spitting helped some soothe jangling nerves, show contempt or toughness, or just mark their territory like dogs do. It was only a problem when an opponent got in the way of its gravity.