The fight of a lifetime

Sporting News, The, June 3, 1996 by Steve Marantz

Obesity killed umpire John McSherry. Eric Gregg, his friend and colleague, is fighting againstthe same fate. More thin 300,000 Americans will die from obesity this year, and millions more will know its misery. Doctors aren't sure how to stop this insidious epidemic afflicting one of three adults and one of five children. But they know one thing: It's time for obesity to line up alongside other deadly diseases and face its accusers.

McSherry's collapse, on opening day at Riverfront Stadium, defines the problem. An autopsy of ficiaDy attributes his death to heart disease. But obesity specialists know better. They shake their heads and hope medical leaders, health insurers and the non-obese public wake up to the reality of obesity. McSherry was close to 400 pounds at death. His heart gave out under the stress of carrying his weight--and from a physiology and lifestyle beyond his control. Heart disease was a symptom, not a cause.

Until obesity is taken seriously, people such as John McSherry will die prematurely. McSherry, 51, might have coped more successfully if the FDA had not dragged its feet on a new anti-obesity drug, approved in the last week of April, the first since 1973. Insurance companies continue to resist funding outpatient and preventive care for obesity. The American Psychiatric Association still does not define obesity as a disease.

Backward medical affitudes are mirrored in popular culture. In the politically correct 1990s, obese people are victims of the last permissible bias. Obesity is both ignored and ridiculed. Eric Gregg has been called "Fat Albert" and "Tons of Fun" by players and managers. Latin players favor "Chuleta"--Spanish for pork chop. The Cardinals once sent him a 5-pound sandwich of cold cuts before a game. Former manager Dick Williams once told reporters Gregg's strike zone "is as big as his rear end."

Meanwhile, Gregg is fortunate to fly first class as an umpire. Obese travelers flying coach must purchase two seats if theyVcan't fit into one.

Ridicule and indifference "stem from our belief that obese people are weak-willed, lazy or have a character disorder," says Dr. Michael Hamilton, an obesity specialist at Duke University's Diet and Fitness Center. But obesity usually is not just a matter of willpower. It is far more complicated--a chronic disease caused by genes, environment, physiology and psychology. Obese persons may eat the same amount of food as normal-weight people and remain obese. Obsessive eating often occurs, however, for reasons an individual may or may not control. Mystery shrouds the disease.

Those who taunt Gregg may not realize obesity causes him high blood pressure and a heart fibrillation. Obese persons--those whose weight in kilograms is more than 27 times the square of their height in meters (a non-metric example: a person who is 6 feet tall and weighs more than 199 pounds)--run a significantly higher risk of coronary heart disease, stroke, high blood pressure, sleep apnea, diabetes meDitus, gout, arthritis, gas stones, infertility, accidents and child-birth complications. To Gregg and millions who fight it, obesity is no joke. It's a matter of life and death. Eric Gregg, 45, on leave from the National League, came to Duke in the third week of April seeking help-as he had before, as McSherry had before. Gregg's weight was 375 pounds, his blood pressure up and his heart condition aggravated. He first enrolled in 1990 and again in 1992. Both times he vowed to maintain his weight loss and exercise regimen, and both times he failed. Duke specialists say the chance for long-term success declines with subsequent admissions. A baseball metaphor best describes the situation: Gregg has two strikes against him. He is guarding the plate.

"With each passing year, it gets more and more difficult," says Hamilton, Duke's director. "Because complications of obesity increase with age, there is an urgency to get this accomplished."

Perhaps urgency explains Gregg's atypical demeanor when I visit him in the last week of April. Normally he is outgoing, conversational and upbeat. Since breaking into the National League full time in 1978, the third black umpire in major league history, he has cultivated a high profile through media accessibility and force of personality. But McSherry's death stunned Gregg; the two were so alike. In McSherry's twitching body, Gregg saw himself.

At Duke, Gregg is serious, focused and subdued. His days are filled with exercise, lectures, consultations, group discussions, low-fat food and the company of other obese patients. His evenings are for quiet rumination and telephone calls to his wife, Conchita, and four children in Philadelphia. OccasionaDy he takes in the Class A Durham BuDs or attends a movie.

Gregg is wearing a sweat-quit and sneakers when we meet, after lunch, in an empty conference room. He repeatedly notes the time in an effort to stay on schedule for afternoon workouts. I ask him what is motivating him to undertake the Duke program a third time. He gets straight to the point.