ROTAN, Texas — After spitting a load of tobacco juice into a well-worn cup, Sammy Baugh lets out a hearty, toothless laugh, then shoots down the famous tale about his pinpoint accuracy.
According to the story, Baugh was at a practice with the Washington Redskins in his rookie year when a coach told him to aim a pass at a downfield receiver's eye. Baugh looked calmly at the coach and asked, "Which eye?"
"It's one of those things I think just gets started some way," said the West Texas country boy whose 88 years on the range were briefly interrupted by one of the greatest careers in NFL history.
Hyperbolic stories aren't needed to describe Baugh's versatile career. His accomplishments from all over the field are even more amazing in an era of NFL specialization.
In 1943, Baugh led the league in passing, interceptions and punting.
In one game, he threw four touchdown passes and intercepted four. He threw six touchdowns in a game--twice--and had an 85-yard punt.
Baugh guided the Redskins to five title games and two championships, playing his entire 16-year career without a face mask. His No. 33 is the only jersey Washington has retired.
The last surviving member of the Pro Football Hall of Fame's inaugural class, Baugh still owns league marks for career punting average (45.1 yards) and season average (51.4).
"It's pretty safe that all the things he did will never be done again," said Indianapolis Colts quarterback Peyton Manning, who spent a day with Baugh a few years ago and has stayed in touch with him since.
Nowadays, Baugh rarely strays from his 7,600-acre ranch located about 95 miles southeast of Lubbock. The Hall of Fame and the Redskins have tried to lure him east for ceremonies over the years, and he always turns them down.
He likes the slow pace of his secluded life, but also still enjoys talking football and golf with buddies who call or with an occasional visitor.
A creature of habit, Baugh watches as many Western movies as he can and always eats a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch. He used to drive to the town of Snyder three or four times a week for golf, until sore knees, searing heat and the 100-mile round trip made those outings too tough.
"I don't do much anymore. If I don't get back to golf, then hell, I'll be home all the time," said Baugh, who seasons most sentences with "hell," "damn" or both.
But he still looks forward to football season.
