Thankful His Life Didn’t Go Up in Smoke

Rex Hudler, the Angels’ incurable baseball romantic who waxes about such things as the wonderful smell of grass, has a somber new message.

Here’s what happens if you smoke it:

You will be standing in front of an airport screener when she pulls a tiny box out of your luggage, and your sweat beads will become beach balls.

You will watch a police officer pull out your empty pipe, bang it so hard on a table that bits of marijuana residue fall out, and your stomach will bounce off your tonsils.

You will be handcuffed and escorted past two passengers wearing David Eckstein Angel jerseys, and you will pray to the depths of your shoes that they do not look.

You will be locked in a jail cell for a couple of hours, and only later discover that this is the easy part.

You will be so ashamed, you will not leave your house for two weeks.

You will not be allowed to return to work for three months.

You will have to explain to your 9-year-old daughter that her daddy did something illegal, and every word will feel like a stab.

The first time you visit your neighborhood grocery store, a woman will scold you in the checkout line.

The first series at Angel Stadium, some kids will stare up at you in the broadcast booth and pantomime smoking a marijuana joint.

Your mail will include a letter from a woman whose teenage son is using marijuana, a boy who dropped the newspaper in her lap and said, “If it’s OK with Hudler, it’s OK with me.”

Those who used to serenade you with “Go Angels!” now occasionally have different greetings.

“Spark it up, Hud!”

“Got a doobie, Hud?”

“Why did you do it, Hud?”

And you will take it, every insulting word, every jeering rip.

You will tell the smart-alecks you were wrong, you will tell the kids that marijuana is bad, you will send a handwritten note of apology to the mom.

You will take it, because this is how you played, how you broadcast, how you must live.

If it’s your fault, you admit it. And this was your fault, every leaf of it.

“It’s like, here I am, man,” said Rex Hudler, quietly spreading his arms Thursday during his first extended interview on the subject. “I broke a law. I’m sorry. Whatever I get from you, I deserve it.”

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He is forever delivering speeches to children on behalf of the Angels, yet there is a reason the team’s television color analyst would never lecture about the evils of marijuana.

“I would say don’t do drugs, but I would never say don’t smoke marijuana,” Rex Hudler said. “Because I did.”

For those who wondered how the most hyperactive Angel ever relaxed -- and didn’t we all wonder? -- the answer was provided in August in the Kansas City, Mo., airport.

Hudler was arrested on suspicion of marijuana possession.

The amount was minuscule, the charges were quickly dropped, the required community service and treatment have been completed.

But a life was changed.

“I smoked dope, I broke the law, and I’m suffering the consequences,” Hudler said.

“But in a way, I’m thankful for the pain, because I’ve grown from it.”

For example, for the first time since he was a senior in high school, he no longer smokes marijuana.

Hudler says he never smoked much, rarely on the road, never before games, and would sometimes go an entire season without smoking. But during his 20-year pro career and five-year broadcasting stint with the Angels, he said dope was always somewhere in the background, even if only for a few tokes at night to help him sleep.

“It made me feel good, it relaxed me,” he said. “It was easy, there was no real side effect. I knew it was wrong, but I liked it.”

In what will not be a surprise to anyone who has followed baseball’s recent drug crisis, Hudler said the easiest place to smoke was in the major leagues.

In triple A, for example, he didn’t smoke because he was tested for drugs. While playing in Japan, he didn’t smoke because it wasn’t available.

“In major league baseball back then, it was everywhere, you just had to know where to look,” he said.

Although he said he rarely carried marijuana across state lines, in August he brought some on a trip to Kansas City, to use during a fishing trip with a buddy.

“To have my sin exposed to the nation is a humbling thing,” he said. “It was God trying to get my attention.”

He was suspended by the Angels for the rest of the season, yet reinstated in November by an Arte Moreno regime that felt he had paid enough.

“In the end, everyone agreed there was accountability, there was consequences, and it was time to move forward,” said Tim Mead, the Angels’ vice president of communications.

In this new fan-friendly regime, Hudler’s special relationship with the fans -- sometimes corny, always passionate -- was paying dividends.

Hudler, after all, had become the face of the franchise during the 2002 championship run, a cheerleading extension to a wide-eyed fan base. He isn’t the most insightful analyst, but he is fun, and Angel fans had been waiting four decades for fun.

“Arte Moreno has a fan’s heart, he’s a human being, and I will forever be grateful to him for allowing me to return to work,” Hudler said.

This work involves far more than 130 broadcasts. Hudler is on the front lines in the stadium concourses and the community.

He does so much charity work -- particularly for Down syndrome, which afflicts his son Cade -- that ordering him to do community service is like telling him to brush his teeth.

He has such an old-fashioned relationship with fans that when he sees someone who doesn’t look happy, he gives them a baseball.

In fact, he can barely talk without a baseball in his hands, on the air and during this interview. After home games, thanks to permission from Moreno, he signs that trademark baseball and throws it into the stands.

Is it any wonder that when he made his first appearance on the field this spring in Tempe, Ariz., he was given a standing ovation?

“This has reminded me that if you give love, you’ll eventually get love back,” he said.

“Don’t know how or when, but you will eventually get love back.”

In return, Hudler says that removing marijuana from his life has made him a better father and broadcaster.

“Instead of staying up to smoke a little bit, I go to bed earlier, which makes me in better shape for my children in the morning,” he said.

“And my memory of details seems to have improved, which has helped me on the telecast.”

And those fans who still insist on serenading him with Cheech and Chong imitations from the stands?

Hudler doesn’t ignore them. He takes off his sunglasses and smiles down at them.

Then, with the fans usually watching in stunned silence, he shakes his head, wags his finger, sticks out his wrist and slaps it, the old Wonder Dog forever learning new tricks.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Plaschke, go to latimes.com/plaschke.