Unlike the other fathers at our little league baseball practices, Zach Moyer’s dad wouldn’t be wearing cutoffs and a T-shirt. He’d be in a swanky sweatsuit or immaculate tennis whites and was quick to tell you why.

He’d either just played “the game so much better than baseball” or would be doing so after practice.

And unlike the other fathers, he insisted kids call him not Mr. Moyer but Sal, something I knew my dad didn’t want me to do. But he even referred to himself as Sal, so I did as well — when dad was not within earshot.

One day at practice, though, dad must’ve been within hearing range because I heard about it on the drive home.

Feeling a bit confused but mostly indignant, I asked, “So what am I supposed to call him then?” Being a straight-shooter with a sense of humor and — as I came to appreciate later — a keen sense of when to expose me to the adult word, dad said, “How about a narcissist?”

He then explained Mr. Moyer’s first name was not Salvador but Lucas, and that Mr. Moyer wanted to be called Sal because he felt the name accurately described: Super Athlete Luke.

And that the other dad’s only called him Sal when he was present. If he wasn’t, they used the full form of the acronym SAL — but changed the middle word.

They replaced “Athlete” with another two-syllable “A” word that accurately expressed what they thought of him. My father did not say that word (how could he after just scolding me for not speaking properly?), but I figured it out quickly as I’m sure you did, too.

But you’re probably a bit puzzled as to why I’m sharing what a group of fathers said behind the back of a narcissist in the early 1970s. Because at our postseason picnic when those same fathers offered the narcissist the typical picnic fare — hot dogs, hamburgers, macaroni salad, potato chips, cakes and pies, soda and beer — the narcissist said no.

Instead, Sal ate and drank what he had brought for himself: homemade hummus stuffed inside a pita, some grapes, and Perrier.

If you’re wondering how I can remember what somebody ate at a picnic more than 50 years ago, you’re forgetting Sal was a narcissist. He explained exactly what he was eating and how much better it was for you than what everyone else was eating about a half dozen times.

Now, if truth be told and health be important, isn’t it good that Mr. Moyer thought so highly of himself he declined what he was offered? Especially considering just about every offering was an ultra-processed food, the kind that many researchers now believe is the primary reason obesity and weight-related diseases have doubled since this picnic took place.

To help answer that question, consider a study published in the December 2024 issue of Obesity Science and Practice and performed at Drexel University’s College of Arts and Sciences. According to the presser about it, it was designed as an eight-week “intervention,” to wean people off UPFs because of the “uniquely problematic aspects” that make reducing consumption of them “extremely difficult.”

Charlotte Hagerman, the study’s lead author and assistant research professor at Drexel, explains why. The food industry designs UPFs to be “ultra-delicious, convenient, cheap,” and in an attempt to get consumers “hooked” makes sure UPFs are “constantly present” via TV, internet ads, and billboard signs.

So Hagerman and her colleagues recruited 14 obese or overweight adults who had been consuming their fair share of UPFs and educated them on the food industry’s motives. They also helped them plan meals, offered strategies to address their UPF cravings, and provided financial support for purchasing healthier foods.

The participants quickly became “enthusiastic” about all this, the presser points out, when they began to “experience improvements in their mood and energy.” The published paper notes this, too, as well as some other pretty remarkable results.

On average, the participants lost 7.7 pounds in eight weeks even though weight loss was not the study’s targeted intent. The intent, to reduce consumption of UPFs, occurred at a rate of 48.9 percent, which resulted in an average of 612 fewer calories being eaten each day.

Moreover, the participants also decreased their sugar consumption by 50 percent, saturated fat consumption by 37 percent, and sodium consumption by 28 percent.

One final important note: While there’s no confusion in these results, I bet you’re confused as to the difference between processed foods (which are necessary and can be really healthy) and ultra-processed ones (which are unnecessary and usually aren’t).

I am too, and that’s because there’s no agreed-upon definition for UPFs.

In the previously mentioned study, however, UPFs are considered to be “industrial formulations that consist of no or minimal whole foods and are produced with substances extracted from foods or synthesized in laboratories ... using techniques that could not be recreated at home.” Common examples the paper cites are store-bought breads, frozen meals, candies, cookies, snacks and cereals.