What's in a Name

Remember the good old days, when players had nicknames that meant something? Ron Cey was known as the Penguin for the way he walked. Graig Nettles was Puff because his sparkling defensive play had him disappearing in a puff of smoke. Dick Tidrow was known as “Dirt” for his habit of diving in the dirt for balls during pre-game warm-ups.

Today, there’s hardly a Babe, a Lefty, or a Sparky in the bunch. These days, what passes for a nickname is a shortening or lengthening of a first or last name (e.g. Sheff for Gary Sheffield, Eck for Dennis Eckersley, Ersty for Darin Erstad) that could have been made up by someone who has never met the player (and perhaps was). Even Randy Johnson’s moniker, The Big Unit, could have been invented by anybody who read the 6’10” on his bubblegum card.

Even worse are the initials that announcers use to persuade the audience of their bosom-buddy closeness with players. The commentators for the Los Angeles Angels of the 91 freeway are the most heinous practitioners of this travesty. They use initials in combinations never used before: G.A. for Garret Anderson, A.K. for Adam Kennedy, and just plain Q for Robb Quinlan. It’s a wonder they don’t refer to catcher Bengie Molina as B.M.

When Troy Glaus was with the team, they had the annoying habit of referring to him, Anderson, and Vladimir Guerrero as The G-Force because all three had Gs in their name. What insight! Thankfully, Glaus has taken the Superfriends name with him to Arizona, where Luis Gonzalez and Shawn Green fill out the other two spots. At least all three LAST names start with G.

But the most moronic trend in sports (not just baseball) has to be the first initial of first name, first syllable of last name nickname. Now that Jennifer Lopez has pleaded with the media to call her Jenny from the block and to forget about J-Lo, can we please stop with A-Rod, I-Rod, H-Rod (remember Henry Rodriguez?) D-Lowe, T-Long, D-Fish, et al.? (I’ll make an exception for K-Rod (Francisco Rodriguez, since that at least invokes his ability to strike out opposing batters).

These nicknames are maddening because they show even less imagination than initials. Everywhere outside Anaheim and wherever R.A. Dickey and U.L Washington were from, use of initials rather than a name usually indicates a double-entendre of some sort, a reference to some other common usage of those initials. JR for junior, JP for justice of the peace, DA for District attorney, JD for juvenile delinquent, OJ for orange juice, AC for air conditioning.

For similar reasons, players with the last name Waters are usually nicknamed Muddy, while those surnamed Rhodes are often known as Dusty. It hardly qualifies for a seat at the Algonquin Round Table, but at least it shows a glimmer of thought.

The A-Rod type nickname, on the other hand, demonstrates no imagination, no sports knowledge, merely an ability to do the Anna Anna Bobanna Banana Nanna Fofanna song with a player’s name. With the exception of K-Mart, the only discerning it requires is an ear to prevent you from actually uttering even stupider possible nicknames like D-Jet, M-Teja, J-Gia, B-Bon, A-Puj, or V-Guer.

If we can’t come up with a better nickname for a player than T-Helt, maybe we should just refer to him by his name.