Make Nicknames Great Again
Scribbled Notes on a Cocktail Napkin: a rhetorical question about Barry Bonds as the greatest athlete without a nickname prompts a deeper dive
Scribbling from Sugar Land
It was supposed to be a rhetorical question, a paragraph within a longer essay about Barry Bonds’ long-term public persona. But a couple days later, it seems like a subject worthy of this week’s “Scribbled Notes on a Cocktail Napkin.”
Let me start by quoting myself:
He never even had a nickname. Think about that. What was Barry Bonds’ nickname? Has any athlete in any sport ever dominated like Barry Bonds and didn’t have a nickname? No reporter ever gave him one that stuck. No broadcaster did. The witty bloggers and super fans never made a sign that stuck in our lexicon. [Chris Berman called him Barry “US Savings” Bonds but that wasn’t a real nickname.]
Turns out, the list of superstars without a nickname is extensive. Here’s an incomplete list of Hall of Famers – just those who I saw play in my lifetime -- who never had a real nickname. [Adding a ‘y’ to a name or shortening a name is not a nickname.]
Craig Biggio, George Brett, Rod Carew, Dennis Eckersley, Tom Glavine, Barry Larkin, Edgar Martinez, Pedro Martinez, Joe Maurer, Paul Molitor, Mike Piazza, Kirby Puckett, Jim Rice, Ryne Sandberg, Mike Schmidt, John Smoltz, Jim Thome.
See? Bonds is not alone in the nickname-free club, although I’m sticking with my original premise that he’s the most dominant player without one.
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Nicknames are usually terms of affectionate. Some are given during childhood, others in college, but most are based on something that happened during an athlete’s professional career.
In very old days, before newspaper reporters got postgame quotes, scribes livened up their copy by bestowing names like “The Splendid Splinter” for Ted Williams, “The Sultan of Swat” for Babe Ruth, and “The Chairman of the Board” for Whitey Ford.
Some baseball teams just have a better history of nicknames. Maybe the writers in their city were more clever or they had someone in the organization with a knack for it. Then along came ESPN anchor Chris Berman in the 1980s with a different approach to nicknames.
Now we’re mired in an era where nicknames are lazy (A-Rod) or nonexistent. We need to, ahem, make nicknames great again. It’s on all of us. But first, let’s review our potential.
"Scribbled notes on a cocktail napkin" is my weekly Sunday feature that's a tribute to the sports columnists I grew up reading who penned Herb Caen-inspired three dot columns. It's an excuse to shamelessly plug my other side projects, post my favorite Immaculate Grid from the week with a story about one of the players, link to stories I found interesting, and string together loose topics on my mind.
Nicknames by the Bay
I grew up in the Bay Area and it seemed like both of the local teams always had players with the coolest nicknames.
Former A’s owner Charlie Finley, a marketing guy before marketing invaded sports, loved nicknames and facial hair. Jim Hunter became Catfish. John Odom became Blue Moon. Bert Campaneris was born Dagoberto before shortening it to Bert. Then he was called Campy. Then Campy became his first name, so he was Campy Campaneris.
A’s players thought a batboy named Stanley Burrell looked like a young Henry Aaron, whose nickname was Hammerin’ Hank, so they started calling him Hammer. And that’s how rapper MC Hammer got his stage name.
Even longtime PA Announcer Roy Steele was nicknamed “The Voice of God” because of his booming voice.
Across the Bay, I remember the 1980s Giants were filled with colorful nicknames.
Will Clark wasn’t just The Thrill because it rhymed, he was a constant thrill to watch play. His teammate Don Robinson was called Caveman because, welp, he looked like one. Rick Reuschel was “Big Daddy” and Steve Bedrosian was “Bedrock.”
Jeffrey Leonard was “The Hac Man” because he went up the plate hacking and rarely walked. Kevin Mitchell was “Boogie Bear.” In the 2000s, Kirk Rueter was called Woody because he looked like Woody from “Toy Story.”
Orlando Cepeda was nicknamed “The Baby Bull” as a child because his father, a legendary ballplayer in Puerto Rico, was named The Bull. When he went to St. Louis, he loved listening to salsa music, so teammates called him Cha Cha. Willie McCovey was named “Stretch” because he was 6-foot-4 and he used a unique batting stance. Juan Marichal was “The Dominican Dandy.”
Players used to get nicknames based on where they lived.
Carl Furillo was The Reading Rifle, Ty Cobb was the Georgia Peach, Earle Combs was the Kentucky Colonel, Frankie Frisch was the Fordham Flash, and Honus Wagner was the Flying Dutchman. Those were all in the black and white days. In the 1970s, Al Hrabosky was The Man Hungarian and Ron Guidry was Louisiana Lightning.
The only modern player I can think with a regional name is Mike Trout as the Millville Meteor, but that doesn’t really rattle off the tongue.
The best nickname givers
Longtime manager Tommy Lasorda didn’t have a nickname – don’t come at me with “Tommy Lasagna” -- but he sure was good at giving out nicknames.
Tommy started calling Orel Hershiser “The Bulldog” because that’s the exact opposite of what he was. It was a challenge for Hershiser to be meaner, tougher, on the mound. Hershiser initially hated the nickname. But it worked. Hershiser transformed into his nickname.
In the minors, Tommy once took the entire team out for a steak dinner. Tom Paciorek didn’t order a steak. He ordered a cheeseburger instead. Tommy called him Wimpy, the character from the Popeye cartoon. The name stuck.
Ron Cey was The Penguin because, well, he ran like a penguin.
Vin Scully nicknamed Yasiel Puig “The Wild Horse” because of his reckless playing style, like a wild stallion with no limits.
Ken “Hawk” Harrelson dubbed Frank Thomas “The Big Hurt” because he was big and hurt the baseball.
Giants broadcasters Duane Kuiper and Mike Krukow just might be the best at giving out nicknames. They’re former players and just plain funny people with a knack for this.
Kuiper once said the hitters due up for the Giants were a Panda, a Baby Giraffe and a White Shark. He was referring to, in order, Pablo Sandoval, Brandon Belt and Gregor Blanco.
I’ve never been very good at giving nicknames to players ... or even friends. I need to get better at this.
My friend Johnny Doskow, one of the A’s announcers, is really good at giving people nicknames. Ty Blach was dubbed “The Preacher” and shortstop Andy Parrino was “The Magician.”
One day, Doskow wanted to give our mutual friend Kevin Collins a nickname. Doskow stared at him for a few moments and said, “Battleship.” No reason. No background story. He just liked how it sounded. So now Kevin Collins is “Battleship.”
This week’s not-so-random Immaculate Grid story: Don Baylor
Some nicknames start as a dig and become a compliment.
Don Baylor once told a reporter, “If I get into one of my grooves, there’s no stopping me.” Teammate Bobby Grich overheard this, started calling him Groove to mock him, and the name just seemed to fit. Baylor did have a groove in his vibe.
Thurman Munson mocked teammate Reggie Jackson’s early postseason failures upon joining the Yankees. He told a reporter, “I thought he was supposed to be Mr. October.” Then Reggie hit three home runs in the closing game of the 1977 World Series, and he truly was Mr. October forever and over.
Satchell Paige was born as Leroy Page. It’s believed the family added the “i” to the last name so it made them sound more “high tone.” It was also possibly the desire for a new start after Leroy’s father passed.
Leroy worked the train station as a child toting bags. He created a contraption using a pole and a rope that allowed him to cart up to four bags at once. Another kid taunted him with, “you look like a walking satchel tree.” The name stuck.
Part of the charm of learning about the Negro Leagues is the nicknames that made the players more memorable. I don’t know what Cool Papa Bell’s real first name and don’t really want to know. How cool is the name Cool Papa?
The player who couldn’t find the ballpark
The most hilarious series of nicknames involves pitcher Pascual Perez.
It was 1982, way before GPS, Perez was from the Dominican Republic, new to Atlanta, and just got his Georgia drivers license. He lived 20 minutes from Fulton County Stadium, but got lost – on the day he was scheduled to pitch – and had to be scratched from the start.
Perez was told to take I-85, but ended up on I-285. He drove in circles for about 150 miles on the wrong Atlanta highways, finally arriving as the national anthem was being performed.
Joe Niekro filled-in with about 30 minutes notice, the Braves won the game and players got a laugh out of the whole thing. Atlanta residents could sympathize with the ultimate traffic nightmare around Atlanta’s Perimeter and that made him more popular.
Then-Braves manager Joe Torre said it turned around the Braves season. The Braves had fallen out of first place. Starting with the day Perez got lost, they won six games in a row and 13 of the next 15, and ended up winning the division title.
“It was Pascual Perez getting lost,” Torre said in 1982. “That lightened the mood. That made the players laugh and relax. And that turned us back around. I really believe that.”
Perez was called “Roadmap” and “Perimeter Perez” and “Perimeter Pascual” and “I-285.” He was a good sport about it, too. Perez wore a warmup jacket with I-285 on the back, instead of his uniform number, and posed for photos with Atlanta maps.
When nicknames need explaining
Mike Hargrove was “The Human Rain Delay” because he took forever to get ready before pitches. Brooks Robinson was “The Human Vacuum Cleaner” for his defensive prowess. [It’s another sport, but I always loved how basketball superstar Dominique Wilkins was called “The Human Highlight Reel.”]
Doug Mientkiewicz was nicknamed “Eye Chart” because that’s what his name looks like. Marc Rzepczyski is “Scrabble” because his last name is worth a whopping 30 points in the Scrabble board game.
Willie Mays was dubbed the “Say Hey Kid” when he debuted in New York because he couldn’t remember anybody’s name, so he just exclaimed, “say hey” and everyone thought it was fun. It carried over to San Francisco and the rest of his wonderful life.
Johnny B. Baker, Jr. was given the nickname Dusty as a kid by his parents because he always came home from playing sports all dusty. The name stuck and became official on all his baseball cards from the Braves to the Dodgers to the Giants and A’s to his decorated career as a manager.
Dennis “Oil Can” Boyd got his moniker from his beer drinking days as a youth. Beer in his town was called Oil.
Al Oliver’s nickname was Scoop because he was good at scooping low throws at first base. Or … was it?
“I think one of my favorites was when we got Al Oliver (in 1984),” Kuiper said. “His nickname was Scoop. So we just assumed that meant that he could dig everything out of the dirt and that he was an all-around great first baseman. And we figured after about a week that that nickname was like a tall guy being called Shorty. He was terrible.”
But Oliver didn’t know it.
“He had this big gold necklace that said ‘Scoop.’ He actually believed it,” Kuiper said.
Which kid is The Kid?
Ted Williams was so spectacular, he had four nicknames: The Splendid Splinter, Teddy Ballgame, The Thumper and The Kid.
Williams wasn’t the only player called The Kid. So was Gary Carter and Robin Yount and Ken Griffey, Jr. All three were 20 years old or younger when they made their debut. All ended up in the Hall of Fame. So if you’re going to call someone The Kid, they better be destined for immortality.
Fernando Tatis, Jr. is called El Nino, which means The Kid in Spanish. Orlando Arcia is also called El Nino.
Heck, my first year on the baseball beat, the older scribes called me “the kid” and some still call me that to this day.
Chris Berman’s legacy
It’s hard to understate Chris Berman’s impact on revitalizing nicknames. In the early days of ESPN SportsCenter in the 1980s, Berman built a cult following using musical lyrics, books, alcohol, puns, and other pop culture references. Here are some of my favorites:
Chuck “New Kids on The” Knoblach
Bert “Be Home” Blyleven
Craig “Def” Lefferts
Darryl Strawberry “Fields Forever”
Gary Redus “A Bed Time Story”
Greg “Life is a” Cadaret
Ivan “Bubblin’ “ Calderon
John "Tonight, Let It Be" Lowenstein
Jose "Won't You Take Me On A Sea" Cruz
Lance "You Sank My" Blankenship
Mark Carreon "My Wayward Son"
Oddibe "Young Again" McDowell
Terry "Grapes Of Wrath" Steinbach
Scott "Supercalifragilisticexpiali" Brosius
Out of all of Chris Berman’s nicknames, “The Crime Dog” for Hall of Famer Fred McGriff is the one with the most staying power.
What is Josh Suchon’s nickname?
When I was really young, my uncle Donny called me JJ one day, for Josh the Jock. It didn’t last long, but it was top of mind when I played on a Little League team with three guys named Josh and the coach asked for nicknames.
Josh Pero became JP. I became JJ, even though we had a guy named Josh Johnson on the team. Yes, it was totally confusing. Thank goodness that was just one season.
My first job after college, in 1996 with the Watertown Indians, my coworker Ben Mahshie called me Fungo because I looked like a fungo bat. Harsh, yet accurate.
A few weeks later he called me Howe, because the statistical service used back then was Howe Sports Data, and Ben thought I was more accurate than Howe. False, yet flattering.
It’s easy to add a “y” or “i” so Suchon becomes Sushi. Yes, it’s very fun to get “Sushi with Sushi” and yes, I do love sushi.
My most common nickname is shortening Suchon, but you can’t pronounce it like “such as.” It’s gotta be Soooosh (four o’s is preferred). Unless I do something stupid, than it might be Soooooosh. If I do something legendary, or you’re really trying to get my attention badly, then it’s Soooooooooosh.
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Just getting to this- Rod Carew didn't have a nickname but got a line in a Beastie Boys song. "And I've got mad hits like I was Rod Carew!" Better than a nickname in my book. Also, there was dude I was in the Navy with whose last name was Freyaldenhoven. He was called "F-14" for simplicity and seemed appropriate for where we were at the time.
Does just being known by your first name count as a "nickname"? Edgar sometimes, has been called 'Gar in Seattle. I am also thinking of "Ichiro." And to stay on the Seattle theme, isn't King Felix an incredible nickname, especially given that it originated from a fan blog!