With the death of Fidel Castro last fall, the number of world leaders with even theoretically verifiable experience on the diamond has fallen to a new low. Despite efforts and reputation, Castro never quite achieved the heights of dictatorship as envisioned by self-impressed prevaricator “Che” Guevera, settling for middling career numbers in a pursuit fueled, per persistent rumor despite the dates not matching in the slightest, by the shortsightedness of the Baltimore Orioles, whom we delight in blaming for let’s say all of Cuba’s ills even though, again, they didn’t even exist during Castro’s youth.
So you find yourself in need of a dictator, but aren’t sure where to look? You want solid stats and a proven track record, but it’s a tricky affair: Rare is the dictator who swaps teams mid-career. Rare as well is the hot prospect, dictators often being defined in part by the longevity of their rule.
Banknotes Industries is preparing a major bid for the recently-posted naming rights of Nationals Park. The corporation expects to outbid its rivals and secure a ten-year naming agreement.
There is only one thing we do not have: a name. Banknotes Harper himself is forbidden from having a stadium named after him, owing to an obscure but outrageous District of Columbia city ordinance dictating that public monuments cannot be named after known cocaine barons. (Well, you dingus city councilmen, what about the Lincoln Memorial?!) And thus it is down to we, the shareholders in the Banknotarian enterprise, to devise an adequately devilish and devastating moniker for this stately pile-by-the-Potomac.
Some ideas to start the conversation:
- Warren G. Harding Field
- United Fruit Company Park
- Dick Allen Memorial Coliseum
- Your Momma’s So Fat, She Uses This Stadium as a Lawn Chair
- The Harperdome
- Drone Yards at CIA Park
- Thanks, Obama Stadium
“I have to apologize.”
Crowd noise. Uncertainty.
“The first runner-up…”
“Mr. Name Game Two-Thousand Sixteen…”
“… is Parker!”
On Friday, loyal reader and super-utilityman Parker (no last name given) used the space provided by Banknotes Industries to point out that I, a.k.a. yours truly, had defaulted on a promise to reveal the answers to The Name Game on Thursday, Sept. 21, 2016 A.D.
Indeed. But what Parker (no first name given) and the rest of you might not realize is that yours truly, a.k.a. The Crown Prince of Most Media, just happens to use a different and far more helpful calendar than the boring old Gregorian calendar that you chumps use.
Yep, I use the the Mañana Calendar.
Granted, it’s not very popular in places like hospitals and NASA launch pads, but I like it.
As if a desperate contestant on a ridiculous reality show whose grand prize is fame so fleet that it renders the Warholian allotment an overreach, you have arrived at last at the final leg of your challenge. Still, you have done so without consuming a blender full of earthworms, engaging in a catfight with your housemate or, presumably, sneaking just off-camera to eat a tasty three-bean salad from the craft-services table.
So, whoever you are and whatever your name might be, congratulations for that.
Now, as the dawn of your dusk sets upon you and casts your face in the bittersweet glow of that which comes and that which goes, you pause for a moment of reflection, gazing upon your time here with a heady blend of nostalgia for names past — Aldrem Hallwey, anyone? — and an anxious expectation for names future — Hamlet Marte, for real? And you may wonder, in your fervent wish that no name is fake and that all appear on birth certificates, if it is possible, in any case or every instance, that both names are correct.
That is to say, might one man go by Taylor Emu and Taylor Ostrich?
Might another answer to both Skye Bolt and Earthe Quake?
Did you know that a Pete Rose by any other name would still have a bad haircut?
It’s true. After all, the dude is also known as Charlie Hustle, right? — and just look at the tonsorial catastrophe atop his head! Pete Rose/Charlie Hustle … Charlie Hustle/Pete Rose … whatever the name underneath, it’s the same bad cabbage up top. Four out of five dentists surveyed said it looks as if a weedeater demonstration went “horribly wrong.”
The other dentist said, “Why are you asking dentists?”
Yesterday, with you, specifically, in mind, yours truly published the first in an ordinal series of very important posts, each sharing the name “The Name Game: Namely, Name those Names!” (The peer-reviewed journal Naming Names Nametastically, published by a man named Joe Namath, named it “The Year’s Namiest Thing, Name-Wise,” while Name-Droppers Monthly, published by my good friend Kanye West, named it “The Year’s Most Disappointing Example of Name-Droppery, As It Failed To Mention Me, Mr. Kanye West.”)
In any event, yesterday’s post — i.e., Part 1 — explained with quite some clarity not the least measure of brilliance that yours truly — a.k.a., Count Doobie Von Doobenstein — took time from his (i.e., my) busy schedule to concoct a list of fake names to correspond with the actual names of minor league baseball players whose names are neither Rougned Odor the minor leaguer nor Rougned Odor the major leaguer. Your mission, across the quartet of installments, is to figure out which names I totes made up.
Example: 1) B 2) A 3) B 4) A
(Note: not the actual answers, you ninny)
Names are important. If we didn’t have names, people would call you “you” and me “O Exceptional One, Upon Whose Head The Almighty Has Bestowed The Most Gracious Blessings And Upon Whose Loins The Same Almighty Has Issued Eye-Popping Girth And Length At The Expense Of All Other Loins, For Verily, There Is Only So Much Loinage To Go Around.”
Of course, for the sake of expediency, I would probably go by “Gus.”
In baseball, as in society at large, names help us distinguish one person from another. For example, can you imagine if baseball had more than one Matt Duffy? Chaos, mayhem, anarchy! Can you fathom the confusion if two players surnamed Soto were to share the given name Geovany, regardless of the potential variations of its spelling? Panic, riots, long lines at Costco! Indeed, there is but one Giancarlo Stanton in the baseball world, and but one name to call him by, even if — or even because — there were two Mike Stantons.
Well, actually … three.
For this week’s roundup of player quotes, a crack team of Banknotes Industries investigative journalists asked famous major-leaguers what they originally wanted to be when they grew up.
Mike Trout: “I didn’t even want to be, like, Jim Cantore. I would have been happy being that guy who decides to issue winter storm advisories and types everything in capital letters.”
Hanley Ramirez: “Ever since I was a little kid, my dream was to be a certified public accountant. I just got distracted, I guess. Kids, stay in school.”
Tyson Ross: “I wanted to be in Cheetos ads. Like, their ads would just be me going, try Cheetos! They’re delicious! And then I would eat a bunch of Cheetos.”
Andrew Miller: “Uhh…well this is kind of embarrassing…but I wanted to be a pimp. I didn’t know what sex was. I just thought it would be cool to wear all those hats and tell girls to dance.” Continue reading
Look at this picture. Look at it.
Giancarlo Stanton is That Guy who:
- Eats all the Kit Kats at once instead of snapping them off
- Saves the brown M&Ms for last
- Doesn’t eat the rind when you share a wedge of melted brie
- Drinks his Guinness from a pilsner glass
- Bites off popsicle chunks like an apple
- Bites off onion chunks like an apple
- Belches to show his appreciation for a good meal
- Tries to find the wrong way to eat a Reese’s
- Uses the ice cream scoop as his spoon
- Orders his steak well-done
- Drinks cabernet sauvignon with fish
- Doesn’t trim his fingernails before pleasuring the ladies
- Parks his SUV in a compact-only zone
- Holds the door open for you when you’re still like 30 steps away
- Never puts his weights back at the gym
- Tells everyone at Monday practice what happened at the end of Game of Thrones
- Thought Mad Max: Fury Road was just okay
- Texts you only in emojis
- Takes the urinal next to you in an empty bathroom
- Eats Marcell Ozuna’s leftover Chinese from the breakroom fridge
- Leaves the water running when he brushes his teeth
P.S. This is off-topic, but I gotta say it: is it just me or does the Marlins team plane look really shitty?