I don’t share it anymore, but I do understand fans’ fascination when it comes to the nicknames of sports teams — with the latest local example being the hubbub surrounding the choice of a moniker for the minor professional hockey team that will play out of Mile One Centre in St. John’s this fall as the ECHL affiliate of the Toronto Maple Leafs.
That nickname carries the “yet-to-be-announced” tag, but as we've told you before, Newfoundland Growlers is set to be the choice.
That revelation unleashed the expected reactions.
Some people like it a lot, warming up to the double definition that can apply to something fiercely wild or to a small piece of an iceberg. There were those who found it acceptable, but added it wouldn’t have been their first choice. Others said they despised it, but mainly because it wasn’t their first choice. There were tweets accompanied by pictures of large beer containers (a growler is a jug used for craft brews) and some delved into slang dictionaries to point out that, in the United Kingdom, a growler apparently can mean something, uhmmm, else.
I have little sympathy for those who keep insisting St. John’s hockey teams must be nicknamed Capitals, ignoring the fact there are countless local teams — baseball and hockey — already carrying that tag; that it may be the least unique of all the suggestions, since every provincial and state capital in North America has teams so named; and that to have a club nicknamed Capitals but associated with the Maple Leafs will lead to Toronto-Washington confusion everywhere it travels.
For the rest of you, there is more compassion, because as mentioned earlier, I once maintained greater ardor when it came to these matters.
Back in 2005, I pitched a number of potential nicknames for St. John’s new Quebec Major Junior Hockey League team, with Growlers being my first choice. I did so again in 2011 before the return of the American Hockey League, with Growlers again being mentioned.
But whether it is the cynicism that often colours my profession or that grows in proportion to the number of grey hairs that have overtaken me, I have come to believe that a nickname — even one I prefer — matters little in the long run.
As testimonial backing, here are four of the most iconic brands in North American professional sports:
• the NHL’s Maple Leafs, whose nickname — as my computer’s spellcheck keeps reminding me — is grammatically incorrect (try naming a team the Wolfs today, for example, and see what all the clever wags — and your junior high English teacher —would say).
• the NBA’s Los Angeles Lakers who play in water-deprived southern California, but still somehow carry the nickname the team had in Minnesota — the land of 1,000 lakes — before transferring from Minneapolis to L.A.
• the NFL’s Green Bay Packers, named for the meat-packing firm where team founder Curly Lambeau was employed. (if it had been a poultry producer, they might have been called the Pluckers).
• baseball’s Los Angeles Dodgers, whose name is in reference to residents of a place clear across the continent — the borough of Brooklyn — who were once referred to as trolley-dodgers for their nimbleness in avoiding urban transport at the turn of the century. The Dodgers (who were previously known as the Brooklyn Bridegrooms after a number of players were married in the same year) moved west in the late 1950s, taking their nickname, born of terrified New York pedestrians, with them.
As you can see, I’m a bit fascinated by the history of nicknames, whether it’s the AHL’s Milwaukee Admirals, named for the main brand featured in the appliance store chain operated by the hockey team’s owners (just think, they could have been the Milwaukee Maytags), or the Macon Whoopees, one of the first pro hockey teams in the state of Georgia, or my favourite of all time, the WHA’s Minnesota Fighting Saints, a liking based in part because of the nickname, but also because of the team’s logo, which featured a pugnacious little boy on skates complete with wings and a bent halo.
But I do not believe a nickname makes any difference in the long-term success of a team.
There were plenty of complaints after the National Basketball League of Canada’s new team introduced Edge as a nickname late last summer (“It’s singular!” … “ What’s with the backward ‘E’ in the logo?” … “It reinforces geographic stereotypes by implying we are on the edge of the world.” … “It just plain sucks.”)
But the uproar soon died down and today, after a wildly successful inaugural season, the Edge has to be seen as popular brand.
If the ECHL team can come close to duplicating the Edge’s dandy debut, then it will find the same popularity, be it named Growlers, Skeets or Sculpins.
But please, don’t let this be seen as a call to stop you from sending comments on the subject in this direction. For the greater part, the e-mails and such are enjoyable, even engaging.
As an example, here is an excerpt of an offering from an unnamed fan who doesn’t like Growlers as a nickname for the new team:
“…it doesn’t fit Newfoundland, it doesn’t fit the ECHL and it doesn’t fit hockey … it’s a team that represents our province and the people in it. We gotta get this right!”
I don't quite get the "doesn't fit the ECHL" thing; this is a league that already has teams nicknamed Nailers and Swamp Rabbits, after all. But even thought the comments may be a little over the top — this might pass for a speech from the backbench in the House of Assembly — passion like that should be acknowledged.
Even if I don’t care as much these days.
Twitter: @telybrendan
