The Game of the Name

“What’s in a name? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Maybe it would, if you believe Willie Shakes, but do I want to send Melanie a dozen fartblossoms on Valentine’s Day. No way. There’s something in the name.

Suppose a well-dressed British M-16 agent entered the room and announced, “The name is Bond, Cratticus Bond.” How about we change his number from 007 to 143? It’s just not cool. Even with a shaken martini, I’m not trusting that guy. And I don’t think the plethora of babes will fall for him, either.

If you want to strike terror into your victims, right before you steal their cash, do you call out, “Ya better obey; I’m Robert LeRoy Parker and this here is Harry Longbaugh”? No way. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, those names will stop a train and motivate a banker to open his safe. Same with Scarface, Big Tuna, and Joey the Clown.

Consider Magic Johnson, Tiger Woods, and Lou Gehrig (the Iron Horse). Musically, how about the King of Pop, the Man in Black, the Boss, and the Queen of Soul. No real names required from that list. They’ll put a song in your heart.

Nicknames and real names, they make a difference. They stick with you for the rest of your life. I was tagged as “Hurls” when I was young. To this day, whenever I run into Astro, Jeffe, or Big Al, I am known simply as Hurls. That nickname is such a keeper I titled my blog after it.

My given name, of course, is Michael. As the story goes in Hurley lore, I gained that name because my parents already had a son named Pat and they wanted a Mike to go with him. There are a ton of Pat and Mike jokes, popular Irish characters full of whiskey and blarney. Before there were Dad jokes, there was Pat and Mike.

Here’s one: Pat and Mike loved baseball loved so much that they talked about whether there was baseball in heaven. Promises were made that the first person there would find out and get back to the other. Pat died a few nights later, and his ghost appeared to Mike.

“Well, Pat,” asked Mike, “What’s the answer?”

“Mike, I’ve got good news and bad news,” says the ghost. “Heaven has one terrific baseball team!”

“The bad news,” Pat went on, “is there is a game tomorrow night, and you’re pitching!”

I’m thinking about this because yesterday I was McAllister’s Deli (don’t tell Jason). The manager looked up my phone to see if I had any rewards. “Mark, you have a free entree,” she announced. And she kept calling me “Mark” whenever she spoke to me. It was very confusing, even though I knew why.

No, she’s not illiterate. Here’s my hack (and get ready to thank me). Whenever I sign up for some rewards program, I give a phony name. It’s always “Mark” and some name close to my actual name. Mark Healy, Mark Hirley, Mark Hurler, I have used all those aliases. If I get an email or text addressed to “Mark,” I know it’s spam. Those places sell your info, so this is my counter.

But wait, there’s more. I also give a phony birthdate. I actually think this part is genius. A lot of places give you freebies on your special day. But if you give them your actual birthday, all the fun comes at once. Give them a bogus day and you can celebrate all year long! You’re welcome.

Melanie and I were wise enough to each find a mate with the same letter beginning our names. (Coincidentally, we both love M&M’s.) Thus, we chose kid’s names all beginning with the letter “M,” ending up with Mindy, Molly, and MJ. Not every couple has that opportunity, so we took advantage of it. Too bad we didn’t have a Marilyn Monroe (double M’s!).

My son MJ and his wife Paige are expecting their first in June. Realizing the weightiness of their choice, they are deliberating over the name. It ain’t easy. Names come with associations. Do you want a name that reminds you of a 5th grade bully or the stinky, paste-eating kid in kindergarten? Or maybe that “friend” from high school who backstabbed you? A boyfriend or girlfriend who done done you wrong? No way, Jose.

At school, I am Mr. Hurley or sometimes Professor Hurley. That has a certain level of respect to it. It makes me think I need a jacket with patches and a pipe. Alas, I don’t like dressing up, and I don’t smoke. In my prime, when I was the cool teacher, I was Mr. H. or H-Man.

Ponder with me a moment. Suppose you had different name. Josh or Quinton or Bailey or Pete. Bernadette or Giselle or Tara or Nadine. Would you be exactly the same person you are now? Would others view you the same? I doubt it. I can’t qualify the diffs, but I’m convinced I wouldn’t be the same Hurls if I had a different label.

When I started grad school, I decided I’d go with “Michael.” Fresh start, blank slate. Nobody knew me, so when someone asked, I answered with my full name. “That’s Michael Hurley, Dr. Jordan.” That plan lasted about two weeks. I just couldn’t pull it off. I was too full of Mike.

Going back to my days of shorts and sippy cups, I’ve been Mike. And Mike I shall stay. It’s a sweet-smelling rose of a name.

Thanks for reading!

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