Nicknames

I have always used them perhaps as a subliminal memory aid; sometimes I am just too damn smart.

I have had my share of nicknames so I am writing the ones I can remember. Keep in mind I have traveled extensively throughout the United States, Japan, Europe, Canada, and Mexico. I also had six different high schools I attended due to our peripatetic military lifestyle.

Some people, many of whom I greatly admire can throw their arm around someone and tell me they knew each other in kindergarten. Grew up within miles of each other.

People like that, who pretty much stay around their birthplace, would most likely only have only one nickname.

No one is exempt.

As evidenced by my lovebird name for my wife of 35 glorious years: Osama bin Karen aka the Domestic Despot.

I am sure in a drug and alcohol-fueled foray into the nether regions of the Dark Side, I may have referred to Jesus Christ by his initials.

Here’s my nicknames (in the order I remember receiving them):

Torpedo—my grandfather, a navy man, gave me this nickname as an infant because of my habit of rocking my crib until all the nuts and bolts loosened to the point to where it would literally crash to the ground in pieces. Evidently it wasn’t just one crib.

Markitos—In a Mexican family, that’s attributed to everyone named Mark.

Mark the Mule—a Stars and Stripes writer dubbed me that as a two-way player in Pop Warner in Japan for my ability to stop or run through anybody either as an offensive guard or middle linebacker. I was eight years old.

King—7^th grade. Not too full of shit.

Montezuma—8^th grade. Yeah, too full of shit.

Kennedy—A sarcastic moniker given me by many after my last-minute campaign and victory for Student Body Treasurer in high school (one of them).

Magico Negro—given to me by a roomful of Argentinian girls in a night that I will gratefully take to my grave. Hope it is one of the pics on the Final Reel that goes by your eyes before you check out of this sphere of existence.

Satin Latin—I’m tired of apologizing, and false modesty is just so unbecoming to me. A Baccarat dealer who dumped me gave that to me in 1979 and it is still in use in some regions.

I understand there is a small tribe of natives in the Southwest that still do chants about me on the second moon of summer.

Markus— Now, I guess stage names qualify as nicknames, so add my solo name in Phoenix when I played out.

Maddogg—My latest incarnation.

I call President Biden Jo-jo.

Looks like a Jo-jo.

I call Putin either Charlie Brown head or just plain BabyHead.

How do you say douchebag in Russian?

The absolute Master of Sports nicknames is hands-down Chris Berman. His sayings (Back…back…back!) and nicknames for players (John“Tonight Let it be” Lowenstein).

The undisputed master.

Stay well.

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