Let me say right up top that this is a pretty arbitrary list; not every chewy name in baseball history made the cut. Generally speaking, I included names 1) longer than ten letters, and names that sound like 2) a sneeze, 3) a curse word, 4) a novelty dance, 5) some sort of Transylvanian alcohol that isn’t legal in the States, or 6) a tiny cured or pickled fish.

But now and then, you’re going to see a 7) “Hee!”

Catchers
The highest concentration of phlegmy names among position players is behind the plate; I don’t know why that is, but I could have made this section twice as long. The ranking name is of course Jarrod “Salty” Saltalamacchia, who has the longest name in major-league history; the back of his jersey looks like a watch face. Weirdly, when he first came up I could never remember his name, so the Couch Baron and I used to run through all these options trying to guess it before they showed it on the TV. “Oh, it’s, it’s, shit! Saltimbucca!” “No no no — Sambuca Ralph Macchio!” “Sampson Ron Delillo!”

Salty qualifies on all seven fronts, I think, and he’s probably your starter, unless you want to go with AJ Pierzynski (“bless you”) or Ossee Schreckengost (“no, fuck you, buddy”). Schreckengost’s name at birth: “Schrecongost.” Not sure how the beta version helped, but okay.

Your backups: Casper Asbjornson (“cheers”), Bill Naharodny (“no, fuck you“), Brusie Ogrodowski (“bless you” — which he might, with the saintly given name “Ambrose Francis”), Charlie Reipschlager (“cheers”), Tom Tischinski (“bless you”), and the good-hearted Gene Vadeboncoeur.

First Basemen
It’s eye-chart city, and Doug Mientkiewicz is the mayor; in fact, one of his nicknames is “Eye Chart” (the other is “Saltalamacchia.” Just kidding. It’s “Minky”). The Mink is your best bet on D, but if you want the ball hit a mile, pencil in Ted “Big Klu” Kluszewski. Klu’s name isn’t all that gristly, but I’ve seen pictures of that guy’s upper arms, and if you’d like to risk offending him by leaving him off your roster, you can g’head. Here on Crazy Nines, he plays.

For a more continental flavor, slot in Archi Cianfrocco (“no thanks, I hate anchovies”/”heeeey, Macarena!”); I don’t know how much territory he covers in the field, but on the lineup card, he’s a tiny fish, a forbidden dance, and the evil eye. And he’s from Rome! (New York.)

Second Basemen
Go ahead and write in Mark Grudzielanek (“cheers”) as your starter, but when it’s time to pinch-hit, you can signal for Ed “Batty” Abbaticchio (“no thanks, I hate anchovies”), an early-baseball version of Bo Jackson who also played football and took 1906 off to manage a hotel in Pittsburgh.

Other bench guys include Bob Ramazzotti (“heeeey, Macarena!”), who came up to the majors to replace Cookie Lavagetto (and then the two of them started a law firm housed in a biscotti factory) (okay, not really), and Howdy Groskloss (“cheers”/”no, fuck you“).

Shortstops
Nomar Garciaparra (“no thanks, I hate anchovies”) doesn’t have that kooky a name, but he used to be a good SS once upon a time, and I like the internal rhyme. It’s no Yo-Yo Davalillo (“heeeey, Macarena!”), especially not if you use Yo-Yo’s birth name, Pompeyo Antonio Romero Davalillo. (“No, fuck you-you.”)

But Yo-Yo only played 19 games in the majors — and with the ’53 Senators, which was like a quadruple-A team — so why not go with Troy Trever Tulowitzki (“bless you”/”no, fuck you“) instead? He’s a good player, and you have to admire his parents’ commitment to percussion in naming, although you’d think they’d have realized he’d be spitting on people while introducing himself.

Also available to furnish a hail of saliva: Jerry Dybzinskii (“bless you”), Roy “Flash” Flaskamper (“cheers”), and Tony Perezchica (“no thanks, I hate the Macarena”).

Third Basemen
Maybe I’ve overlooked someone, but it’s slim pickings at the hot corner. You’ve got Mike Pagliarulo (“cheers”), who isn’t that good. People really loved Pags, right? I loved Scotty Bro, and he didn’t have great stats either; the only difference, I guess, is that the Broshe didn’t start a poorly spelled blog riddled with imbecilic assertions. Yet.

Your other choice is Frank Sigafoos (“Beetlejuice Beetlejuice Beetlejuice!”), who in parts of three seasons sucked both at the plate (.201 BA, .224 slugging) and in the field (.906 fielding percentage, compared to a league average of .945).

Makes me want to pretend Mike Schmidt’s birth name was actually Mikhail Van Schmitzenschnell, but…it ain’t.

Outfielders
Not a huge talent pool here either. The consonant pool, however, is filled to the brim and perfectly chlorinated with the likes of Ryan Radmanovich (“no thanks, I hate anchovies”) and Rip Repulski (“Hee!” Given name: Eldon John. Get back, honky cat). Throw Riff Randell out there in left field and it’s The Rock and Roll High School Bears in Breaking Training.

Fortunately, you can count on Carl Yastrzemski (“bless you”), Ryan Spilborghs (“no, fuck you“), and Frank Catalanotto (“heeeey, Macarena!”) to put some wood on the ball.

You can also count on a wicked writer’s cramp if you call on your bench. Lou Schiappacasse (“no thanks, I hate anchovies”) only played two games for the Tigers back in 1902, but his name is still trying to leave the field. Fernando Seguignol (“cheers”) had a decent career in Japan, though, and maybe Count Sensenderfer (“Hee!”) can pull some strings for you in Philadelphia, where he had a long career in politics…but not as long as his name, John Phillips Jenkins Sensenderfer. I don’t know where the “Count” comes from, but according to one genealogy-website user, the original German family name is “Sümpffendörffer” (“bless you”) which could have held off the challenge from Signore Saltalamacchia (“cheers, I hate the Macarena”).

Rounding out the outfield: Pete Zoccolillo (“heeeey, Macarena!”) and Bevo LeBourveau (“…Bevo, LeBourveau, let’s call the whole thing off”) (“cheers”), whose given name is actually more of a tongue-twister (“DeWitt Wiley LeBourveau”).

Pitching Staff
I almost changed my own rules for the pitchers, because Al “The Mad Hungarian” Hrabosky (“bless you”) and Pete Vuckovich (“no, fuck you“) aren’t Hall of Fame arms, but Justin Duchscherer (“bless you”) and Jason Isringhausen (“cheers”) could use the help, and there’s only so much Scott Schoeneweis (“no thanks, I hate anchovies”) can do all by himself. You know who’s not going to do shit: Jimmy Uchrinscko (“bless you, anchovies”). No wonder he had a lifetime 10.13 ERA; he probably sprained everything up to his triceps just endorsing his paycheck.

Maybe the way to structure the staff is to assign them all roles out of the bullpen, just like on a real club. But instead of the roles you’d see on a real-life pitching staff — side-arming innings eater; LOOGY; eighth-inning guy; closer — you’ve got roles like Imminent Anti-Aircraft Attack (Cameron Cairncross, Cookie Cuccurullo, and Joe Kraskauskas, bless you bless you bless you), or Dances Trademarked By The Cruise Lines On Which They Were Invented (Porfi Altamirano and Bob Giallombardo).

Or you could build the rotation around guys who sound like German submarines (Clem “Steamboat” Dreisewerd, Kirk Dressendorfer, Alan Hargesheimer, and Frederick Augustus “Duke” Klobedanz, who according to baseball-reference.com bears many statistical similarities to the tinily named Cliff Lee).

Or names that sound like patent medicines later proven to contain rat poison and house paint: Raymond Roy Rippelmayer’s Elixir, Guaranteed To Leaven Vapors! Dr. Timothy Spooneybarger’s Mir-A-Cull Emetic Potion! Professor G. Zuverink’s Sleep-Ade!

You also have a handful of pitchers who sound like a Prussian spell cast to rot hooves — Paul Spoljaric and Steve Wojciechowski, among others — and one guy whose last name sounds like a pastry that Martha Stewart swears you can make at home, but the recipe starts off with “dreams of a wandering faerie 1 Tbsp” and then you have to bake it in a zero-gravity chamber, and it’s like, fuck the Monbouquette, I’ll just buy an ice-cream cake. (And the first name “Bill” doesn’t go with “Monbouquette” at all. His parents couldn’t have gone whole hog with “Guillaume”?)

Last but not least, two classic names who, if they can’t close the game, can at least shut down the discussion: Bob Owchinko (“bless you”), and the late great Cletus Elwood “Boots” Poffenberger (“Hee, cheers!”).

Managed by: Red Schoendienst, which is pronounced “Shane-deenst” if I’m not mistaken. Hat-tip to Keith Hernandez (“no thanks, I hate steak dinners”) for the usage tip.

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Tags:   AJ Pierzynski   Al Hrabosky   Alan Hargesheimer   Archi Cianfrocco   Bevo LeBourveau   Bill Monbouquette   Bill Naharodny   Bo Jackson   Bob Giallombardo   Bob Owchinko   Bob Ramazzotti   Boots Poffenberger   Brusie Ogrodowski   Cameron Cairncross   Carl Yastrzemski   Casper Asbjornson   Charlie Reipschlager   Clem Dreisewerd   Cookie Cuccurullo   Cookie Lavagetto   Couch Baron   Count Sensenderfer   Doug Mientkiewicz   Duke Klobedanz   Ed Abbaticchio   Fernando Seguignol   Frank Catalanotto   Frank Sigafoos   Gene Vadeboncoeur   George Zuverink   Howdy Groskloss   Jarrod Saltalamacchia   Jason Isringhausen   Jerry Dybzinski   Jimmy Uchrinscko   Joe Kraskauskas   Justin Duchscherer   Keith Hernandez   Kirk Dressendorfer   Lou Schiappacasse   Mark Grudzielanek   Mike Pagliarulo   Mike Schmidt   Nomah   Ossee Schreckengost   Paul Spoljaric   Pete Vuckovich   Pete Zoccolillo   Porfi Altamirano   Ray Rippelmayer   Red Schoendienst   Riff Randell   Rip Repulski   Roy Flaskamper   Ryan Radmanovich   Ryan Spilborghs   Scott Brosius   Scott Schoeneweis   Steve Wojciechowski   Ted Kluszewski   Tim Spooneybarger   Tom Tischinski   Tony Perezchica   Troy Tulowitzki   Yo-Yo Davalillo