Book Review: Dickson's New Baseball Dictionary

1 April 2002

Few pastimes have contributed as much to the language as baseball. All sports have their own jargon and occasionally some of those jargon words make their way into general speech. But baseball is different in the sheer number or words and phrases that it has contributed to the language.

Dickson’s revised version of his baseball dictionary contains over 7,000 entries, from A (as in Class A ball) to zurdo (Spanish for lefty). Most jargon dictionaries simply record the definitions of terms. Dickson goes well beyond this. He identifies archaic and obsolete terms, cross-references related terms, includes etymologies, and for many terms gives the first known use, notes on usage, and quotations of actual use.

The extended notes on etymology and first use are a researcher’s dream. Dickson gives cogent and concise explanations that are backed by verifiable citations. Baseball fans will enjoy the historical minutiae that he includes, and wordsmiths will delight in the detailed and verifiable source material he provides.

Dickson is not shy about extended entries when they’re justified. The entry for fan, for example, runs to two full pages, not counting illustrations. Most of this text is devoted to a discussion of the word’s etymology. (It turns out the best evidence is that the term was coined in 1896 as a clipped form of fanatic. It has a distinct baseball origin. There is considerable use of fancy and fancier in British sporting circles for decades prior to this, but no one has found an earlier, or non-baseball, use of the clipped form fan.)

Along the way, the reader will encounter some surprises. Many fans of the game, for example, will know that the phrase the boys of summer, comes from a 1972 Roger Kahn book about the Brooklyn Dodgers. But few will know that Kahn takes his title from a Dylan Thomas poem (which is not about baseball).

There’s a lot here for the language generalist, but those who will truly appreciate the book are baseball fans. While baseball’s impact on the English language has been deep, most of the 7,000 entries are very baseball-specific jargon terms. They range from fairly unimaginative terms like “long reliever” to the mysterious “fungo” (a practice fly ball, of obscure origin with multiple competing explanations of its origin).

This “new” 1999 edition is an update of Dickson’s 1988 baseball dictionary. It adds some 2,000 entries and includes some 100 softball terms. It also includes a new thesaurus, which allows the reader to quickly identify synonyms. (A single can also be called a bagger, base hit, baser, bingle, bingo, one-bagger, one-base hit, one-sacker, safety, and solo shot.) The book also includes an annotated bibliography that is a one-stop shop for baseball terminology source material.

Dickson’s research is generally superb and incorporates some the latest research available up to the 1999 date of publication. The book is not without errors, however, there are occasional typos, like Gary instead of Greg Maddux, and some Dickson’s facts about 19th century baseball are confused (understandable, records from that period are incomplete and often contradictory). Also, some of his dates can be antedated quite easily by consulting the OED or Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang—but then again, in other cases Dickson has citations that antedate those found in these dictionaries. And where Dickson makes an error in date of first use it’s usually by only a year or two. Overall, the errors in Dickson’s work are few and far between.

For anyone interested in the language of baseball, Dickson’s work is the place to start—and for most purposes will be sufficient for the finish as well.

Paperback. 576 pages. February 1999. $20.00. Harvest Books; ISBN: 0156005808.

Word of the Month: Baseball

1 April 2002

In honor of the return of the boys of summer, the word of the month for April is:

Baseball n.; a game between two teams of nine players each, under the direction of a manager, played on an enclosed field in accordance with the Official Baseball Rules, under jurisdiction of one or more umpires. Originally a name for the British game of rounders, the term dates to at least 1744 when John Newberry included a poem about the game in a children’s book. The name was applied to the modern game in 1845, when Alexander Cartwright first codified the rules of the game and formed the Knickerbocker Base Ball Club. (Contrary to myth, Abner Doubleday had nothing to do with the game.)

Of course, the word baseball is not enough to justify an entire Word of the Month article. The word on its own doesn’t reflect the impact that baseball has had on the English language. Few other activities, and certainly no other sport, have contributed so many jargon words to the general vocabulary. War and sex are probably the only other human endeavors that have had a greater impact on the language—I much prefer baseball to war, but the national pastime does run a close second behind sex (except perhaps in October when baseball tends to be more important).

The following is a partial list of some baseball jargon words that have made their way into the general lexicon. Most have their origins in the game, but a few listed here originated elsewhere but didn’t become common until baseball popularized them:

Ace n.; an expert, the best at a particular activity; from cards, the ace being the highest value card; popularized by the baseball sense of a team’s best pitcher. Baseball lore assigns the origin of the term to Asa Brainard, who won 56 of 57 games in 1869 playing for the Cincinnati Red Stockings. But there is no evidence that the term comes from Brainard. The term is not found in baseball use until 1902; the sense of ace meaning a dependable person dates to 1848.

A Team n.; an elite group; from the baseball sense of a grouping of a club’s best players for practice purposes.

Back-to-back adj.; events following one another without break (c. 1900); from baseball slang, as in back-to-back homers.

Ballpark figure n.; a rough estimate; first appears as in the ballpark in 1962; by 1967, ballpark figure had appeared.

Bat a thousand v.phr.; perfect performance; from batting average, a 1.000 average being a hit for every at bat.

Bean n.; the head; from baseball slang (c. 1905); also v. to hit on the head, particularly with a baseball.

Bench n.; those not participating (1891); from the bench in the dugout where team members not currently in the lineup sit; also v. to remove from play, to send to the bench.

Benchwarmer n.; a non-participant (1889); from a player who keeps the bench warm by sitting on it.

Bleachers n.; backless, uncovered, unreserved seating for spectators (1888); from jocular reference to fans bleaching in the sun; the “bleaching boards” was in use for spectator seating as early as 1836.

Bonehead n.; a stupid person or play (1908); from baseball slang, someone with a solid skull instead of brains. Also boner. First used in reference to the infamous Merkle’s Boner of 23 September 1908, when NY Giant Fred Merkle was on first base and Moose McCormick was on third with the score tied in the bottom of the ninth. Al Bridwell singled to the outfield and McCormick crossed home plate, which should have scored the winning run. Merkle, however, ran to the dugout without touching second base, allowing a force out that invalidated the run. Chicago went on to win the game and the pennant.

Breaks, the n.; good luck or fortune (1908); from baseball slang.

Bronx cheer n.; a sputtering sound made with the tongue protruding through the lips, used as a show of disgust and contempt, a raspberry (1927); allegedly a practice begun or commonly used by Yankees fans.

Bush adj.; amateurish, inferior (1905); from baseball slang for the minor leagues, a reference to the uncomfortable and primitive conditions in which minor league players live and play; also busher, Bush League.

Charley horse n.; a muscle cramp or pain (1886); from baseball slang; who Charley was, is not known.

Choke v.; to play poorly in a clutch situation (1937); from baseball slang.

Clutch n.; a critical or key situation (1929); for statistical purposes, a clutch is defined as a situation in the seventh inning or later where the lead is three runs or less; the baseball term may come from mechanics, where engaging a clutch allows parts to move and failure of a clutch causes faulty operation.

Doubleheader n.; paired or two consecutive events (1896); popularized by the baseball term meaning two games played back-to-back where spectators can see both games for a single admission price; originally a railroad term for single train with two engines; use of doubleheaders saved on labor and was an issue in the US railroad strike of 1877.

Fan n.; a spectator, particularly one devoted to a particular team (1887); probably a clipped form of fanatic; often thought to come from fancy or fancier, but there is no strong evidence of this.

First base n.; the first step in an endeavor or activity; the first kiss between a dating couple; figurative use dates to at least 1928; from baseball, the first stage in an attempt to score is to reach first base.

Gate money/receipts n.; admission fees (1867); first used in reference to the Cincinnati Red Stockings, the first professional baseball team.

Go to bat for v.phr.; to make a plea on someone’s behalf (1939); from pinch hitting.

Ground rules n.; rules or procedures set out in advance; from baseball jargon for rules particular to a ballpark or temporary situation, e.g., when Vice President Hubert Humphrey attended a 1965 World Series game, one of the ground rules was that if a batted ball struck a Secret Service agent standing on the field, the ball would remain in play.

Heads up adj.; alert, quick thinking (1934); from baseball slang. There are some 19th century literal uses of the term, meaning to hold one’s head erect, but the sense of alertness stems from baseball.

“Hit ‘em where they ain’t” c.phr.; rallying cry; from William “Wee Willie” Keeler’s explanation as to why he hit .432 in 1897, “I keep my eyes clear and I hit ‘em where they ain’t.”

Home run n.; big-scoring play, a clear success (1856); surprisingly this term doesn’t originate in baseball, instead baseball adopted it from cricket where it means a ball hit out of bounds, scoring multiple runs. But the popularity of the term and its extended usages are due almost entirely to baseball.

Jinx n.; a person or thing that causes bad luck (1911); also a verb (1912) meaning to cause bad luck; baseball popularized, but didn’t originate this term. 

Ladies day n.; promotional event offering reduced price or free admission to women (1883); the practice originated in baseball.

Left field n.; the left side of the outfield as viewed from home plate (1854); the position name dates to the earliest days of baseball; out of/from left field c.phr.; unusual, irrational, unexpected (1947); probably from the idea that because of the distance, a throw from left field is not expected to reach first base in time to put the batter out; out in left field c.phr.; odd, bizarre (1930s); of unknown origin, three major theories contend, 1) because of the power of right-handed batters, the left fielder played the deepest, 2) the left field bleachers were the least desirable seats, 3) behind left field of Chicago’s West Side Ballpark stood the Neuropsychiatric Institute of the University Illinois College of Medicine. Players and fans who behaved oddly were deemed to have escaped from institute.

Muff v.; to err (1846); another cricket term popularized in the US by baseball; perhaps from the image of dropping a ball as if it were a hot muffin.

Off base adj.; out of line, operating from a bad premise (1936); from a runner taking a lead from the base, risking a pick-off for an increased chance of successfully stealing.

On deck adj.; next in line, ready (1867); baseball borrowed the term from nautical jargon, but the sense of being next is distinctly baseball’s. The original positions were at bat, on deck, and in the hold. In the hold (or hole) is rarely heard anymore.

On the ball adj.; alert, at one’s best (1911); from a pitcher “putting speed/spin/spit on the ball.”

Phenom n.; rookie of exceptional ability, a prodigy (1881); this clipping was first used in baseball, although use of the full word phenomenon in other fields predates it.

Play-by-play n.; detailed verbal account, running commentary (1912); baseball jargon for an account (originally written, now broadcast) of each play of the game.

Rain check n.; postponed or deferred acceptance (1884); from guaranteed admission back into the park when the game is called on account of rain.

Rhubarb n.; a fight, argument, or altercation (1934); originally theatrical slang for a word repeated to simulate the murmuring of a crowd; made famous by Red Barber and other baseball broadcasters.

Right off the bat c.phr.; immediately (1909); a metaphor for the speed with which a ball leaves the bat.

Rookie n.; neophyte (1892); actually originally an army term, a corruption of recruit; in baseball use by 1909; baseball popularized the word in the US.

Root v.; to cheer (1887); the origin is a bit obscure, but it is definitely a baseball term in origin; probably from cheering fans stamping their feet hard, as if they were trying to dig a hole in the ground.

Screwball n. and adj.; crazy, eccentric (1928); a baseball pitch thrown with an inward rotation of the hand and arm; NY Giant Christy Mathewson was the first to make the pitch famous, calling it a fade-away. Later, fellow Giant Carl Hubbell revived the pitch in 1928 and took to calling it a screwball. According to Hubbell, the pitch was named that by minor league catcher Earl Walgamot, who said it was the “screwiest thing I ever saw.” There is an older sense of the term from cricket (1866), but given the well-publicized debut of the pitch by Hubbell it does not appear that cricket is the source of this particular baseball term. 

Showboat v.; to show off (1942); baseball took this term for a riverboat where drama and music were performed and turned it into a verb.

Shut out n.; a game or endeavor where the loser is prevented from scoring (1881); the baseball jargon derives from horse racing, where late bettors are shut out at the window; the sense of a scoreless loss is pure baseball.

Smash hit n.; a great success (1923); the baseball origins of this one are obvious, a hard-hit ball.

Southpaw n.; a left-handed person (1885); originally baseball jargon for a left-handed pitcher, probably from the fact that baseball diamonds are usually arranged so the batters would face east, so they don’t have to look into the afternoon sun. The pitcher’s left hand, or paw, is therefore on the southern side.

Strike out v.; to fail (1866); another one that obviously comes from baseball; also the c.phr. three strikes and you’re out.

Switch hitter n.; a person who alternates between two radically different styles or orientations, esp. sexually, a bisexual person (1938); from baseball jargon for a batter who hits both right and left handed. The baseball term arises rather late, probably because switch-hitting was relatively rare until the 1950s.

Warm-up n. and v.; exercise or practice before an athletic contest (1893); from the practice thrown by pitchers before entering a game.

Great Vowel Shift

1 March 2002

Perhaps the biggest single change in English pronunciation happened during the transition from Middle English to Modern English. Linguists call this the Great Vowel Shift. The shift began c. 1300 and continued through c. 1700, with the majority of the change occurring in the 15th and 16th centuries. So the language of Chaucer is largely pre-shift and the language of Shakespeare is largely post-shift, although the changes were underway before Chaucer was born and continued on after Shakespeare had died.

During the Great Vowel Shift, English speakers changed the way they pronounced long vowels. Before the shift, English vowels were pronounced in much the same way that they are spoken in modern continental European languages. After the shift, they had achieved their modern phonological values.

For example, a Middle English speaker would pronounce the long e in sheep as we pronounce the word shape today. Fine was pronounced fien (as in fiend). Sea was pronounced like the modern say.

The difference can be seen in similar words that enter English before and after the shift. For example, the long i sound in polite, a word which makes its appearance c. 1450 from the Latin politus, meaning polished, burnished, cultivated underwent the shift. The similarly constructed police, which was borrowed a hundred years later from the Medieval Latin politia, missed the shift and is pronounced in the traditional, continental manner.

Okay, so what exactly changed in the shift? Basically it was a shift in the position of the tongue when the long vowels were pronounced. The shift didn’t affect short vowels, which we pronounce today much like Chaucer did. But with long vowels, the tongue moved up in the mouth and either further forward or back. If you pronounce the letters A and E several times in succession, you can feel your tongue moving forward and back in your mouth. A is a fronted vowel; it is pronounced with the tongue forward. E is a backed vowel, pronounced with the tongue back. After the shift, fronted vowels were pronounced with the tongue higher and further forward than previously and backed vowels were pronounced higher and further back. And the long i and long u sounds, which prior to the shift were already pronounced with the tongue high, became diphthongs—vowel sounds with two distinct elements.

Also, in some words the long vowels e and o shifted to become short vowels, especially in compounds. Hence, we have the difference in pronunciation between bone, from the Old English ban, and bonfire, which is literally a bone fire or funeral pyre. Scotland retained the original pronunciation longer, spelling it bane-fire until c. 1800. Similarly the long e in sheep shortened in the word shepherd.

Now the shift wasn’t completely consistent. Some words resisted the change. Sea shifted, but great and break didn’t. As a result ea has two distinct sounds in English.

The shift wasn’t consistent over different regions either. The shift occurred later and was weaker as you moved northward into the North of England and into Scotland. So Scottish pronunciation is closer to Chaucer’s than is the modern London accent.

Words on the Web: www.oed.com

1 March 2002

What better site to start a feature on language sites on the web than with www.oed.com. The Oxford English Dictionary is, without question, the greatest English language resource either online or off.

The OED provides definitions for over half a million words. It includes 2.5 million quotations demonstrating word usage and historical examples of changes in spelling and form. The OED is the fundamental resource for anyone serious about words and language.

The online edition of the dictionary consists of the second print edition, plus the three volumes of the Additions Series, and continual updates from the third edition as it is written, starting with the letter M. Access is via the web, with a subscriber able to enter his password from any computer with web access.

Features on the site include the ability to email and print entries. But the greatest feature is the search capability. You can conduct a quick search of headwords to identify entries. Or you can conduct advanced searches of particular parts of entries, such as the usage quotations, or even a full-text search. Complete Boolean functionality is provided. The search is flexible, easy to configure, powerful, and very fast.

Navigation through the site is also fast and intuitive. Although I did have some difficulty finding the bibliographic information.

Lest we seem too enthusiastic, the OED is not without its faults. For one, the OED is based on British English. It has a distinct bias toward British usage, sense, and pronunciation. American, Canadian, and Australian dialects are given comparatively short shrift. This is not a fault, but it is a bias that must be taken into account. Even given this bias, though, the OED is so huge that it contains more information on American usage than most American dictionaries.

Another limitation of the OED is caused by the fact that much of the dictionary is around a century old. The online version contains the latest updates, but these account for only a small percentage of entries. It is largely a Victorian dictionary.

The biggest drawback however is price. Access to www.oed.com is expensive. Individual access costs $550/year. Institutional pricing goes up from there. If you don’t have access through an institution, the cost is prohibitive.

The good news on the cost front, however, is that individuals can get access through membership to the Quality Paperback Book Club, www.qpb.com. QPB provides access to the online OED as a membership benefit. There is no additional charge—you just have to buy the number of books necessary to fulfill your member quota.

Ease of access and the search capability make www.oed.com an essential resource for any word maven. It is the single best site on the web for words. The OED isn’t a perfect resource, but it’s as close to perfect as you can get.

Book Review: Safire's Let a Simile Be Your Umbrella

1 March 2002

William Safire is perhaps the most widely read commentator on the English language writing today. His weekly On Language column appears in the Sunday New York Times Magazine. Safire’s column runs the gamut of language issues, covering etymology, usage, and grammar. It focuses on words and phrases that are in vogue or recently used by key political and media figures.

Let a Simile Be Your Umbrella is the 12th in the series of compilations of Safire’s column. Safire has been writing the On Language column since 1979 and turning out these compilation volumes on the average of once every two years since then.

Safire’s column is witty and topical. The wit survives in the compiled volumes, but some of the topicality is lost with the lag between the columns’ appearance in the Times and the publication of the book. Bill Clinton was still president when these columns were written, and the political asides appear a bit dated. The first column in the book for example, addresses language issues surrounding the 1997 Kelly Flinn scandal—the female B-52 pilot who got in trouble over an adulterous affair with an enlisted man. Other columns address verbiage used in the 1996 Clinton-Dole election campaigns. But language changes more slowly than politics and the basic points Safire makes about language remain topical.

The columns are short, quick reads. Most will only need a few minutes for each one. This makes the book ideal for bathroom reading, commuters, or any situation where one’s reading is apt to be interrupted.

Safire is definitely in the prescriptivist camp. He is not shy about rendering judgments about proper grammar and usage. For example, he takes a flight attendant to task for saying “we will be landing momentarily” when she means “we will be landing in a moment,” or better yet “we will be landing soon.” In another case he chides a CEO for discussing a “robust product cycle.” Sales can be robust, but cycles can’t. In most cases his distinctions are more a question of style than correctness, but you have to admire his tenacity in a battle that he will never win.

Safire rarely addresses etymology as a main topic, but often includes etymological comments alongside his usage recommendations. His column on the disappearing “New” in “New Jersey” includes several paragraphs on the origin of the state’s name (most know it comes from the Channel Island of Jersey, but probably don’t know that Jers is a corruption of Caesar and –ey is a suffix denoting an island. So Jersey is Caesar’s island.

In another case he traces the origin of “thinking outside the box” to a 1984 brain teaser created by a group of management consultants to demonstrate how preconceptions can inhibit creativity.

Since it’s a compilation, regular readers of the column will find little new here. One feature that regular readers will appreciate though is the inclusion of reader feedback in the form of letters. Safire includes reader commentary that he received after the column in question appeared in The Times. Often readers contribute additional information and examples of odd usages.

The collection of Safire’s books is a valuable resource for language research. While not intended as reference works, the sheer volume of words and phrases Safire has addressed over the years makes these volumes useful. If you have the earlier volumes, most of which are now out of print and available only through used-book outlets, you’ll want to acquire this one to keep the collection complete. One feature that would be nice would the publication of a consolidated index of all the volumes. Each volume contains its own index, and Simile is no exception, but checking twelve different indices each time you want to look up a word or phrase is a daunting task.

The book is a fun read that covers an eclectic array of tangential topics. It’s exceptional in that it is also very well researched and accurate. Safire seldom makes errors of fact (although you might choose to dispute some of his usage judgments), and these have been corrected in the interim between publication in the newspaper and in the book.

Hardcover. 368 pages. November 2001. Crown Publishers. ISBN: 0609609475. $25.00.