“Nicknames are baseball, names like Zeke and Pie and Kiki and Home Run and Cracker and Dizzy and Dazzy." – Ernie Harwell

I rarely see the friends I grew up with. Part of the reason is not living in the same city, but the other part is it takes work to maintain relationships. On occasion, an old photo or a random event will trigger a memory, starting a text thread guaranteed to get the nostalgia flowing.
This group is known by nicknames. Almost to the point where I have to think twice to remember their given names. There's Birdie, Duck, Bon, Mud, and JD. There's Gup, Dewey, Earl, Ridge, Meanness. There are one word names: Lyle, Devine, Thorell, Miller, Harry, followed by the one word names signified by how they are pronounced, Heath, Scott, Scott, or Scott and so many others I can't remember right now. Further down the list are nickname sounds, "ooehh" or "nurph." (None of these people get my newsletters. One feature of this group is none of us are quite sure what the other does for a living except through our mothers. "Did you hear about Brent. . .?" = "Did you hear about Hairy?") Lots of nicknames.
I am listening to an interview with the recently deceased legend, Bob Gibson, ace pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals. He grew up in Omaha and went to Creighton, my alma mater. As an underage, undergrad I used to sneak into his bar, Gibby's. The reporter is asking him about his legendary brush-backs which kept the batter from getting too comfortable at the plate. The way he describes hitting a batter in the back triggers a memory of Dewey plunking Becker multiple times in a single game (and Becker heave-sob-crying that the pitcher must not like him very much - probably true. Dewey didn't seem to like anyone.)
This memory starts me texting. The replies come fast. The thread is glorious. Tears are running down my face. Laura walks in and I start to explain it from the start, a Becker story she's heard a dozen times. (I have many Becker stories. All told in a high, squeaky voice, and most involving tears.) She nods along, a good listener, but not one who grew up with brothers.
She says, "I still don't understand why you let them call you Poops."
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