I think we’re both in agreement that John Wall is one hell of basketball player. Last night, while watching him take over Madison Square Garden, I couldn’t help but wonder, like many others, if Wall isn’t already the most talented college basketball player I’ve seen in my lifetime. He very well might be, even nine games into his collegiate career and albeit still neck-and-neck-tattoo with Allen Iverson. (Shaq remains arguably the most impressive, if only because of his size and freakish athleticism; while LeBron and maybe Garnett would have been equally impressive if they hadn’t jumped right to the NBA).
This morning, the Sporting News’ Dan Shanoff pointed out the very same thing, writing that Wall is already more captivating than Carmelo Anthony, Kevin Durant and Michael Beasley were in their one-and-done Freshman year. While touting Wall, Shanoff also asks an interesting question: Does the Kentucky Wildcat and future overall No. 1 pick need a nickname?
What do you think?
This is a tough one, particularly because John Wall already sounds like a nickname. I doubt very much anyone anywhere will ever refer to him exclusively by his monosyllabic surname, as if Wall and his otherworldly basketball talents could somehow be camouflaged as just another member of a functioning five-man unit. This is unacceptable.
Also unacceptable is JW. Too proper, too close in vicinity to J.D. for a man of Wall’s explosiveness and unpredictability. He’s not a stuffy, practiced man of letters; he’s a budding basketball deity. And deserves better.
In a different era, when college basketball was followed almost exclusively via the radio, some charismatic announcer or Midwest-based, ink-stained wretch would have christened Wall “the Kentucky Waltz” or “Mr. Bluegrass” or some such provincial moniker. Alas, those bygone days have, well, gone by. Gone too are the 1960s, when Earl Monroe and Lew Alcinder rose to form. Back then, Wall would have been known simply as “Black Jesus.” A decade later, he would have been called “Black Power,” while in the 1980s, he would haven been tagged with an unfortunate marketing slogan, like Wall Inc., or the Wall of Honor or, in a less democratic society, the Great Wall.
The 1990s would have bestowed upon him some variation of veracity or divine right: the Truth; the Answer; the One; Diddy. It’s a shame that period is behind us, because Wall’s high school, Word of God, fits him like a suit.
Today, in the age of Obama, I’m inclined to label Wall with some post-millennial, post-racial nickname, something entirely new. Something onomatopoeic. Something like Crunk or Zwar or Zounds. Or maybe he could do like Prince and go with an unpronounceable symbol, like the Nike swoosh, which somehow seems appropriate.
This is a tough one, particularly because John Wall already sounds like a nickname. I doubt very much anyone anywhere will ever refer to him exclusively by his monosyllabic surname, as if Wall and his otherworldly basketball talents could somehow be camouflaged as just another member of a functioning five-man unit. This is unacceptable.
Also unacceptable is JW. Too proper, too close in vicinity to J.D. for a man of Wall’s explosiveness and unpredictability. He’s not a stuffy, practiced man of letters; he’s a budding basketball deity. And deserves better.
In a different era, when college basketball was followed almost exclusively via the radio, some charismatic announcer or Midwest-based, ink-stained wretch would have christened Wall “the Kentucky Waltz” or “Mr. Bluegrass” or some such provincial moniker. Alas, those bygone days have, well, gone by. Gone too are the 1960s, when Earl Monroe and Lew Alcinder rose to form. Back then, Wall would have been known simply as “Black Jesus.” A decade later, he would have been called “Black Power,” while in the 1980s, he would haven been tagged with an unfortunate marketing slogan, like Wall Inc., or the Wall of Honor or, in a less democratic society, the Great Wall.
The 1990s would have bestowed upon him some variation of veracity or divine right: the Truth; the Answer; the One; Diddy. It’s a shame that period is behind us, because Wall’s high school, Word of God, fits him like a suit.
Today, in the age of Obama, I’m inclined to label Wall with some post-millennial, post-racial nickname, something entirely new. Something onomatopoeic. Something like Crunk or Zwar or Zounds. Or maybe he could do like Prince and go with an unpronounceable symbol, like the Nike swoosh, which somehow seems appropriate.
The name I keep coming back to, though, is e pluribus unum. In fact, I'm now convinced of it.
BEN:
I kind of like "The Great Wall." Is it too soon to give up on that? Who cares if it makes sense--it has a nice ring. Or, while we're dwelling on cultural references that have no bearing whatsoever on his identity, how about The Walrus?
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