From my father, comes this insightful view of the naming of sports teams:
For a long time I considered the Toledo Mud Hens to have the best name in sports, pro or college. They are now in a tie for first place with the Univesity of California at Santa Cruz Banana Slugs. This leads to the deeper philosophical subject of team names in general. Most are either good or acceptable. Boston Bruins. Chicago Bears. Boston Red Sox and Cincinnati Red Stockings. New York Metropolitans. San Francisco and New York (Jersey) Giants.
Some are marginal. Houston Astros? Conceivably in years past, although now they should change to the Houston Enrons and then logically to the Houston Catastrophes. Some names are totally unacceptable. Anaheim Mighty Ducks, for example, is obviously a name made up by a committee of Hollywood press agents, script writers and homeless winos. There is also the larger issue of franchises that moved. Minneapolis Lakers made sense; L.A. Lakers does not. L.A. does not know what a lake is. There is something called the Los Angeles River, which is in effect a concrete culvert that is generally bone dry. The only time in my life I wished I lived in L.A. was many years ago when one of the candidates for mayor had one and only one plank in his platform: If elected he would paint the Los Angeles River blue. He was not elected. It should be noted, of course, that some names travel well: Boston Braves, Milwaukee Braves, Atlanta Braves. Philadelphia Athletics, Kansas City Athletics, Oakland Athletics.
But even larger than all of these looms the cosmic issue of names such as Heat, Jazz, et al. “He is a Heat. He is a Jazz.” No. The obvious name for the Heat would have been the Miami Fidels. Conceivably Miami Cuba Libres, which would denote both politics and affection for a refreshing rum drink. Perhaps Miami Panatelas, although our former president gave cigars a connotation which some uncouth sports fans would have used lewdly.
As for the Jazz, it is a terrible name for two reasons. One is the above. Jazz is not a thing that can be viewed as a thing—a red sock, a tiger, a Yankee, a jet engine, etc., etc., etc. New Orleans Saints is OK. New Orleans Jazz is not. They should have been called the New Orleans Bechets, or, for the literary minded, the New Orleans Streetcars or the New Orleans Desires. Perhaps the New Orleans Cajuns, conceivably the New Orleans Gumbos or the New Orleans Okras, which would have started a trend of which your wife and daughter would have approved. There was, you will remember, the case of Bob Lemon, named after a fruit, but he was not a team, although in 1954 while pitching for the Indians he could have claimed to be the entire team.
But a greater outrage was committed when the Bechets moved to Utah. The Utah Jazz? Oh, my goodness, no, no, a thousand times no. The answer, of course, was written on gold tablets which they, whoever they might be, chose to overlook: the Utah Polygamists, a name with a rather attractive cadence. It would in short order have been shortened by sportswriters, sportscasters and fans to the Utah Pollys, and eventually the Utah Pols.
When I become president of sports I will remedy the above-named aberrations. I will also add two new teams, although I have not yet decided in which sports. One, in Georgia, will be the Macon Whoopees, and the other, closer to home, will be the New Milford Poodles.