Excusez-moi

Apologies for a minor mispronunciation

Occasionally ... oh, once in a blue moon, yours truly makes an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny little mistake in this column. Or perhaps, if you hear me deliver this on National Public Radio, I may err -- barely, hardly, minisculely -- in the pronunciation of some difficult and obscure word, from an arcane dialect, like, uh, Tagalog or Swahili or ... English. Invariably, you readers and listeners -- gracious to a fault, all -- generously accept these minor lapses in a forgiving and understanding manner.

Last week, however, I tried the patience of a considerable number of Western Hemispherians, when, on NPR, I was alleged to have mangled the pronunciation of a familiar two-letter exclamation, with which Canadians often conclude sentences. I said eh. I am supposed to say ... I gather ... ay.

OK, mea culpa.

Attention to this linguistic faux pas began, as it often does, with my wife. Most wives say: You never listen to me. Mine says: Why don't you let me listen to you ... before you make a fool of yourself. More northern precincts added to the firestorm. In the column, I had referred to Canadians as "tolerant, gentle, and polite", an assessment presently under review. The consensus from my tolerant, gentle and polite neighbors to the north was that any man who can't pronounce ay correctly immediately disqualifies himself from holding any larger thoughts on Canada and/or ice hockey. This false conclusion was especially upsetting to me. The fact is, my ability to mangle the language is in no way related to the ease with which I butcher the truth.

But this did remind me of an observation once made by Red Smith when he was told he could not possibly write with any authority about any sport he had not played. Mr. Smith replied, "If that were so, only dead men could write obituaries." Ay?

Actually sports journalists learn early on that indigenous pronunciations are not necessarily accurate. Hometown fans of the Saints, for example, call their city "Nawlins." People who root for the Orioles know their town as "Balamer." For locals, the British Open is often played at "Sinandrews." Would I be any more knowledgeable about the Kentucky Derby this Saturday if I was to refer to its location as "Lullville," as native horseplayers do? However I say the name of the city, Came Home will surely come home first.

And ah -- not ay, but ah -- ah, Canadians themselves not only mispronounce the name of their largest city, Toronto -- which God clearly made with three syllables -- they say: Tronto -- but they also abuse the pronunciation of their American neighbor, Detroit, which all humankind knows has two syllables. Trontons, however, add an extra syllable, making it Dee-troy-it. Let him who is without slur cast the first mumble.

Sometimes, in fact, you can be wrong by being right. I once asked the former president of the International Olympic Committee how to pronounce his name. He replied "Samaran," explaining that though his name ended with the letters "ch," his family did not pronounce them. But whenever I said Juan Antonio Samaran, I was corrected, even when I protested that Mr. Samaranch himself said "Samaran." Not good enough. John Havlicek, the Hall of Fame basketball player, pronounced his name Hav-il-check. The Hav-il-checks had for all eternity. But everybody else said Hav-li-cek, so he just gave up his own good name and went along.

Actually, the one word in athletics that is most often botched is ... athletics. Sports commentators -- like moi -- invariably have ath-a-letes playing ath-a-letics, especially if they are soph-a-mores. However, I can say Nomar Garciaparra, José Maria Olazábal, Rod Brind'Amour and Goran Ivanisevic with consummate ease. It's the small stuff I sweat. Oh well, I still think Canadians are tolerant, gentle and polite, but, uh, perhaps a little picky, ay?

Sports Illustrated senior contributing writer Frank Deford is a regular contributor to CNNSI.com and appears each Wednesday on National Public Radio's Morning Edition. His new novel, The Other Adonis (Sourcebooks Landmark), is available now at bookstores everywhere.

The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.

 

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