Some nicknames stick worse than mud

By WYNNE GRAY

With his illustrious Wallaby career, the nickname given to John Eales seems hardly appropriate in its shortened form.

Somewhere along his rugby road, he acquired the moniker Nobody, as in "nobody is perfect."

Asked about the handle when he had captained the Wallabies to their second World Cup triumph, Eales said: "Mate, the funny thing is that nobody calls me nobody."

You can imagine that too, in much the same way you would never pick anyone to call Australian middle-order batsman Mark Waugh by his nickname.

When he was on the verge of test selection, with his twin brother, Steve, well set in the side, Mark was tagged Afghanistan, as in "the forgotten war."

Even if they are not used frequently, at least those sort of nicknames make you chuckle.

You can admire some of the thinking behind their birth rather than the mundane Smithy or Jonesy-type names which many sportspeople acquire.

For some reason the Aussies seem to have a mortgage on sharp nicknames.

They called Merv Hughes Fruitfly because he was the great Australian pest.

Stephen Larkham is known as Bernie because of his resemblance to the character in the film Weekend at Bernie's, and Michael Foley was grumpy when a recent match programme revealed he was known as Stonefish - because he poisoned everything he touched.

Famous Australian legspinner Bill O'Reilly was the original Tiger because of his aggression - certainly long before it was attached to the prowling Tiger of the international golf circuit.

Former New Zealand amateur golf champ Richard Lee was called Muhammad because of the initials of his Christian and surnames, Colin Montgomerie goes by, but may not answer to, Mrs Doubtfire, while Ben Hogan was known as the Hawk.

In 1990, New Zealand's gold medal team pursuit cyclist Ian Richards registered for Commonwealth Games accreditation with Maggott as his Christian name because his two elder brothers had nicknames involving the life cycle of the fly.

When approached by someone inquiring about the name, Richards replied that the "t's" were silent - and he was thereafter known as Maggo.

When he played cricket in India, Ian "Beefy" Botham was renamed Tin-arse because the local commentators' accent made his name sound like Iron Bottom, while fellow tourist Derek Randle was called Arkle because of the hyperactive way he ran round like the great English racehorse.

New Zealand cricket has produced generous helpings of nicknames.

John Wright was Shake, after the way he threw all his gear into his coffin and shook it until it fitted. The rural Ewen Chatfield was Mer as a derivative of farmer, Eric Gillott was Rowdy because he was unusually reticent, and Jeremy Coney was Mantis because of his stick-insect-like appearance.

The Aussies again have given us some rugby league rippers.

There was David Gillespie, who became Cement, Glenn Lazarus who was the Brick with Eyes, and Kiwi Brendon Tuuta was the Baby-Faced Assassin.

In Britain, Martin Offiah was called Chariots or Great Balls (of Fire), and former league forward and Lions No 8 Scott Quinnell answered to Far.

In racing circles, Graham Bruton took on the persona of Steel Balls and in national women's basketball, coach Carl Dickel is called Tess.

Motor racing has given us Sleepy Tripp, Paul "The Rat" Radisich and Possum Bourne, whose birth name was Peter, but gained his nickname after pranging his mother's car and blaming an itinerant marsupial.

Tennis knew Vitas Gerulaitis as the Disease, and Roberto Duran was called the Hands of Stone during his epic boxing bouts with Sugar Ray Leonard.

New Zealand has produced hundreds of All Black greats but few nicknames to match.

There have been Kipper, Cog, Rita, Coin, Lammie and Moose as a variation from the usual practice of adding "y" or "ie" to someone's surname.

Other meritorious choices have been Colin "Pinetree" Meads, Mark "Cowboy" Shaw and Greg "Yoda" Somerville, while Alan Reid was always known as Ponty.

Legend had someone telling Waikato coach Dick Everest there was a young bloke who worked like a pony on the field, though that became tangled in the translation.

All Black favourites of recent times are Trapper for Dave Loveridge, a name which stuck when he was likened to a woodsman after playing club rugby in the mud in Taranaki, and Worzel, which compared Andy Earl's unkempt hair to that of the television character.

Chris Tregaskis got lumbered with Zig-zag because some suggested that when he jumped in lineouts there was still no room for a cigarette paper under his feet.