Die-hard fan that I am, I am watching the Nuggets and screaming at the TV. Only I’m not yelling because the team blew a five-point lead in Utah on its way to a fourth straight loss.
I’m upset with Nuggies color man Scott Hastings for continually butchering power forward Eduardo Najera’s last name.
His name, Najera tells me, pronounces phonetically as nah-HAIR-rah. He says that’s what his mom says. Hastings, like almost everyone else in Denver and throughout the National Basketball Association, calls him NA-ha-ra.
The consummate team player, Najera does not raise a stink about this. At least he is no longer nah-ha-RA or na-JEER-a. He’s been trying to get people to say his name correctly since he played college basketball at the University of Oklahoma. Years later, Najera tells me, he’s decided that announcers, fans, commentators, coaches and players are probably as close as they’re going to get. It’s a different culture, he says, a different inflection.
“In a way, I understand,” he explains. “I mispronounce so many names (in English). The way I see it, we’re even.”
Najera tells me that as he tried to learn English, he met a girl named Josie.
“I called her Joseph,” he confesses.
Knowing this, my wife has had enough.
“Why do you care about it, when he doesn’t?” she asks testily after I startle her by hooting at the tube again.
Here’s why I care: When a guy leads your team in hustle, as Najera leads the Nuggets, when he collects floor burns diving for loose balls and collects bruises setting picks and drawing charges, the least you can do is pronounce his name right.
Last Friday was the Nuggets’ Hispanic Celebration at Pepsi Center. They even announced the starting lineup in Spanish. Up in my usual nosebleed seat, I was glad that Najera is a substitute, so his name didn’t get mangled.
If you think I’m overreacting, look at it like this: No one says Kenyon Martini, Carmelo Entony or Kiki VonDeewedge.
Names are important. They’re intimate statements of identity. I always notice when someone I work with spells my last name Spenser instead of Spencer. I always wish they’d get it right.
The other day, I called Kelly Brough, Mayor John Hickenlooper’s deputy chief of staff.
“Can I speak to Kelly Brow?” I asked, doing my best phonetically.
“It’s Bruff,” the secretary in the mayor’s office corrected phonetically.
She wasn’t curt; she was courteous. Likewise, it is not just politically correct or pretentious for sports announcers, coaches or teammates to try to correctly pronounce foreign players’ names as more of them enter the NBA.
The Nuggets did a decent job of pronouncing Nikoloz Tskitishvili, considering he didn’t do much that was memorable on the court. On the other hand, I’m still not sure if the Nuggets’ Brazilian forward should be called NAY-NAY, NEN-nay or nen-NAY.
What I know for certain is that Najera’s work ethic keeps him playing beyond his God-given talents, and for this, he deserves respect.
Najera tells me in fluent English how little of America’s native tongue he spoke when he went to college. Born in Mexico, he says he didn’t have to pay much attention to English.
“When I was by myself at Oklahoma,” he confides, “I learned it fast.”
I think about this when I ask Najera if he wishes folks would pronounce his name right.
“Obviously,” he answers, “I do.”
I think about this when I see a sign outside Pepsi Center on Hispanic Celebration night. The sign reads, “Najera, #21, Aztec Warrior.” A young Latino man carries it.
“How do you pronounce that name?” I ask him.
“Nah-HAIR-rah,” he replies.
“Why do you think the announcers can’t say it?” I ask.
The young man shrugs.
I’m at a loss, too.
I’ll give it some more thought the next time I listen to Scout Histings broadcast a Nuggets game.
Jim Spencer’s column appears Monday, Wednesday and Friday. He can be reached at 303-820-1771 or jspencer@denverpost.com.
