Dusty Trails, A Blizzard of Oz

Subway is running a month-long promotion in Chicago wherein managers Ozzie Guillen and Dusty Baker (Sox and Cubs, respectively) were asked to design their own sub sandwiches for a contest. The winning manager (with most sandwiches sold by July 4th, 2004) will receive $5000 towards his charity of choice. Baker's sandwich is more my speed: pepperoni, ham, lettuce, tomato, onion and brown mustard. Tasty. But Guillen's Atkins-friendly atomic pile -- roast beef, turkey, bacon, Swiss cheese, onions, green peppers, tomatoes and Ranch dressing -- is just crushing the competition. Ozzie Guillen's unbridled imagination vs. Dusty Baker's icy pragmatism = a battle of epic proportions.

All this was lost on the girlfriend upon seeing the television commercial for the first time, though. Her allergy to baseball ("Will everybody please stop talking about Barry Bonds?") is notorious (at least in this household), and often quite funny as she distills everything to its bluntest essence. Her observation: "'Dusty' is a pretty dumb name. But who actually names their kid 'Ozzie' anyway? What's it short for? Do parents do that to ensure their child has a successful major league career?"

In the case of Ozzie Guillen and Ozzie Smith, sure. Hell, we'll even throw in two-time All-Star Ozzie Virgil Jr. to balance things out. But with everyone else, not so much. There's Ozzie Virgil Sr., who has the distinction of going undrafted to start his career, but later selected in both the Rule V and minor league drafts (and traded as part of a package for Matty Alou). And two modern era mega-scrubs that I forgot about when trying to recall all of the MLB Ozzies: Jose Canseco's brother Ozzie and Ozzie Timmons. Also, two guys I've never heard of: Ozzie Van Brabant (who tossed 28 2/3 innings from 1954-1955 and weathered the Athletics' move from Philly to Kansas City) and Ozzie Osborn (who pitched in 24 games for the '75 White Sox before a similarly-named guy stole his thunder by biting the heads off of live bats).

And as a point of interest, Ozzie Guillen and Ozzie Timmons were teammates on the 2000 Tampa Bay Devil Rays, probably the only time two guys named Ozzie will ever sit on the same bench. As far as the name game goes, the list of Ozzies yields the following proper names: Osbourne (twice), Osvaldo (three), Oswaldo, Danny (Ozzie Osbourn) and Camille (Ozzie Van Brabant). Even with the influx of Latin talent and rapid development on Central America scouting in the last 30 years, we're unlikely to see a dramatic increase of Ozzies in our lifetime.

Unlike Guillen, though, Dusty Baker has the distinction of being the best player with his nickname. And there's even less Dustys than Ozzies. Turn-of-the-century player Dusty Miller leads the pack with 7 seasons where he racked up 421 rbi, 206 steals and a tidy .301 average, (including a remarkable season in 1895 when he piled up 10hr, 112 rbi, 43 stolen bases and a .335 batting average). There's also Dusty Cooke, who played parts of 8 seasons with the Yankees, Red Sox and Reds from 1930-8 with a short stint as Philly's manager a decade later; Dusty Rhodes, an unremarkable Giants OF from 1952-59; and three guys (another Dusty Miller, Dusty Allen and Dusty Watham) with 220 abs between them. At least Dusty Allen's real name was Dusty.

In a historical series, the Ozzies (with their SS-SS double-play combo of Guillen and Smith) would clearly trounce the Dustys (zero pitching, plus several players actually taking the field in knickers). Doesn't even matter that the Dustys have the tastier sandwich; the secret weapon in the Ozzies' arsenal isn't ranch dressing -- it's history.