Names. Nicknames.

This country has more problems than a 24-hour news cycle can squeeze between commercials…inflation, politics, climate, shutdowns, racism, antisemitism. You name it.

And yet, here I am, bringing up something far less catastrophic, but every bit as irritating. That being America’s obsession with bastardized names and nicknames.

Why do we feel compelled to chop, squeeze, or twist perfectly fine names into something that sounds like a golden retriever’s command?

I am a sports talk radio junkie. Some people meditate to soft jazz or clock the miles listening to Taylor Swift. I listen to men shout about the bullpen and the 4-3 defense during lengthy morning walks with my dog while sporting my vintage AM/FM radio headset.

Every time I tune in, I’m assaulted by the linguistic butchering of America.

Yesterday, Anthony from Bayonne called in, allegedly a thoughtful guy with a solid take. Before he could get two words out, BT (short for Brendon Tierney because apparently two names are just too heavy to lift) greets him with, “Ant! What’s happening?”

Moments later, Charles from Westport calls in. “Chuckie! What’s up?!” It’s like a fraternity reunion where everyone’s wearing sweatpants and shouting over a leaf blower.

Then come the managers and players. During Booney’s (Aaron Boone) season-ending press conference, he praised Judgey (Aaron Judge) for his MVP run, Belly (Bellinger) for his big comeback, and Goldie (Paul Goldschmidt) for being a rock at first base.

Somewhere out there, Seattle Mariners home run king, Cal Raleigh, is called, The Big Dumper, and NY Giants defensive standout, Dexter Lawrence, answers to Sexy Dexy.

This is the linguistic equivalent of a midlife crisis…flashy, unnecessary, and performed loudly in public.

And while we’re at it can we stop pretending nicknames are affectionate? They are lazy. “Christopher” does not need your help becoming Chris. Catherine was doing fine before you shortened her to “Cathy.”

As for me, I despise being called Toe. My name is already short enough. No further circumcision required. My daughter’s best friend is the only human alive allowed to call me Toe Toe. She’s earned it with years of good behavior and a sunny personality.

And my husband? He’s not a Dave. He is David. A full-grown man with a full-grown name.

So next time you meet a Richard, Courtny, Susan or William please resist the urge to chop. Do not Ricky them, do not “Court” them, and for heaven’s sake, refrain from Sueing them.

Say the whole thing. Respect the syllables.

Our parents filled out the birth certificates for a reason. The very least we can do is use them or, better yet, just shut up and listen.