The art of the nickname has been lost upon the culture of instant gratification. Our patience simply does not allow it. It pains us to wait for news, it pains us to wait for movies, and it pains us to wait for food. Accordingly we have done our best to eradicate as much waiting as possible from our lives. We have mobile updates, bootleg movies and drive throughs. Our disdain for waiting is so great that we thirst for information regarding events that have even yet to take place-- hence constant barrages of the Favre comeback, the Halladay trade, and the Rubio signing.

We needed to see Jordan Crawford dunk over LeBron James. The Story, the legend of it, simply could not satiate us. Of course, the video ended up being a bigger letdown than season five of “The Office.” Seemingly eons ago, The Story would have been enough. We would have marveled at the hyperbolic prose of a Grantland Rice. He would have painted the only picture available. But overconsumption is the name of the today’s game. So we have irresponsible rumors, carelessly immediate breaking news, and a 24 hour news cycle that cultivates slipshod reporting in the race for the yellow jersey of yellow journalism. But all that is another story, a story to which I have already dedicated two columns and nearly 10,000 words. All that is simply the background for this story. This story is about nicknames.

The vile concoction of cultural impatience, hasty reporting, and modern media saturation has bubbled a generation of anemic nicknames. T-Mac, A-Rod, TO, J-Kidd, LT, and so it goes. Kidd’s court vision couldn’t inspire something like “The General”? Owens’ power, explosiveness, and pension for drama couldn’t earn “TNT,” a double entendre denoting both the bomb and the network? Nicknames have gotten lazy and lame. And this venue seeks to change that.

It is about time the sporting world experienced a renaissance of nicknames, a throwback to a more creative era-- the Four Horseman, Crazy Legs Hirsh, Shoeless Joe Jackson, the Galloping Ghost. And more recently: the Chicoutimi Cucumber, Mr. October, Magic Johnson, El Guapo, the Human Eraser. A glimmer of hope still exists today as there remain some wonderfully vibrant contemporary nicknames: Run-DMC, Big Papi, Kung-Fu Panda, El Caballo, the Bus, the Big Fundamental, all 18 of Baron Davis’ nicknames, and of course all those produced by the Karl Marx of this revolution, Mr. Chris Berman.

And the Sacramento River Cats are on the forefront of the Mr. October Revolution. So get out your pens and pads, folks. Here are the nicknames you need to know.

Jovial Gio Gonzalez was the first nickname to appear in this venue. It spawned from the gregarious nature Gonzalez exhibits before starts at Raley. The lawn seating at Raley Field is literally right on top of the bullpen. As Gio warms up before starts, he humors on-looking fans. He takes pitch requests from little kids, “Oh you want to see a curve ball? Check this out.” He chats with their parents. And he always tosses the ball he was throwing into the stands before he jogs onto the field. Of course he only does all this until he gets caught by his pitching coach, “Come on Gio, let’s focus.”

Gio is always apologetic when he cannot sign autographs. “I’m so sorry. I would, I really would if I weren’t starting,” he would say before half-nervously glancing over at his pitching coach. Watching him warm-up is just as enjoyable as watching him pitch. You almost feel like you know the guy. He reminds me of Bowers from “Little Big League.” I could totally see Jovial Gio dropping water balloons from his road trip hotel room, dousing a livid Dana Eveland the night before a start.

So it was that much more fulfilling to see his success in the PCL. And it is that much more heartbreaking to see his struggles in the majors. I felt sick seeing the highlights from his most recent shelling, the famous 2.2 inning, 11 run no decision against Minnesota. If only Billy Beane had heeded the constant warnings that Gonzalez needed a full season of PCL dominance to shake the memories of last season’s major league growing pains.

Legend Mazarro was born when Vin Mazarro was called up to Oakland and proceeded to dominate major league competition in his first ever start. He went on to dominate in his second start as well before gliding back to earth in the subsequent weeks. In his short time with Sacramento this season, Legend was absolutely dominant, hands down the best pitcher in PCL baseball. His last four starts were epic. He surrendered just one run in his final 27.2 Triple-A innings, striking out 21, while walking just four and allowing only nine hits- that amounts to a microscopic .47 WHIP.

Jovial Gio, though, would match Legend’s finale, with his own magical five game stretch: Gonzalez allowed only a single run in his last 31.1 innings, striking out 38, while giving up just 13 hits and 13 walks. That’s a .83 WHIP, impressive by any measure. This five game stretch would earn Jovial Gio the distinction of “24 Hour Burrito Joint” Pitcher, meaning he could always be depended upon to bail his team out when they needed him the most. This moniker, however, was originally inspired by Legend Mazarro. Unfortunately, or fortunately I guess, Vinny Maz was not in the Bush long enough to enjoy the honor.

Legend Mazarro made PCL hitters look worse than Moses Washington did in the “beat the blocker” drill on “4th and Long.” (And by the way how the hell did Mo-Wash stay on so long? I’m convinced that Spike TV ordered Michael Irvin to keep him around in order to maintain a high degree of unintentional comedy on the show. That is the only conceivable explanation). He left Sacramento a Legend.

“Pudding Lane” Patterson denotes the Great London Fire of 1666, where a single home on Pudding Lane caused an inferno that destroyed 4/5 of the city. Similarly, Eric Patterson sparks the Cats’ offense- just as one home can cause such a catastrophe, one player can ignite team-whole rallies. He’s the PCL’s version of Cool Papa Bell (speaking of great nicknames). Patterson’s combination of contact hitting, speed, and cunning makes him arguably the league’s most dangerous offensive weapon.

“Roundhouse” Tommy Everidge possesses a rather rudimentary explanation. The Cats’ first baseman is round—my buddy Jack once said that Everidge seems as wide as he is tall- and, proverbially, as big as a house. He looks like a round house. A baseball looks like a ping pong ball in the hand of the Round Mound of Pounds. The best nicknames are the uncontrived ones that just kind of jump off your tongue, a sort of verbal vomit. Such was the case with Roundhouse Everidge.

Eric “Monster” Munson was also such a case. When it fits, its fits. From the obvious “Munsters” cognitive connection, to the all-star’s brute slugging power, to the menacing way his bushy hair creeps out from under his catcher’s mask, Monster just sounds right. Again, sometimes the most genuine nicknames are the unadulterated creations of verbal vomit.

The Neck Tie is the alias for Raley Field. It describes the way the stands hug the infield like a Victorian-era tie. The seats wrap around the playing field so tightly, that sitting down the first and third base lines is about as hazardous as bungee jumping with a strand of Luis Scola’s hair. Every seat at the Neck Tie provides an intimate glimpse of the field.

Vive la revolution!