Some names sound great as is. Vitaly Klitschko has a Tchaikovsky Lilt. Houston Astros: That's Sonorous. It would be professional folly to change the name Kathy Ireland to Think Already.
But other handles are more euphonious when rearranged. If there is a name more lovely than Meadowlark Lemon's, it is his anagrammed alter ego, Emerald Moonwalk.
That's because an anagrammed world is redolent of jazz clubs and Negro leagues baseball and pool hustlers, peopled—as it is—by Sam Lonesome ( Moses Malone), Hosanna Monty ( Anthony Mason), Sidelong Waldo (Wilson Delgado), Elgin Brawly ( Billy Wagner), Levi Heckman ( Kevin McHale), Gus Miracles ( Marcus Giles), Bedstraw Harry ( Terry Bradshaw) and Elmer Banjos ( LeBron James). To say nothing of Handrail Connors ( Nolan Richardson). Which is—by the way—our first Arkansas Mention ( Annika Sorenstam).
You could have filled a whole bill at the Cotton Club entirely with Charles Oakley, a.k.a. Lacy Lakeshore, Clara Keyholes, Earlock Halsey, Rascal Keyhole, Aleck Hoarsley and Lackey Lahores.
Indeed, even the Dimmest Hick ( Mike Schmidt) would prefer a world in which Tiger Woods was called Dr. Goosewit, who sounds like the chief of a Viennese sleep-disorder clinic.
Anagrams are a parallel universe. In this anagramarama Tony Graffanino becomes Tiffany Rangoon, a stripper who gives Lap Dances to Dan Plesac at the Carnal Maypole ( Roy Campanella), a club owned by Vito Legman ( Tom Glavine) and managed by Amber Lovesick ( Kelvim Escobar), who happens to be a Lesbian ( Len Bias).
Trust anagrams. Rickey Henderson really has, with the Mets and the Yankees, Enriched Yonkers. A genius in full bloom, Pedro Martinez really is Mozart Ripened. Dale Earnhardt? Read Heartland.
All true. For anagrams, unlike someone I could name, Never Sh*t Us (Steve Rush*n).