10 Sports Terms Named for People

Convinced that you might not have what it takes to make a sport's Hall of Fame? That doesn't mean your name can't live on forever in the game's lore. Here are the stories behind a few sports rules and terms that bear a player or innovator's name.

1, 2 & 3. Figure Skating: The Axel, the Salchow & the Lutz

Figure skating is rife with maneuvers named after their innovators. The spinning Axel jump is named after Norwegian skater Axel Paulsen, who first pulled off the trick in 1882, while the salchow takes its name from Swedish skater Ulrich Salchow, who perfected it in 1909. Those lutzes we hear so much about during the winter Olympics are the invention of Alois Lutz, who broke out the first jump of its kind in a 1913 competition.

4. Baseball: The Mendoza Line

MendozaFor a baseball player, hitting below the Mendoza Line is one of the game's most ignominious blunders. The feat takes its name from Mario Mendoza, a slick-fielding shortstop who enjoyed a nine-season career with the Pirates, Mariners, and Rangers from 1974 to 1982. Although Mendoza was an ace with the leather, he couldn't hit a lick, and someone, possibly George Brett, started referring to having a batting average below .200 as being "below the Mendoza line."

In fairness to Mendoza, he ended his career over his own line with a still-pretty-terrible .215 career average. The Mendoza line wasn't a total misnomer, though; he had sub-.200 averages in five separate seasons. Mendoza wasn't pulling an Adam Dunn and buttressing a low batting average with lots of walks, either; his career on-base percentage was a mind-bogglingly bad .245.

5. Boxing: Marquess of Queensberry Rules

Boxing's Marquess of Queensberry Rules are named after John Douglas, 9th Marquess of Queensberry. The rules, which modernized boxing when they were published in 1867, include both reasonable concerns (no wrestling or hugging, rounds should be three minutes long) and ones that seem a bit farfetched today "“ Rule 11 states that "No shoes or boots with springs allowed."

Although the Queensberry name is associated with the rules, John Douglas didn't formulate them. The rules were actually codified by John Graham Chambers, an English athletic legend, but when the Amateur Athletic Club published the rules, they put the marquess' name and endorsement on the code to add a noble touch.
Queensberry also has a literary claim to fame. Oscar Wilde once sued him for libel after Queensberry publicly accused the author of "posing as a sodomite." Queensberry was allegedly not pleased that Wilde had taken his son, the poet Lord Alfred Douglas, as a lover.

6. Soccer: The Cruyff Turn

If you want to make a soccer defender look incredibly silly, hit them with a Cruyff turn. Dutch midfielder Johan Cruyff broke out this little pit of jock-shaking trickery during a match against Sweden during the 1974 World Cup, and it still bears his name. The move is too tricky for words, so have a look for yourself:

7. Basketball: The Trent Tucker Rule

trent-tuckerEver need for your favorite NBA team to hit a last-second desperation heave to win a basketball game? Pray the Trent Tucker Rule doesn't come into effect. According to the rule, catching an inbounds pass and attempting a field goal takes at least 0.3 seconds off of the game clock, and if less than 0.3 seconds remain on the clock, it's impossible to attempt a shot, although a team can score on a tip-in or deflection. The rule is named after a 1990 Bulls-Knicks game in which Knicks point guard Mark Jackson inbounded the ball with 0.1 second left in a tie game, at which point sharpshooter Tucker caught it and nailed a wild turnaround three to win the game.

The Bulls ended up losing a protest over the outcome of the game, but after the season the NBA added the "Trent Tucker Rule" to the books.

8. College Football: The Deion Sanders Rule

Deion-Pro-Set
Deion Sanders craved attention for being unique, so it's only fitting he has two separate rules named after him. When Neon Deion was a college star at Florida State, he came up with a big interception to seal FSU's win over Auburn in the 1989 Sugar Bowl, but he also opened up a firestorm. It later came to light that Sanders, who was obviously bound for NFL greatness, simply hadn't attended classes or taken finals the fall semester before the game. When state education officials learned about Sanders' slacking off, they made a Deion Sanders Rule that required football players at Florida schools to successfully complete their fall classes if they wanted to play in bowl games.

9. Pro Football: The Deion Sanders Rule

deion-si
The professional version of Primetime became the center of another controversy when he signed with the Dallas Cowboys in 1995. The Cowboys signed Sanders to a contract with tiny yearly base salaries and a nearly $13 million signing bonus in an attempt to circumvent the NFL's salary cap. The league didn't think the maneuver was so great, though, and quickly instituted its own Deion Sanders Rule so that a prorated portion of a player's signing bonus counted against the salary cap as well.

10. Hockey: The Gordie Howe Hat Trick

The Gordie Howe hat trick is a true testament to the hockey legend's versatility. Instead of a standard hat trick where a player scores three goals, he gets credit for a Gordie Howe hat trick by recording a goal and an assist in a game in which he also gets into a fight, a tribute to Howe's deft passing, prodigious scoring, and zest for fisticuffs.

Oddly, although Mr. Hockey's career stretched across five different decades, he only racked up the hat trick that now bears his name twice, both times in the 1953-54 season. Howe wasn't the first to pull off the trick; that honor apparently goes to Harry Cameron, who scored, assisted, and fought in a 1917 game. Modern players have taken the hat trick to a new level; Brendan Shanahan alone has at least nine of them to his credit.

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Shout! Factory
Original GLOW Wrestling Series Hits Twitch
Shout! Factory
Shout! Factory

When it premiered in June 2017, GLOW was a bit of a sleeper offering for Netflix. With the amount of original programming ordered by the streaming service, a show based on an obscure women’s pro wrestling league from the 1980s seemed destined to get lost in the shuffle.

Instead, the series was a critical and commercial success. Ahead of its second season, which drops on June 29, you'll have a chance to see the mat work of the original women who inspired it.

Shout! Factory has announced they will be live-streaming clips from the first four seasons of GLOW (Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling), which first premiered in 1986, beginning at 9 p.m. ET on June 28. The stream, which will be available on shoutfactorytv.com and Twitch, will feature original footage framed by new interviews with personalities including Godiva, host Johnny C, and Hollywood. The show will air live from the Santino Brothers Wrestling Academy in Los Angeles.

Godiva, who was portrayed by Dawn Maestas, inspired the character Rhonda (a.k.a. Brittanica) on the Netflix series; Hollywood was the alter ego of Jeanne Basone, who inspired the character Cherry in the fictionalized version of the league. Basone later posed for Playboy and takes bookings for one-on-one wrestling matches with fans.

Shout! Factory's site also features a full-length compilation of footage, Brawlin’ Beauties: GLOW, hosted by onetime WWE interviewer “Mean” Gene Okerlund.

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Alamy
On Top of the World: Remembering the Lost Trend of Flagpole Sitting
Alvin "Shipwreck" Kelly sitting on a flagpole atop the Hotel St. Francis in Newark, New Jersey
Alvin "Shipwreck" Kelly sitting on a flagpole atop the Hotel St. Francis in Newark, New Jersey
Alamy

Flappers and bootleggers might be the most memorable aspects of the 1920s, but there's a lesser-known, yet no less colorful, trend from that decade: flagpole sitting. From the glamorous hills of Hollywood to the blue-collar dwellings of Union City, New Jersey, this unusual pastime turned eccentric showmen and ordinary people into overnight celebrities, before the crushing reality of the Great Depression grounded their climb to stardom.

Flagpole sitting is exactly what it sounds like: a person climbing on top of a towering pole, usually in the middle of a city, and testing their endurance by sitting atop it for as long as their body holds up. It began in Hollywood in January 1924, when a former sailor, boxer, steelworker, and stuntman named Alvin “Shipwreck” Kelly was hired by a local theater to sit on a pole outside of the building for as long as possible to drum up publicity for a new movie. Kelly, a New York City native—whose nickname was supposedly inspired by his dubious claims as a Titanic survivor—wowed crowds by perching himself on the pole for an astonishing 13 hours and 13 minutes. The stunt worked, and once it got picked up by the papers, offers started pouring in from more businesses to perform pole-sittings. Kelly was eager to oblige.

News of Kelly's exploits spread, and before long, men, women, and children were climbing poles of their own. There was the three-week feat of Bobbie Mack, a young woman from Los Angeles; Joe “Hold ‘em” Powers, who sat for 16 days in Chicago in 1927 and climbed back down with six fewer teeth than he started with after a storm smacked him face-first into his pole; and Bill Penfield, who braved a pole for 51 days in Strawberry Point, Iowa before a storm forced him down. In 1928, a 15-year-old named Avon Foreman of Baltimore even established a juvenile sitting record of 10 days, 10 hours, 10 minutes, and 10 seconds (he practiced on an 18-foot hickory tree in his backyard). Foreman’s accomplishment was so inspiring to Baltimore mayor William F. Broening that he publicly declared that the youngster exhibited “the pioneer spirit of early America.”

Still, Kelly was the one making a big business out of pole sitting. Even when he wasn’t holding the record, he was the ambassador of the bizarre sport. He toured 28 cities, attracting massive crowds that jammed streets and lined rooftops just to get a glimpse of the daredevil poking out among the apartment buildings and businesses of Downtown, USA.

Kelly's notable feats included an 80-hour sit in New Orleans and the 146 hours he spent high above Kansas City's Old Westgate Hotel. But even those were overshadowed by his largest-scale stunts: 312 hours on top of Newark’s St. Francis Hotel in 1927, 22 days on a pole above a dance marathon (another endurance fad of the time) in Madison Square Garden, and 23 days in 1929 in Baltimore’s Carlin’s Park on a pole that was 60 feet high. By Kelly’s own calculation, he’d spend around 20,613 hours pole-sitting during a career that lasted over a decade.

His peak came in 1930 when he lasted 49 days and one hour on a 225-foot pole on Atlantic City’s steel pier. The feat was witnessed by as many as 20,000 onlookers during the weeks he spent up top, becoming one of the first of many spectacles that would grace the pier in the 1930s. (He’d eventually be followed by acts like Rex, the water-skiing “wonder dog”; JoJo, the boxing kangaroo; and the city’s infamous diving horse routine.)

Estimates of Kelly’s fees range from $100-$500 a day throughout his career, paid by whatever outlet needed the publicity and sometimes by crowds who spent a quarter to get a view of his act from nearby hotel rooftops. And what did those onlookers see, exactly? A man on a circular padded seat high above the rabble, sometimes reading the paper, other times enjoying a shave. For food, he’d stick mainly to a liquid diet of broth and water, along with cigarettes, all of which were lifted up to him in a bucket. When he needed to sleep, he’d stay seated by wrapping his ankles around the pole and securing his thumbs into holes in his seat before nodding off. That's if he rested at all—he was also known to deprive himself of sleep on the pole for as long as four days.

The big money would dry up soon after his Atlantic City stunt, and the realities of the Great Depression put an end to flagpole sitting as a career. With up to a quarter of the population unemployed, people were apparently less interested in opening their papers to stories of men and women testing endurance at the top of a pole for more money than the readers would likely see all year.

"As Shipwreck Kelly analyzed it, it was the Stock Market crash that killed pole-sitting as the golden egg that paid the goose," a writer for The Evening Sun in Baltimore put it in 1944. "People couldn't stand to see anything higher than their busted securities."

Kelly’s personal story ends on a similarly somber note. Penniless and stripped of his daredevil veneer, he died of a heart attack in 1952 at the age of 59, his body found not far from the room he rented on West 51st Street in New York City. Underneath his arm at the time of his death was a scrapbook of newspaper clippings detailing his accomplishments as a once-champion flagpole sitter.

Though flagpole sitting has fallen out of the public eye since the Depression, it has occasionally shown faint signs of life. In 1963, 17-year-old Alabama native Peggy Townsend cruised past all of Kelly's highest marks by spending 217 days on a pole for a radio contest. That time was later beaten by Kenneth Gidge, who topped her at 248 days in 1971 before becoming an artist, inventor, and New Hampshire state representative later in life.

Today, the occasional pole-sitter still pops up in the news, though they're now most likely perched for protests or as living art installations. Regardless of the purpose behind it, it's unlikely that a person atop a flagpole will ever attract a sea of thousands of onlookers again—and the days when a man like Kelly could become a household name and dub himself the "Luckiest Fool on Earth" seem long gone.

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