You say Couch Potato, I say CrouchPotato

You’re probably asking yourself “Why The CrouchPotato Spud Report? “. I picked up the handle CrouchPotato in college from a friend who had a nickname for everybody. Honestly, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with it to begin with. I had always hoped to pick up one of those awesome nicknames. There are so many cool ones out there. Movies are partly to blame for my high expectations. Iron Eagle gave us Maverick, Ice Man, Goose, Viper, Jester, Cougar, Wolfman, Slider, Merlin, Hollywood, and Stinger. Then there are the classics… The Duke, Old Blue Eyes, The Rat Pack.

The fact I grew up surrounded by men with great nicknames doesn’t help either. I grew up in the oil fields of West Texas, surrounded by men of solid character and hard work ethics. One of the most memorable nicknames, in my mind, was given by my grandpa to a guy with the last name Leak. The guy was young and grandpa proclaimed him too small to be a leak and dubbed him “Drip”. As far as I know that nickname is still with the guy. It’s not one you get away from easily. Then there’s my dad. A man of high standards, rock-solid ethics, strong character, wisdom and a heart of gold. A man doesn’t survive more than forty years in the oil business as a welder without those things and several dozen guardian angels. It’s a hard and unforgiving career choice. Among my group of friends, he picked up the nickname Torch from a college buddy of mine. You’d think he picked it up because of his skill with the tools of his trade. But you’d be wrong. In spite of his attention to detail and understandable obsession with safety, he still must rely on others to do their part on the job. Reassurances of a separator vessel (used to separate petroleum components from water) being purged and only containing brine water were apparently premature. As he cut the steel lines loose from the vessel, flammable petroleum still in the vessel ignited and proceeded to spew onto the ground. As he managed to pull himself and his equipment out of the path of liquid fire, he watched as it scorched the paint off everything in its path. Thankfully nobody was hurt. This is frequently not the case with oil field accidents. But the paint job on the drilling rig was effectively “torched”.

Over time, of course, I have come to two realizations about nicknames. First, it wasn’t the nicknames that made the people so cool. Quite the opposite. It was the people behind the nicknames that I admired and respected. I have been fortunate to know many great men and women whose paths have crossed with mine. I have endeavored to learn from them and seek their counsel. They are respected among their friends, family and colleagues. Which brings me to realization number two: There is no higher honor than to be given a nickname by a friend, regardless of the name you’re given.

I wear CrouchPotato as a badge of honor and wouldn’t trade it for the world. So what about the spud portion of this blog? With a little creative license, a nickname offers limitless opportunities. I have a whole “spud” family now… My wife, who married into the CrouchPotato nickname. Willingly and knowingly, I might add. And of course my two little spuds have picked up nicknames of their own… Squirt and Scooter. I suspect my son will outgrow Squirt at some point. Scooter may actually stick with my daughter for some time. I hope one day to be the man behind the nickname worthy of their respect and admiration. I hope they, too, have friends that love them enough to give them a nickname they can call their own.